Mass Readings and Reflection for Friday, September 25th, 2026

First Reading: (Ecclesiastes 3:1–11)

Responsorial Psalm: (Psalm 144:1b)

Blessed be the Lord, my Rock!

Acclamation: Alleluia: Mark 10:45

The Son of Man came to serve and to give his life as a ransom for many.

Gospel: (Luke 9:18–22)

Reflection:

Today’s Gospel contains one of the most important questions ever placed before a human being:

“But who do you say that I am?”

Notice that Jesus does not merely ask, “What have you heard about me?”

He first asks what other people are saying. The disciples answer with the opinions circulating among the crowds. Some identify Jesus with John the Baptist. Others see Elijah. Others think he is one of the ancient prophets returned.

All of these answers contain something religiously respectable.

But none of them is enough.

Jesus then moves from public opinion to personal confession:

“But who do you say that I am?”

That question cuts through every layer of secondhand religion.

It is possible to know what the Church teaches about Jesus without actually surrendering one's life to Jesus. It is possible to know Scripture, attend Mass, recite prayers, know Catholic doctrines, recognize the names of saints, and still remain fundamentally outside the mystery of Christ.

Christianity ultimately demands a personal answer.

Who is Jesus Christ to me?

Peter gives the correct answer:

“The Christ of God.”

But what happens next is astonishing.

Jesus immediately begins to dismantle Peter's understanding of what “Christ” means.

Peter has confessed the Messiah, but he has not yet understood the Messiah.

This is one of the deepest theological movements in the Gospel.

The problem is not that Peter's confession is wrong.

It is that Peter's conception of the Messiah is incomplete.

Jesus is indeed the Christ. But he is not the Christ according to human expectations.

He is the suffering Messiah.

He is the rejected Messiah.

He is the crucified Messiah.

He is the Messiah who passes through death into resurrection.

And therefore, the Christian cannot separate Christology from the Cross. They are connected. 

We cannot say, “Jesus is Lord,” while quietly constructing a version of Christianity in which following Jesus means avoiding suffering, rejection, sacrifice, obedience, and self-denial.

Jesus does not permit that separation.

Immediately after Peter identifies him as the Christ, Jesus explains what kind of Christ he is:

“The Son of Man must suffer greatly.”

That word “must” deserves attention.

Jesus is not saying that the Cross is an unfortunate accident that happened to interrupt his ministry.

The Cross belongs to the divine mission.

This does not mean that the Father delights in human suffering or that violence against Christ is morally good. It means that Christ freely enters into the consequences of a fallen world and transforms them through perfect obedience and love.

The Cross reveals something about God.

God does not save humanity from a safe distance.

God enters the human condition.

The eternal Son takes flesh.

He enters history.

He accepts rejection.

He accepts suffering.

He accepts death.

And precisely there, where humanity encounters the apparent defeat of God, divine love reveals itself most completely.

This is why Saint Paul can later proclaim Christ crucified as the power and wisdom of God.

The world expects power to dominate.

God reveals power through self-giving love.

The world expects victory to mean the destruction of one's enemies.

Christ's victory comes through forgiving them.

The world expects kingship to mean being served.

Christ's kingship is revealed through service.

That is precisely what today's Alleluia announces:

“The Son of Man came to serve and to give his life as a ransom for many.”

The title Son of Man is significant. Jesus is drawing together the imagery of Daniel 7, where the “Son of Man” receives dominion and an everlasting kingdom, with the suffering servant pattern that runs through Isaiah and reaches its fulfillment in Christ.

The paradox is enormous:

The King reigns from a Cross.

The one who possesses all authority becomes obedient.

The one through whom creation exists allows himself to be handed over to creatures.

The giver of life permits himself to be killed.

The Lord becomes servant.

This is not merely a lesson about Jesus.

It is a revelation of what divine love actually is.

Love is not merely affection.

Love is self-gift.

And the Cross is the definitive manifestation of that self-gift.

This brings us directly back to the First Reading.

Ecclesiastes tells us that there is a time for everything.

There is a time to be born.

A time to die.

A time to plant.

A time to uproot.

A time to weep.

A time to laugh.

A time to mourn.

A time to dance.

And then Ecclesiastes gives us one of the most profound statements in the entire wisdom tradition:

God has placed eternity in the human heart.

That explains something fundamental about human existence.

We are creatures of time who desire eternity.

We live one day at a time, yet something within us reaches beyond time.

We experience beginnings and endings, yet we long for something that does not end.

We watch people die, yet instinctively know that death cannot adequately explain the human person.

We accomplish something, and almost immediately the accomplishment becomes yesterday's news.

We acquire something, and eventually we want something else.

We experience pleasure, and it passes.

We experience suffering, and it passes.

We experience youth, and it passes.

We experience old age, and it passes.

Everything moves.

Everything changes.

Everything passes through time.

Yet within us there is a hunger for what does not pass.

Ecclesiastes calls that hunger eternity.

And Christianity gives us the answer to that hunger:

Christ.

This is why Jesus' question in the Gospel is so much more profound than a question about religious identification.

“Who do you say that I am?”

If Jesus is merely another teacher, then he can be admired.

If Jesus is merely another prophet, then he can be studied.

If Jesus is merely a moral example, then he can be imitated selectively.

But if Jesus is the Christ of God, then everything changes.

Because if Christ is truly Lord, then he does not merely offer advice for our lives.

He makes a claim upon our entire existence.

Our time, bodies, relationships, ambitions, all belongs to him.

Our suffering belongs to him.

Our death belongs to him.

And ultimately, our resurrection belongs to him.

This is why the Christian life cannot be reduced to “being a good person.”

Christianity is not fundamentally self-improvement.

It is participation in Christ.

Saint Paul expresses this with extraordinary depth: “It is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me.”

The goal is not simply to become a morally improved version of ourselves.

The goal is to be conformed to Christ.

And what does conformity to Christ look like?

It looks like the Cross.

Not necessarily physical martyrdom, although some Christians are called to that.

More often it means the daily death of the false self.

The death of pride.

The death of revenge.

The death of hatred.

The death of lust.

The death of greed.

The death of the need to control everything.

The death of the desire to be admired.

The death of the refusal to forgive.

The death of the insistence that my will must always prevail.

Christ does not merely ask us to admire his Cross.

He calls us to participate in it.

That is why elsewhere in Luke's Gospel Jesus says that anyone who wishes to follow him must take up the cross daily.

The word daily matters.

The Christian vocation is not one heroic emotional decision.

It is a daily movement from self-centeredness toward self-gift.

Every morning gives us another opportunity to answer Jesus' question.

Who do you say that I am?

Our answer is not demonstrated primarily by words.

It is demonstrated by how we live.

If Jesus is truly Lord, then forgiveness becomes possible.

If Jesus is truly Lord, then enemies cannot be treated as disposable.

If Jesus is truly Lord, then the poor are not inconveniences.

If Jesus is truly Lord, then the vulnerable cannot simply be ignored.

If Jesus is truly Lord, then suffering does not automatically mean that God has abandoned us.

If Jesus is truly Lord, then death itself becomes something different.

Because Christ has entered death and emerged victorious.

And this brings us back to Ecclesiastes.

The author looks at time and sees its relentless movement.

Generation follows generation.

Everything passes.

But the Gospel reveals something Ecclesiastes could only approach from a distance:

Eternity has entered time.

The eternal Word became flesh, God entered history.

The One who is outside time entered our time.

The eternal Son entered the womb of Mary.

He entered Bethlehem.

He entered Galilee.

He entered Jerusalem.

He entered suffering.

He entered death.

And then he rose.

The Resurrection is therefore not merely the happy ending of Jesus' story.

It is the transformation of the meaning of human time.

Our lives are no longer simply a movement toward decay.

For the Christian, time becomes the arena of preparation for eternity.

Every act of love matters.

Every act of faith matters.

Every hidden sacrifice matters.

Every act of forgiveness matters.

Every prayer matters.

Every moment in which we choose Christ over sin matters.

Grace works within time while preparing us for eternity.

That is why the psalm can simultaneously proclaim the greatness of God and the frailty of humanity:

“LORD, what is man, that you take notice of him?”

Human beings are like a breath.

Our days are like a passing shadow.

That sounds bleak until we understand the Gospel.

Our lives may be short, but they are not meaningless.

Our lives may be fragile, but they are held by God.

Our lives may pass quickly, but they can become the place where eternal love is received and returned.

The Christian does not overcome the brevity of life by pretending that death does not exist.

The Christian confronts death in the light of Christ.

Jesus does not tell Peter that suffering is imaginary.

He tells him that suffering will not have the final word.

“He will be killed and on the third day be raised.”

That final phrase changes everything.

Death is real.

The Cross is real.

Suffering is real.

But resurrection is also real.

And therefore the Christian hope is not optimism.

Optimism says that things will probably get better.

Christian hope says that Christ has conquered death.

Hope is therefore anchored not in circumstances but in a Person.

This is why the most important question today is not merely:

“What season of life am I in?”

Perhaps you are in a season of birth.

Perhaps a season of building.

Perhaps a season of loss.

Perhaps a season of waiting.

Perhaps a season of suffering.

Perhaps a season in which something you carefully built is being uprooted.

Ecclesiastes tells us that there are seasons.

But the Gospel tells us something greater:

Christ is Lord in every season.

He is Lord in birth.

He is Lord in death.

He is Lord in success.

He is Lord in failure.

He is Lord in joy.

He is Lord in suffering.

He is Lord on Good Friday.

And he is Lord on Easter morning.

So the deepest Christian response to today's readings is not simply to ask God to give us the season we prefer.

It is to ask for the grace to recognize Christ within the season we have been given.

There is a time to plant.

There is a time to uproot.

There is a time to build.

There is a time to tear down.

There is a time to speak.

There is a time to remain silent.

There is a time to hold on.

There is a time to let go.

But through all of these times, there is one constant:

Jesus Christ.

And so Jesus' question comes to each of us personally:

“But who do you say that I am?”

Not who does the culture say he is.

Not who does social media say he is.

Not who do other people say he is.

Not even merely what have we been taught about him.

Who do you say that he is?

If our answer is truly, “You are the Christ of God,” then the next question follows naturally:

Am I willing to follow the Christ I have confessed?

Because Peter discovered something that every disciple must eventually discover:

It is possible to confess Christ correctly and still misunderstand the Cross.

The mature Christian life begins when we allow Jesus himself to teach us what his identity means.

He is Christ.

He is Lord.

He is King.

He is Savior.

He is the suffering servant.

He is the crucified one.

He is the risen one.

And because he is risen, our temporary lives are not moving toward nothingness.

They are moving toward judgment, resurrection, and eternity.

Therefore, let us not waste the time God has placed in our hands.

Let us not live as though this world is permanent.

Let us not allow temporary things to become eternal obsessions.

Let us use our time to love God, to love our neighbor, to repent of sin, to forgive, to serve, to pray, to receive the sacraments, to seek holiness, and to become conformed to Christ.

There is an appointed time for everything under heaven.

But beyond all our times stands the One who is eternal.

And the One who entered our time through the Incarnation now calls us into his eternity.

Jesus Christ is the answer to the deepest longing placed within the human heart: the longing for what does not pass away.

So when Christ asks us,

“Who do you say that I am?”

may our lives, not merely our lips, answer Him: You are the Christ of God.

Amen 🙏

Happy Friday!

Don't Sell The Truth No Matter the Price #Wisdom

 

Mass Readings and Reflection for Thursday September 24th 2026

 

First Reading: (Ecclesiastes 1:2–11)

Responsorial Psalm:

In every age, O Lord, you have been our refuge.

Acclamation: 

I am the way and the truth and the life, says the Lord. No one comes to the Father except through me.

Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel: (Luke 9:7–9)

Reflection

The bad example of King Herod and his questions in the Gospel should leave us with both questions and a different path to tread from that of Herod.

King Herod is the one who beheaded John the Baptist. And he did this because John the Baptist was challenging Herod's sinfulness and a life of adultery. The beheading of John the Baptist is an outcome of the adulterous life that he lives. It doesn't lead to Herod's conversion and repentance. Rather, we see in the Gospel today Herod almost being fearful, Herod almost being haunted in his conscience by his evil doings.

Hearing from his court about Jesus, Herod began to wonder, probably with fear, who Jesus is. Has John the Baptist, whom he killed, been raised from the dead? Is Jesus Elijah or one of the holy prophets whom Scripture foretold might return from the dead?

These are the questions that Herod is asking. And also, on the same level, Herod knows that Jesus is a prophetic character. He speaks for God. The evil king knows that Christ is a divine agent, that Christ's work is God's work.

The Gospel reports that Herod wanted to see Jesus. He was curious, intrigued even, but not enough to say he wished to be forgiven. He wished to be healed. He wished to sit at the feet of the Master and be made whole again by Jesus' forgiveness and peace.

What messages can we take from the Gospel today?

I think first and foremost, unlike Herod, there is no need for us to carry our sins with us. How sad it is that many of us continue to carry the heavy crosses of sin in our lives. We consider our sins either unforgivable, or consider our sins so embarrassing like: “I could never bring this to the Lord.” 

But here's the good news of the Gospel: Jesus is always waiting to forgive and to heal.

Many, like Herod, are captivated by Christ, but because of fear, because of a lack of trust and hope, don't believe they can be forgiven.

Love, mercy, and forgiveness are always found by bringing our sins to Jesus in the sacrament of confession.

As Herod shows us today, sin wears us down. Forgiveness is what lifts us up.

I think the second point is this: unlike Herod, it's not enough to say, “Oh, I want to see Jesus,” but rather we must come to know Christ, the one who saves, the one who leads us to heaven.

We know one of the best places to encounter Jesus Christ is at the Mass, where we see the Eucharistic Lord, where we see his love poured out for us in the sacrifice of the Mass. And if we want to encounter Christ, there is no better place.

For here we hear the word of God. God speaks to us in an alive and dynamic way, but also we receive Christ in the Blessed Sacrament. Jesus himself feeds us. We receive Christ, but Christ receives us at Mass.

Then we encounter God who is worthy of praise and thanksgiving. God who hears the cries and petitions of his people. And God who is always there, ready to forgive.

St. John Vianney teaches this: We must never lose sight of the fact that we are either saints or outcasts. We must either love heaven or hell. There is no middle way.

I think Herod's life then teaches us, first and foremost, to love the things of heaven. And we do that by renouncing our sins, repenting, seeking out the sacrament of penance, and, just as important, by encountering Christ in the Mass, coming to know him and allowing him to know us.

God bless you.

Have a wonderful day.

Mass Readings and Reflection for Wednesday September 23rd 2026

First Reading: (Proverbs 30:5–9)

Responsorial Psalm: Your word, O Lord, is a lamp for my feet.

Acclamation: Alleluia

The kingdom of God is at hand. Repent and believe in the Gospel.

Gospel: (Luke 9:1–6)

Reflection

Today is St. Padre Pio's feast day and there is alot we can learn from this amazing Saint in the Church. 

In the responsorial psalm, we read that God’s word is light that leads us, light for our feet. And Padre Pio himself was the light who led us. Through receiving the stigmata in his hands and his feet and side, he received this sign, and people were curious about that when they heard the news. God had a special calling for him, and people were curious and they looked to him.

There’s a reason behind that, and that reason was for Padre Pio to show the world what it means to accept suffering. Suffering itself can be the light, can be a light and lead us to glory.

Today, people think, “I don’t want suffering. I don’t want to accept that I will suffer.” And they’re resistant to it. If we are resistant to that suffering, we won’t understand how we can persevere through it.

Padre Pio was such a good example to us that when we receive and accept our suffering, we will look and find the light through the grace of God.

And we thank St. Padre Pio for his faith and to show us in the Eucharist that is Jesus in his suffering for us. And Jesus is the one who shows us the light. Every time we receive the Eucharist, we can look at the suffering and how we can accept it, and how we can lead the world, and how it can give us strength and faith in our suffering, that we can find joy through it.

And that is what St. Padre Pio taught us in the Gospel today. Jesus calls the disciples to proclaim the good news, as Padre Pio followed suit.

St. Padre Pio, pray for us.

Amen.

Mass Readings and Reflection for Tuesday September 22nd 2026

First Reading: Proverbs 21:1–6, 10–13

Responsorial Psalm: Happy are those whose way is blameless, who walk in the law of the Lord.

Gospel: Luke 8:19–21

Reflection

Today’s Gospel is taken from Saint Luke’s account of our Lord’s ministry in the region of Galilee, and here, in what’s essentially part of a larger training session for the Twelve Apostles, we find Jesus teaching about the life of faith and the nature of true discipleship.

And as he and the disciples now prepare to begin their journey up to Jerusalem, our Lord is challenging them to focus their attention really on what is truly essential.

And as Jesus instructs the disciples, he is also preaching and teaching. He’s performing miracles before adoring crowds. So many have gathered around him now. Indeed, as we’ve just heard, so many people surround him that Mary and those closest to our Lord are indeed having a difficult time reaching him, owing to the size of the crowds.

And I think a number of things emerge for our reflection.

First of all, when Jesus says that those who hear the word of God and put it into practice become like mother and brothers to him, we see that Jesus is calling us not just to be followers or disciples, but to become members of a new spiritual family.

In his First Letter to the Faithful, St. Francis of Assisi suggests that we become brothers and sisters of Jesus when we do the will of the Father who is in heaven. We are mothers of Jesus when we bear him in our hearts and in our bodies, with divine love, with pure and sincere consciences. And we give birth to him through a holy life, which should enlighten others because of our example.

So it is that more than a call to love and to serve God and to serve our neighbour, and beyond the call to become disciples or followers of Jesus, ultimately those who follow are called to be obedient to the will of the Father in heaven, yes, but then to enter into this intimate familial spiritual bond with Jesus himself through the power of the Holy Spirit.

And when we consider the story of our own journey of faith, as reflected not only in today’s Gospel but elsewhere in the writings of the New Testament, we see that Jesus calls us not only to be part of a new spiritual family, but indeed to a profound, everlasting transformation.

Ultimately, more than followers, more than disciples, and beyond this new family of faith, united in the love and the service of God and our neighbour, we see that Jesus is calling us along a path that leads us to become a whole new creation.

The life of faith lived deeply, lived to the full, results in our being radically transformed in the depths of our beings, indeed into something new, something that shares in the mystery of Christ’s own nature.

We become truly Christ-like, as the lives of the saints show us.

Saint Paul leads us to reflect on the nature, on the scope of this transformation in Christ in his Letter to the Ephesians and elsewhere. But here in Ephesians, he speaks very clearly in terms of the lifelong process of spiritual transformation that demands of us an ongoing effort on our part, indeed, every day.

In Paul’s own terms, this involves casting off the old self and putting on the new self. Being clothed, if you will, with the new self, created to be like God in righteousness and holiness.

Those who give brave witness, public witness, to the Gospel will be given power over the nations. Jesus will give them the morning star. They will dine with Christ. He will grant them to sit with him on his heavenly throne.

These lines, then, of spiritual reflection are developed now in the early Christian writings.

Saint Hippolytus, for instance, states clearly: “For the sake of his own glory, God has given us a share in his divinity.”

In the various writings of Saints Athanasius, Augustine, Irenaeus, Thomas Aquinas, and others, they lead us to reflect on what it means to acquire this share in God’s divinity. What it means ultimately to become, again, this mother, or brother, or sister of Christ, and much more.

What are the marks, then, of true discipleship?

First of all, I think to live our lives in such a way that we’re always prayerfully attentive to the word of God, calling out to us every day, amid the circumstances of everyday life.

So it is that then we’re able to discern what God is calling us to do: to live the Gospel fully through the life of prayer, but also through our actions, concretely, in the service of God and one another.

Jesus calls us then to strive to live the life of holiness in imitation of the saints of the Church, as we follow him along the royal road of the cross.

Here, then, is the radical call to leave everything behind, which also demands a complete reordering of our inner attitudes, our relationships, our attachments, our inner being.

So, to be conformed to Christ and, in so doing, to become Christ-like.

What does this involve?

One modern theologian speaks in terms of allowing God to become the absolute center of all spiritual attraction and gravitation in our lives.

So it must be for us as disciples of Christ in our world today. God must become the very center and focus of our energies, again, as the lives of the saints show us very clearly.

Ultimately, to be a true disciple, then, involves setting aside our ego as we place God first.

Jesus teaches us: “Thy will be done.”

At the same time, it’s important to appreciate that true discipleship involves giving bold and courageous witness, public witness, to the Gospel before a disbelieving world that now, as in the time of Jesus himself, has always been hostile to this message and its values.

Our Lord’s teachings today, that we’re called to become his mother, or brother, or sister, and so forth, lead us then to pause on our own respective journeys.

To reflect a bit on a series of important questions.

What is our treasure in this passing life?

What do we hope for?

In what are we investing our time, our thoughts?

In what are investing all of our energies?

Like the Magi, by what star are we charting our spiritual journey through this world?

Finally, as our Lord instructs his disciples concerning the true nature of discipleship, his teachings remain very relevant in our own time today.

I think especially regarding the exercise of power, the exercise of authority in our world.

The more, I should say that for this new spiritual family established by Christ, this demands that we treat one another as family.

As family members, united in our obedience to the will of God the Father in heaven.

And so we should look, at least consider, the social dimensions of today’s Gospel as well.

So, as we reflect on the truth that Jesus himself came not to be served, but to serve and to give his own life for others, we can appreciate that his teachings, together with his own living example, remain far ahead of their time.

Again, in our globalized world, whereas those who truly hear the word of God and put it into practice, it follows that we are called to care for one another like close relatives.

This includes the poorest of the poor, the sick, those who are dying, the stranger, those suffering from food insecurity, the lost, the lonely, the abandoned of our society.

So, as we continue to celebrate this Mass, we pray for the grace not only to follow Jesus as servants, to become brothers and sisters of Christ, and so to be transformed and configured to him in every dimension of the Paschal Mystery.

Let us pray for the grace, again, in the words of Saint Francis of Assisi, that we too may give “spiritual birth to Christ” through a holy life, so as to enlighten others by our example.

And finally, as Saint Maximus the Confessor observes: “The word of God, born once in the flesh, is always willing to be born spiritually in those who desire him.”

Amen.

Mass Readings and Reflection for Monday September 21st 2026

First Reading: (Ephesians 4:1–7, 11–13)

Responsorial Psalm:

The sound goes forth through all the earth.

Gospel: (Matthew 9:9–13)

Reflection

The call of Matthew is what some theologicians called the scandal of grace. Jesus did not wait for Matthew to become holy; He calls him as he was. Matthew’s response is simple: he stood up and left the life that defined him. No negotiation, no self-justification just trust.

The Pharisees did not understand this because they believe holiness is earned. Jesus reveals that holiness begins with being seen and chosen, not with being perfect. God’s gaze precedes our transformation.

The table scene is equally important. Jesus sits among those society rejects. He is not contaminated by their sin; instead, His presence becomes the medicine that heals it. The physician goes where the sickness is.

Mercy is the true offering God desires. Sacrifice without compassion becomes performance. Jesus dismantles the idea that righteousness is separation from sinners; instead, righteousness is solidarity that brings healing.

For us, Matthew 9:9–13 asks two questions:

Will you rise when Christ calls, even if you feel unworthy?

Will you sit at the table with those who are wounded, as Christ does?

Mercy is the doorway through which both discipleship and healing begin.

Before his call, Levi, as he was originally called, was a tax collector for the Roman Empire in Capernaum. Like many other tax collectors of his kind, he was excessively rich. Remember Zacchaeus in the Gospel of Luke, chapter 19. Tax collectors like we know in America, is uncle Sam at the IRS, except they cheated. They stole and embezzled. They made money, lots of money, but their money was not clean. They extorted the people and enriched themselves. If a tax was 30, they collected 100, and 70 went to their private pockets. This 70, remember, was out of their usual salary.

This was the reason their fellow Jews hated and despised them. Tax collectors had a bad name, a bad reputation. They were considered to be sellouts who extorted their own people for a foreign government that exploited them.

It is likely that after Jesus called him, that was when he had a change of name to Matthew, meaning “gift of Yahweh.” As always in the Bible, when a name is changed, it indicates a change of mission. We recall that Abram was changed to Abraham, Sarai was changed to Sarah, Jacob was changed to Israel, Saul was changed to Paul, and Simon was changed to Cephas, or Peter.

As a tax collector, apart from the fact that they were considered public sinners, had a bad reputation, and were hated by the people, Matthew had more than enough money and lived a very comfortable life, unlike many other Jews.

The question is, what could have made Matthew leave all that money, the lucrative job, to be a disciple of an itinerant teacher like Jesus, a master who had nowhere to live? A master who depended on the charity and generosity of others. What could possibly be the reason?

The Gospel passage of today recounts the call of Matthew. But what could have made Matthew leave that job and follow Jesus?

Deep down, Matthew felt a void that his money could not fill. Indeed, money isn’t everything. He had the money, plenty of it, but he was not happy. To have forsaken all that money for Jesus, it meant he found something greater, something of greater value that gave him deep joy, and that was Jesus.

What was his money or position if his people hated him? He surely lived in shame. He cared about his good name and reputation.

In a world where people have sold away their shame, sold away their consciences, who cares anymore about insults, a good name, or reputation? All they want is money. They can do any and everything for money. Let's bring it home. Look at our world today, most of us will do almost anything for money. Lies and dishonesty runs amok. People go on doing the nasty things they do for money. People expose nakedness online for views to make money. People scam, kill, kidnap, all to make money.

Money is good. But let us make clean and genuine money. Honest money from honest labor. 

How do we feel spending money that has been cursed or given grudgingly or after being insulted? Matthew abandoned a good job that gave him a bad name, though he made plenty money out of it. And if he still had to make money, it had to be decent money.

In a world where people don’t care about their lives and true happiness, all they need is money at all costs, even at the detriment of happiness itself, we find especially the young looking for money at all costs. They get the money, plenty of it, through so-called scamming and kidnapping for ransom, but they are never truly happy. They spend it recklessly, and they die recklessly on top of it all.

How can you be happy when you have money but cannot use it to help your family? How can you make money when the money is not clean? How can your money make you happy when you killed all your loved ones to get it? How can blood money truly make you happy?

Truly, St. Matthew tells us that money isn’t everything, worst of all, money gotten through ungodly means.

Money, especially dirty ones don't make anybody happy. But true happiness in life only comes from Jesus. Find Jesus, follow Him, and the happiness we seek in life, we will get it.

Genuine wealth and riches comes through hard work. It is good to have money, but let our money be clean and genuine, not through theft, embezzlement, extortion, cheating, or bribery. Money is good, but make honest, genuine, and clean money.

The choice to follow Jesus gave Matthew the much-needed happiness and fulfillment he ever wanted. Imagine a tax collector with plenty of money becoming an Apostle and Evangelist. What a transformation.

He died as a martyr. Now he is the patron saint of accountants, bankers, tax collectors, and civil servants.

St. Matthew, pray for us 🙏 

Amen.

Mass Readings and Reflection for Sunday September 20th, 2026

Inspired by homilies from mass, daily TV Mass, Fr. Blessed and Bishop Barron

First Reading: (Isaiah 55:6–9)

Responsorial Psalm: The Lord Is Near to All Who Call Upon Him

Second Reading: (Philippians 1:20–24, 27)

Gospel: (Matthew 20:1–16)

Reflection

For this Sunday, we hear the parable of the workers in the vineyard, a Gospel that tends to bother almost everybody. That's often how Jesus' parables work. They're not simply pleasant moral stories. They are meant to unsettle us, to challenge our assumptions, and to shake us out of our comfortable ways of thinking. This parable certainly does that. My first encounter with this Gospel was in high school religious education class. You can imagine my understanding of this at an early age. 

Well, as the story goes, a landowner goes out early in the morning and hires workers for his vineyard, agreeing to pay them the usual daily wage. He goes out again during the morning, at noon, in the afternoon, and even at the end of the day, continuing to bring laborers into the vineyard. When evening comes, he pays everyone the same wage. Those who worked all day assume they will receive more. Yet they receive the very same amount as those who worked only one hour. They complain, and the owner answers, “Are you envious because I am generous?”

Most of us sympathize with the workers who complain. We look at the situation and say, “That doesn't seem fair.” In fact, we often feel the same way about God. We wonder why blessings are distributed the way they are. Why do some people suffer while others prosper? Why do some people receive opportunities that others never get? Why does life sometimes seem so unequal?

The Gospel begins right there, in that tension. But before we go any further, we need an important clarification. This parable is not a lesson about economics, labor relations, wages, unemployment, or underemployment. Those are important issues in society, but Jesus is not offering a policy proposal. He is revealing something much deeper about God.

The spiritual masters have always understood this. St. John of the Cross puts it beautifully: we are not meant to fall in love with the benefits of God; we are meant to fall in love with God Himself.

That distinction changes everything.

Most of us approach God looking for benefits. We want blessings, security, comfort, success, healing, answers to prayers, and rewards for good behavior. We may even imagine that if we follow God's commandments faithfully, then God owes us something in return. But that is a very immature faith with immature understanding of God's grace.

In the beginning of our spiritual journey, God often gives us consolations. Prayer feels rewarding. Mass is uplifting. Faith brings enthusiasm and joy. God uses these gifts to draw us closer. Yet as we mature spiritually, God invites us beyond His gifts and toward Himself. He wants us to love Him, not simply what He gives us.

The workers in the vineyard reveal what happens when we become attached to rewards. They receive exactly what was promised. The problem is not that they were treated unjustly. The problem is that they compared themselves to others. Their joy disappeared the moment they started looking around.

The same thing happens in our lives. When we compare ourselves with others, envy quickly follows. We begin measuring our blessings against theirs. We keep score. We ask why someone else seems to receive more. In doing so, we lose sight of God.

Think of a soccer player who has spent an entire training season helping his team reach the World Cup. He plays every game, works through injuries, endures the heat, and gives everything he has. Then, near the end of the season, a relief player joins the team and helps secure a few critical victories. The team wins the World Cup, and everyone receives the same championship recognition.

Would the veteran player complain?

Of course not.

His joy comes from winning the cup. The cup is secondary. He is caught up in the beauty of the accomplishment itself. He would say, “We won. He helped us.”

Or think of children playing Little League baseball. A coach promises ice cream after a victory. The team wins and everyone gathers for a celebration. Imagine one child becoming angry because another received a slightly larger ice cream cone. At that moment, what matters is not the size of the reward. The joy comes from playing the game, sharing the victory, and celebrating with friends.

The reward is not the point.

In the same way, the vineyard is the point of Jesus' parable.

The vineyard represents the Kingdom of God. It is the great work God has invited us into. Some are called early in life. Some are called later. Some serve for many years. Others find God only near the end of their journey of life.

So what?

The privilege is being in the vineyard.

The blessing is participating in God's work.

Those hired first could have said, “Lord, thank you for letting us spend the entire day in your vineyard.” Instead, they focused on what everyone else received.

The parable also invites us to rethink justice itself. Human fairness usually asks, “Did everyone get the same thing?” or “Did everyone get exactly what they earned?” Biblical justice asks a different question: “What is right?”

God's justice is not based on human calculations. It is rooted in mercy, dignity, compassion, and love. God treats the last, the least, and the forgotten with extraordinary generosity. His concern is not simply balancing accounts. His concern is restoring relationships and affirming the dignity of every person.

That is why the parable challenges our envy. God's generosity toward another person does not diminish His love for us.

There is another reason we should be careful before judging God's actions. We simply do not know enough.

The workers who complained knew one fact: some people worked one hour while others worked all day. Based on that very limited information, they concluded that the situation was unfair.

But what did they really know?

Perhaps those workers hired late had spent the entire day searching unsuccessfully for work. Perhaps they had families waiting at home. Perhaps they had experienced hardships invisible to everyone else.

The truth is, they didn't know.

And neither do we.

God sees what we cannot see. He sees every person's struggles, sacrifices, wounds, fears, hopes, intentions, and needs. He sees the whole picture.

A mother once answered a question about her kids, “Which of your children do you love the most?” by saying, “The one who needs my love the most at that moment.”

That is a profound answer.

A good parent loves all of her children, but certain children need special attention at different times. God's love works in a similar way. He knows exactly what each person needs because He sees every detail of every life.

Therefore, perhaps the wisest response is not to tell God how He ought to distribute His blessings. Perhaps the wisest response is trust.

Trust His wisdom.

Trust His mercy.

Trust His justice.

And stop comparing.

Instead of looking around, look up.

Keep your eyes fixed on the goal. The goal is not rewards. The goal is not recognition. The goal is not proving that we deserve more than someone else.

The goal is God.

St. Paul captures this beautifully in today's second reading: “For me, life is Christ.” Everything ultimately comes back to Him.

This Gospel challenges us to let go of jealousy, resentment, and scorekeeping. It calls us to forgiveness, generosity, reconciliation, and mercy. It asks us how we can make our families, our communities, our Church, and our society more welcoming and more reflective of God's justice. It reminds us that our responsibility is not merely to be fair as the world defines fairness, but to do what is right in the eyes of God.

At the end of the day, this parable is meant to free us from self-centeredness. It teaches us not to fall in love with the benefits of God, but with God Himself. It teaches us that our greatest reward is not what God gives us, but the privilege of belonging to Him and laboring in His vineyard.

And if we truly understand that, then we can rejoice whenever God's generosity is extended to anyone, because the Kingdom grows, the vineyard flourishes, and God's mercy triumphs.

God bless you.

Amen 🙏 

Mass Readings and Reflection for Saturday September 19th 2026

First Reading: (1 Corinthians 15:35–38, 42–49)

Responsorial Psalm: I will walk in the presence of God, with the light of the living.

Gospel Acclamation

Alleluia, alleluia.

Blessed are they who have kept the word with a generous heart and yield a harvest through perseverance.

Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel: (Luke 8:4–15)

Reflection:

Today's readings are kind of going from what we know and right into the mystical.

Today's Gospel reading, the parable of the sower, which we hear so many times during the year and over the years because it's found in all three Synoptic Gospels, Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and also in the Gospel of Thomas, the non-canonical Gospel of Thomas, which we, of course, never hear during Mass.

This path and this parable of the seed and the sower-and of course, it makes sense that we have to hopefully end up on the good soil, that we produce a hundredfold. But that's not so easy.

And to say, “I am perfect; look at what I have done, and I produce a hundredfold,” that would be sheer pride. Someone else would have to say this about us. I never heard of any of the saints going around and saying, “Look how fruitful I am. Look at all these things that happen around me.”

So, we have to be very careful, and it has to be left to God, God who is the sower.

And we have to answer God's calling wherever we are. And it does not matter if we are a janitor and we clean toilets, or we are a cardinal or a bishop or whatever. We are called each to do our part and to be open to the guidance of the Holy Spirit.

Actually, a private prayer I've had for many years is, “God, use me according to your desire.”

And it's about giving up control about our lives, giving our lives to God to be used for others. And this is so key in our lives and coming to God.

And hopefully, one day, by God's grace, I will be called home, but in the end, it's still up to God.

In the first reading of Corinthians, St. Paul uses again the analogy of the wheat, of seeds, and he deals with a question within the Corinthian community about dying.

What happens when we die? How can I know that I will live after I die an earthly death?

And there's no answers. It's mystery. It's mystery.

And so, he uses these sayings: It is sown corruptible. So, bodily we are corruptible, and we're raised incorruptible.

And at the same time, he says it is sown a natural body. It is raised a spiritual body.

And that's all he can say. There's no hard evidence, no “This is what's going to happen after you die.”

It is about personal experience.

May we bear more fruits according to the blessings of God our creator. 

Amen.

Daily Mass Readings and Reflection for Friday, September 18th, 2026

First Reading: (1 Corinthians 15:12–20)

Responsorial Psalm: (Psalm 17)

R. Lord, when your glory appears, my joy will be full.

Alleluia: (Matthew 11:25)

Blessed are you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth; you have revealed to little ones the mysteries of the Kingdom.

Gospel: (Luke 8:1–3)

Reflection

The readings today form a single theological thread: the Kingdom of God advances through witnesses whose lives have been transformed by the Resurrection.

Paul is uncompromising. If Christ is not raised, everything collapses, preaching, faith, forgiveness, hope, even the meaning of suffering. He is forcing us to confront the core truth: Christianity is not merely a philosophy; it is the proclamation of an event that changes the destiny of humanity.

Paul's logic is razor-sharp. Without the Resurrection, sin still reigns. Without the Resurrection, death still wins. Without the Resurrection, hope becomes delusion.

But then comes the decisive proclamation: “But now Christ has been raised.”

Not merely as a metaphor. Not merely as a symbol. Christ has truly been raised. The Resurrection is the foundation upon which every act of Christian courage stands.

The Psalm takes us beyond this present life and toward the ultimate fulfillment of that hope: the vision of God. “On waking I shall be content in your presence.” The deepest desire of the human heart is not simply to escape suffering, but to awaken into the presence of God and behold his face.

And then the Gospel gives us a quiet but powerful picture of what resurrection does to human lives.

Luke tells us that Jesus was accompanied by women who had been healed and transformed. Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Susanna, and many others followed Jesus and provided for him and the Twelve out of their own resources.

These women are not background characters. They are disciples whose lives had been touched by Christ, and their response was to become participants in his mission.

This reveals a pattern that continues throughout the Christian life.

Christ raises the fallen.
Those who have been raised become witnesses.
And those witnesses become builders of the Kingdom.

Their generosity was not simply an act of charity. It was the fruit of lives that had encountered Christ.

The same pattern can happen in us.

What Christ has healed in us can become part of our testimony. What Christ has redeemed in our past can become part of our mission. What God has placed in our hands, our time, our abilities, our resources, our experience, can become an instrument for building his Kingdom.

The Resurrection therefore is not merely a doctrine we profess. It is the engine of Christian life.

Paul proclaims the Resurrection. The Psalm longs for the day when we will behold God's face. The Gospel shows us people whose lives were transformed by encountering Jesus and who then gave themselves to his mission.

And that is how the Gospel continues to move through the world: people who have been touched by Christ become people who carry Christ to others.

The Resurrection tells us that death does not have the final word, sin does not have the final word, our wounds do not have the final word, and our past does not have the final word.

Christ has been raised.

And because Christ has been raised, our faith has meaning, our hope has substance, our suffering can be offered to God, our wounds can be redeemed, and our lives can become instruments through which the Kingdom advances.

Mass Readings and Reflection for Thursday, September 17th, 2026

First Reading: (1 Corinthians 15:1–11)

Responsorial Psalm: (Psalm 118)

Response: Give praise to the Lord, for he is good.

Gospel Acclamation:

Alleluia, alleluia.

Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened,
and I will give you rest, says the Lord.

Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel: (Luke 7:36–50)

Reflection

Today's Gospel invites us to focus on the sinful woman and on her profound act of love toward Jesus.

When we sin and go to the Sacrament of Reconciliation, we are expected to show sorrow for our sins. It is not enough simply to say, “I have gone to confession,” or merely to recite the sinful acts we have committed. We are expected to demonstrate genuine remorse.

How sorry are we for what we have done?

Sorrow for sin is demonstrated in two ways.

First, we acknowledge what we have done. We accept responsibility. This is what we say at the beginning of Holy Mass: “Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault.”

We acknowledge that we are guilty. We do not blame another person.

When we go to confession, we should not say, “My neighbor caused me to do it,” or “My child made me do it,” or “My husband or wife made me do it.” Even if someone influenced or pressured us, we ultimately made the decision to act. We must take responsibility for our actions.

Like Adam, we can always point to somebody else: “I would not have eaten the apple if the woman had not given it to me.” But Adam still chose to eat. We too must accept responsibility for our choices.

Secondly, we must do something to demonstrate that we are truly sorry. When we say we are sorry, our actions should give evidence that we mean what we say.

For example, if a husband hurts his wife, or a wife hurts her husband, it is good to acknowledge the wrong and say, “I am sorry.” But genuine sorrow should also lead us to make amends.

This is what we mean by reparation.

Reparation is an act done to make amends for a wrong that has been committed. It is an effort to repair the damage caused by our actions.

We cannot simply say, “I am sorry,” and walk away as though nothing happened.

If I tell a lie and damage someone's reputation, saying “I am sorry” is important, but I should also do what I can to repair the person's good name.

If I damage someone's car and say, “I am sorry,” I must also take responsibility for repairing the damage.

That is reparation.

The sinful woman in today's Gospel acknowledged her sin through her tears. She wept at the feet of Jesus. She demonstrated sorrow. And then she anointed his feet with costly ointment.

Her love became an expression of reparation.

Sin is a breaking away from God's love. Through her repentance and love, she sought to return to that love and demonstrate that her heart had changed.

This is why Scripture tells us in 1 Peter 4:8 that “love covers a multitude of sins.” When we sin and genuinely repent, our sorrow should produce a changed life and acts of charity.

We can make reparation by returning what we have taken, repairing what we have damaged, restoring what we have spoiled, and doing good where we have caused harm.

If we have stolen money, we should return it.

If we have damaged someone's reputation, we should make an effort to restore that person's good name.

If we have cheated someone, we should make amends.

We see this clearly in Zacchaeus in Luke 19. His encounter with Jesus produced concrete change. He promised to repay those whom he had cheated.

Reparation is not merely an emotion. It is repentance expressed through action.

We should weep for our sins and recognize the seriousness of what we have done. Peter wept after his betrayal. The sinful woman wept at the feet of Jesus. Their tears expressed regret and remorse.

Let us never take pleasure in sin. Let us never brag about our sins or glory in evil. We are not heroes because we have done something wrong.

Even more dangerous is losing our sense of sin altogether-reaching the point where we can do something wrong and no longer recognize that anything is wrong.

So we must ask ourselves: How truly sorry are we for our sins? And if we are truly sorry, what reparation are we making?

Reparation also means a changed life.

We cannot continually return to the same sins while saying that we are sorry. True repentance calls us to turn away from sin and move toward God.

The sinful woman came to Jesus one way, but she left with the assurance of forgiveness: “Your faith has saved you. Go in peace.”

Let us therefore bring our sins honestly before Christ. Let us accept responsibility. Let us sincerely repent. Let us make whatever reparation we can. And above all, let our repentance produce a changed life.

When we say, “I am sorry,” let us truly mean it.

And when we ask God for forgiveness, let us allow his grace to transform the way we live.

Amen.