Wednesday, September 9, 2026

Mass Readings and Reflection for Wednesday, September 9th, 2026


First Reading:
(1 Corinthians 7:25–31)

Responsorial Psalm: (Psalm 45)

Alleluia: (Luke 6:23)

“Rejoice and leap for joy! Your reward will be great in heaven.”

Gospel: (Luke 6:20–26)

Reflection:

Today’s readings form a single spiritual message:

True freedom is found in detachment, and true blessedness is found in places the world avoids.

Now, Paul is not telling people to abandon marriage, joy, or possessions. He is telling them to hold everything lightly.

Why?

Because the early Church lived in a time of persecution, instability, social upheaval, and spiritual awakening.

Paul’s message is timeless:

Do not let your soul be chained to things that can disappear.

This is not pessimism. It is eschatological realism.

Everything that is not God is temporary.

Paul is teaching interior freedom, spiritual detachment, clarity of purpose, and readiness for God’s call. He wants Christians to live with open hands, not clenched fists.

The Psalm then gives us another dimension of this spiritual movement: the call to leave the old identity behind.

“Forget your people and your father’s house.”

This is not a rejection of family. It is the symbolic shedding of an old identity.

The daughter becomes the bride. She enters a new covenant. She steps into a new destiny.

Spiritually, this is the same movement Paul describes: letting go, stepping forward, entering a new life, and belonging to God.

You cannot enter the Kingdom carrying your old attachments.

Then Jesus raises His eyes toward His disciples, and He reveals the hidden geography of grace.

This teaching is directed toward those already following Him, not merely toward the crowds.

He says that the poor already possess the Kingdom. The hungry will be filled. Those who weep will laugh. Those who are hated will be rewarded.

Then He warns that the rich have already received their consolation. Those who are satisfied will hunger. Those who laugh now will mourn. Those who are praised by everyone will eventually fall.

This is not simply punishment. It is spiritual physics.

The Kingdom of God operates through inversion.

What the world calls “loss,” God can call “readiness.”

What the world calls “success,” God can reveal as “danger.”

What the world calls “weakness,” God can transform into “openness and strength.”

What the world calls “misery,” God can turn into soil for grace.

The Beatitudes are not merely moral commands. They are descriptions of spiritual reality.

And then we encounter Saint Peter Claver, whose feast is today, and whose life gives flesh to the Gospel.

Peter Claver ministered to enslaved Africans arriving in Cartagena. He called himself “the slave of the slaves forever.”

He lived the Beatitudes literally.

He embraced poverty. He fed the hungry. He comforted the weeping. He was hated for defending the oppressed.

His life demonstrates the Gospel’s great inversion:

Holiness grows where the world sees nothing but suffering.

Paul says, “The world in its present form is passing away.”

The Psalm says, “Forget your father’s house.”

Jesus says, “Blessed are you who are poor.”

Peter Claver says, “I am the slave of the slaves forever.”

Together, they teach us something profound:

Freedom is not found in having more-it is found in needing less.

The Kingdom belongs to those who are not owned by possessions, not defined by status, not controlled by praise, not afraid of suffering, and not addicted to comfort.

This is the spiritual inversion of Christianity.

And this message speaks directly to anyone who feels overlooked, burdened, poor in spirit, hungry for meaning, excluded, or misunderstood. It speaks to anyone who feels detached from the definitions of success that the world constantly places before us.

The Gospel says:

You are already standing closer to the Kingdom than you realize.

Your struggles are not necessarily signs of failure. They can become signs of readiness.

Your hunger is not simply emptiness. It can become space for God.

Your tears are not weakness. They can become the water of future joy.

Your exclusion is not necessarily rejection. It can become alignment with the prophets.

The Memorial of Saint Peter Claver reveals the heart of Christian spirituality:

God is found where the world refuses to look. Grace grows where comfort dies. Freedom begins where attachment ends. And blessedness blooms in the soil of suffering.

This is the inversion of the Kingdom.

This is the Gospel.

This is the path of Christ.

Alleluia,

Amen

God bless you

Tuesday, September 8, 2026

Mass Readings and Reflection for Tuesday, September 8th, 2026 Feast of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary


First Reading:
(Micah 5:1–4a)

Responsorial Psalm: (Psalm 13)

“With delight I rejoice in the Lord.”

Alleluia

Blessed are you, Virgin Mary; from you rose the Sun of Justice, Christ our God.

Gospel: (Matthew 1:1–16, 18–23)

REFLECTION

Today's feast is not simply about Mary’s birth. It is about the birth of God’s plan in human history.

It is the moment Heaven touches Earth quietly and silently, through a girl born in obscurity.

To understand this day, we must recognize the deeper theological meaning of what God is doing.

Micah says that Bethlehem is too small to matter. Yet God chooses it. Mary herself comes from a small and seemingly unnoticed family, yet God chooses her. The genealogy in Matthew is filled with broken people, sinners, outsiders, and women with complicated and scandalous stories: Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, and Bathsheba. Yet God chooses them.

The Nativity of Mary reveals the divine pattern: God begins salvation in places the world mostly ignores.

This is why the Church celebrates her birth. It is the moment God’s quiet strategy enters the world.

Mary’s birth is also the beginning of the new creation. Romans 8 tells us that God predestined us to be conformed to Christ. Yet Christ’s humanity comes through Mary. Her birth therefore points toward the Incarnation, the new Adam, the new Eve, the new creation, and the new covenant.

Mary becomes the hinge between the old world and the new world, between fallen creation and redeemed creation, between humanity’s weakness and God’s strength. Her birth marks the beginning of a mystery through which human nature will be healed and restored in Christ.

Then we encounter Joseph and the mystery of divine fatherhood. Joseph is righteous, but righteousness without mercy can become cruelty. Joseph chooses mercy. He does not want to expose Mary to shame, even before he understands the mystery taking place within her.

Then God reveals the deeper truth. Mary’s pregnancy is divine. Joseph is called to father a child who is not biologically his. The Messiah enters the world through obedience, not biology.

Joseph’s “yes” mirrors Mary’s “yes.”

Together, Mary and Joseph form the first domestic church. Their obedience becomes the environment in which the Savior enters human history. Their faithfulness becomes the cradle of salvation.

And at the center of this entire mystery is the name Emmanuel: God is with us.

This is the heart of Christianity.

God is not merely above us. He is not against us. He is not distant from us. He is not watching humanity from afar.

He is with us.

Mary’s birth marks the beginning of God’s descent into human weakness, human poverty, human confusion, human suffering, and human history. God enters the world through a woman’s body. He sanctifies motherhood, childhood, family, human flesh, and the human story.

This is both the scandal and the beauty of Christianity: God does not save humanity by remaining distant from it. He enters it.

He enters our history.

He enters our suffering.

He enters our vulnerability.

He enters our flesh.

He becomes one of us.

The Nativity of Mary is therefore also the nativity of hope.

Every birth contains hope. But Mary’s birth is connected to the birth of the ultimate hope.

Her existence tells humanity that God has not abandoned us. God’s plan is unfolding. Salvation is already in motion. Darkness is already beginning to lose. The Messiah is coming.

Mary’s birth is the dawn before the sunrise.

Christ is the Sun.

Mary is the horizon through which that light will rise.

And this feast speaks directly to anyone who has come from small beginnings, anyone who grew up unnoticed, anyone who struggled in silence, anyone who carried burdens early, anyone who felt insignificant, late to life, overshadowed, unprepared, or unworthy.

Mary’s birth says something powerful to every one of us:

God begins His greatest works in small, hidden places. Your story is not too small for God. Your beginning does not limit your destiny. God is with you-Emmanuel.

Your life, my life, like Mary’s, may look ordinary. Your circumstances may not appear important. Your beginnings may seem insignificant. You may look at your life and wonder whether anything great can possibly come from where you are.

But God has always worked this way.

He chose Bethlehem.

He chose Mary.

He worked through Joseph.

He worked through people whose stories were complicated and imperfect.

He entered the world not with the noise and spectacle that human beings often associate with greatness, but through humility, obedience, silence, and birth.

That is the divine pattern.

The Nativity of Mary is the celebration of God’s quiet strategy.

He saves the world not through worldly power, but through humility. Not through kings, but through a girl. Not through noise, but through silence. Not through force, but through consent. Not through spectacle, but through birth.

This feast reminds us that God’s greatest works often begin quietly.

They begin in places nobody notices.

They begin in people nobody expects.

They begin in circumstances that appear ordinary.

And sometimes, they begin in lives that seem insignificant-even our own.

Just like Mary.

Just like Bethlehem.

Just like my own life.

God bless you!

Amen

Monday, September 7, 2026

LABOR DAY 2026

 


Mass Reading and Reflection for Monday September 7th, 2026: Jesus and the Man with the Wethered Hand


First Reading: (1 Corinthians 5:1–8)

Responsorial Psalm: (Psalm 5)

“Lead me in your justice, Lord.”

Alleluia: (John 10:27)

“My sheep hear my voice, says the Lord; I know them, and they follow me.”

Gospel: (Luke 6:6–11)

Reflection

Today's Gospel presents a stark contrast between two hearts.

On one side stands the man with the withered hand, aware of his weakness and open to Jesus' command. On the other stand the Pharisees, whose hands work perfectly but whose hearts have become rigid and closed. Jesus heals the physical disability of one man while exposing the spiritual disability of others.

The deeper issue is not simply the Sabbath. It is love.

The Pharisees know the law but fail to understand its purpose. They are so concerned with protecting religious regulations that they can stand in the presence of suffering without compassion. Christ reveals that every divine command ultimately serves the flourishing of life. God never gives a law to prevent mercy. Rather, mercy fulfills the law.

Notice that Jesus calls the man forward publicly: “Come up and stand before us.” The Lord often does the same with our wounds.

The withered hand can represent those parts of our lives that have lost their strength: a damaged relationship, a persistent sin, a fear, a disappointment, a deep wound, or a period of spiritual dryness. We would often prefer to keep such weaknesses hidden. Yet Christ calls them into the light, not to shame us, but to heal us.

Then comes the surprising command:

“Stretch out your hand.”

The very thing the man is unable to do properly is what Jesus asks him to do. This is often how grace works. God invites us to cooperate with Him precisely where we feel incapable.

The miracle occurs not before obedience, but through obedience.

The man stretches out his hand in faith, and Christ supplies what is lacking. His action is an act of trust: he responds to the word of Jesus even before he sees the result. And when he responds, what was withered is restored.

St. Paul's message in the first reading beautifully complements the Gospel. Christians are not called merely to avoid evil; we are called to become a “fresh batch,” transformed by Christ's sacrifice.

The old yeast of pride, resentment, hypocrisy, bitterness, selfishness, and compromise must be removed so that the life of Christ can permeate every aspect of our being.

There is a connection between the withered hand in the Gospel and the old yeast in Paul's letter. Both point to something within us that needs to be restored or removed.

Sometimes our spiritual lives become withered because we have allowed sin, resentment, fear, or disappointment to remain too long. Sometimes we become like the Pharisees, not because we have abandoned religion, but because we have allowed religion to become separated from love.

We can know the rules and still fail to know the heart of God.

We can defend the law and forget mercy.

We can appear righteous on the outside while something within us has become rigid and lifeless.

Jesus challenges us to examine our hearts.

Do I choose life or destruction?
Mercy or indifference?
Love or legalism?
Healing or condemnation?

The Christian life is not measured merely by how perfectly we preserve external appearances. It is measured by how completely we allow God's love to transform us.

Today, Jesus stands before us and says:

“Stretch out your hand.”

Bring Him the part of our life that has become withered. Bring Him the relationship that has lost its strength. Bring Him the wound we have hidden. Bring Him the sin we have struggled to overcome. Bring Him the fear that has kept us from moving forward.

Do not be afraid to stretch out what is broken before Christ.

He does not call us forward to humiliate us. He calls us forward to restore us.

And when Jesus Christ restores us, He does not restore us merely for ourselves. He sends us back into the world so that our restored lives may become instruments of mercy, compassion, and healing for others.

May we therefore listen to the voice of the Good Shepherd:

“My sheep hear my voice, says the Lord; I know them, and they follow me.”

May we hear His voice, trust His word, stretch out our hands in faith, and allow Him to remove the old yeast within us so that we may live as a new creation in Christ.

Amen.

Sunday, September 6, 2026

Mass Reading and Reflection for Sunday September 6th, 2026


First Reading:
 (
Ezekiel 33:7-9)

Responsorial Psalm: (Psalm 95)

"If today you hear his voice, harden not your hearts." 

Second Reading: (Romans 13:8-10)

Alleluia: (2 Corinthians 5:19)

Gospel: (Matthew 18:15-20)


Reflection

The common thread running through all the readings on this beautiful Sunday is responsibility for the salvation and eternal good of others as much as ourselves. Our modern Christian spirituality often focuses on “my relationship with God,” but Scripture presents a much deeper vision. We are not isolated individuals making our way to Heaven without concern for anyone else. We belong to one another. Our lives affect others, our choices affect others, and Christian love calls us to care not only for our own salvation but also for the good of those whom God places around us.

The readings of this Sunday place before us a very important question: As Christians, what is our responsibility toward the spiritual lives of those around us? Should we simply mind our own business and focus only on ourselves? Or does God expect something more from us?

In the first reading, God speaks through the prophet Ezekiel and says, “I have made you a watchman for the house of Israel.” God explains that if the watchman sees danger and fails to warn the people, he will be held accountable. But if he gives warning and the people refuse to listen, then he has fulfilled his duty.

To understand this message, we must understand who a watchman was. In ancient times, even today in some countries around the world, a watchman stood on the city walls. While everyone else slept or went about their work, the watchman remained vigilant. His eyes were fixed on the horizon. If he saw an approaching enemy,or a thief, he sounded the alarm. His responsibility was not to create the danger, nor was it to fight the enemy alone. He could not control how the people responded. His responsibility was simply to see the danger and sound the warning.

Today, God says to each one of us, in a certain sense: “I have made you a watchman.”

Not a judge.

Not an accuser.

Not a critic.

A watchman.

The difference is important. A judge condemns. A watchman warns. An accuser seeks to expose and destroy. A watchman seeks to protect and save. A watchman does not rejoice in the failure of another person. He sees danger and speaks because he cares.

Many times, we witness a friend, a family member, a colleague, or even a fellow Christian walking down a dangerous path. We see habits that are destroying them. We see choices that lead them away from God. We see attitudes that are damaging their lives and wounding their souls. Yet we remain silent.

Why?

Because silence is comfortable.

We do not want conflict. We do not want to lose friendships. We do not want to be misunderstood. We do not want people to accuse us of judging them. So we tell ourselves, “It is none of my business.”

But today’s first reading challenges that attitude. God tells Ezekiel that silence in the face of danger is not always an act of love. Sometimes the deepest failure is not hatred but indifference. The watchman who sees danger and deliberately refuses to warn the people may be valuing his own comfort over their safety.

Love sometimes comforts, but love sometimes confronts. Love is not merely saying what another person wants to hear. Genuine love seeks the good of the other person, even when doing so requires an uncomfortable conversation.

But this does not mean that we become self-appointed inspectors of everybody else’s sins. It does not mean that we walk around criticizing people, exposing their faults, or believing that we are spiritually superior to everyone else. The Gospel shows us the proper way to correct another person.

Jesus says, “If your brother sins against you, go and tell him his fault between you and him alone.”

Notice what Jesus does not say.

He does not say to announce it on social media.

He does not say to discuss it with ten other people first.

He does not say to spread the matter through gossip.

He does not say to embarrass the person publicly.

He says to go privately.

Why privately? Because the goal is not humiliation. The goal is reconciliation. The purpose of correction is not to prove that we are right, but to restore a relationship and, if possible, to help save a brother or sister from continuing down a harmful path.

Jesus says, “If he listens to you, you have gained your brother.”

You have gained your brother.

Not won an argument.

Not scored a point.

Not established your superiority.

You have gained your brother.

That is the heart of Christian correction. It is an act of charity. The purpose is not victory over another person. The purpose is reconciliation and restoration.

This is why the way we correct others is just as important as the fact that we correct them. Unfortunately, many people reject correction because of the way it is delivered. Sometimes we speak the truth without charity. We approach others as though we are perfect and they are sinners. We come as prosecutors instead of fellow pilgrims.

But none of us is without sin.

All of us need mercy.

All of us need forgiveness.

All of us need God’s grace.

If we remember this, we will approach others with humility. We will not speak from a position of superiority, but from genuine concern. We will be able to say, “My brother, my sister, I speak because I care about you.”

We will speak gently. We will speak respectfully. We will speak lovingly. We will speak as fellow sinners who are all in need of the same mercy of God.

This is where the second reading becomes the key to understanding everything we have heard today. St. Paul tells us that all the commandments are summed up in one command: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” He concludes by saying, “Love does no evil to the neighbor; therefore, love is the fulfillment of the law.”

Love is the key.

Many people wrongly oppose love and correction, as though they were enemies. They think that if you truly love someone, you must never challenge them, never confront them, and never tell them that they are making a mistake. But Scripture teaches the opposite.

Correction without love becomes harsh judgment.

Truth without charity can become cruelty.

Religion without love can become self-righteousness.

But love without concern for the good of the other can become sentimental indifference.

Authentic Christian charity holds truth and love together.

If we correct someone merely to show that we are right, that is not Christian love. If we speak the truth simply to hurt, embarrass, or condemn another person, that is not Christian love. But if we genuinely care about someone’s good, if we see them moving toward something that can destroy them, and if we speak with humility and charity because we desire their good, then correction can become an act of mercy.

One of the spiritual works of mercy is to admonish the sinner. Why? Because souls matter. Eternal life matters. We must never become indifferent to the salvation and spiritual welfare of others.

At the same time, there is another lesson hidden in today’s readings. We are not only watchmen for others. We are also watchmen for ourselves.

Many of us are excellent at identifying the faults of others while being blind to our own. We quickly see another person’s pride but fail to see our own pride. We recognize another person’s anger but excuse our own anger. We notice another person’s weakness while ignoring the weaknesses within ourselves.

The true watchman first examines his own heart.

He asks: “Where am I failing God? Where do I need conversion? Where have I hardened my heart? What danger am I ignoring in my own spiritual life?”

The Responsorial Psalm repeatedly tells us: “If today you hear his voice, harden not your hearts.”

That message is directed not only toward others. It is directed personally to each one of us.

Before correcting another person, let me first allow God to correct me.

Before examining another person’s conscience, let me examine my own.

Before calling another person to conversion, let me ask whether I myself am willing to be converted.

This is important because the deepest problem is often not a lack of information. Many times, we know what is right. The problem is that we resist the grace of God. The people of Israel witnessed the works of God in the wilderness, yet they still rebelled and hardened their hearts. They heard, they saw, and they experienced, but they did not always surrender.

The same danger exists for us. We can hear the Word of God every Sunday. We can know the commandments. We can understand what God is asking of us. Yet we can still harden our hearts because true conversion requires surrender.

Sometimes God corrects us through Scripture.

Sometimes He corrects us through our conscience.

Sometimes He corrects us through prayer.

Sometimes He corrects us through suffering.

Sometimes He even corrects us through another person.

The question is: When God speaks to us, do we listen? Or do we immediately become defensive?

Do I receive correction with humility, or with anger?

Do we mistake defensiveness for strength?

Do we assume that everyone who corrects us is attacking us?

The person who wants to grow spiritually must remain humble enough to recognize that God can speak through others. This does not mean that every criticism we receive is correct. But it does mean that we should have the humility to examine ourselves honestly and ask whether there is something God wants us to see.

The Gospel’s teaching about reconciliation also points to the deeper meaning of the Church. Jesus does not leave sin, forgiveness, and reconciliation as purely private matters. He gives a process that involves the community and the Church. This reminds us that sin does not affect only the individual. Sin wounds relationships. It wounds families. It wounds communities. Above all, it wounds the Body of Christ.

Therefore, healing is both personal and communal. We are called not simply to avoid conflict, but to redeem conflict through truth, charity, forgiveness, and reconciliation.

Perhaps the most striking line in the Gospel is the final promise of Jesus: “Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.”

Christ is present when His people gather in His name. But we should also remember the context in which Jesus speaks these words. He has been speaking about sin, correction, reconciliation, forgiveness, and the life of the community.

Christ is present when believers sincerely struggle to restore communion.

The Church becomes most Christlike not when every conflict is avoided, but when conflict is redeemed through truth and charity. Sometimes peace is not the absence of difficult conversations. Sometimes true peace comes after people have had the courage to speak honestly, listen humbly, forgive sincerely, and be reconciled.

So today’s readings call us to a mature form of Christian love.

A love that refuses to ignore evil.

A love that refuses to condemn.

A love that courageously speaks the truth.

A love that speaks that truth gently.

A love that seeks not victory, but reconciliation.

A love that wants not embarrassment, but salvation.

A love that is willing to risk discomfort for the eternal good of another person.

We should therefore ask ourselves: Is there someone I have failed to help because I am afraid of an uncomfortable conversation? Have I mistaken silence for charity? Is there a time when I should have spoken with love but remained silent simply because I wanted to protect my own comfort? On the other hand, have I ever tried to correct someone without first examining my own heart? Do I receive correction with humility, or do I immediately become defensive? Is my love merely emotional, or does it actively seek the true and eternal good of others?

The readings today teach us that genuine Christian love is not passive. It watches, warns, reconciles, forgives, and perseveres.

The watchman of Ezekiel, the commandment of love in Romans, the call to reconciliation in the Gospel, and the warning of the Psalm all converge on one great truth: we are responsible for how we respond to the grace and truth God gives us, and we are called to care deeply for the good of those around us.

We are watchmen for our families.

We are watchmen for our friends.

We are watchmen within our communities.

But before all of this, we must also become watchmen over our own souls.

May God give us the wisdom to know when to speak and when to remain silent. May He give us the courage to speak when love requires us to speak. May He give us the humility to receive correction when it is offered to us. May He protect us from judgment, pride, gossip, and self-righteousness. May He make us faithful watchmen for those entrusted to our care and faithful watchmen over our own souls.

And may every act of correction, every word of truth, every effort at reconciliation, and every warning we give be guided by genuine charity, because love remains the fulfillment of the law.

Love is willing to risk discomfort for the sake of another’s salvation. That is precisely what Christ did on the Cross, and that is what He now asks of His disciples.

Amen.


Saturday, September 5, 2026

Saturday September 5th, 2026, Mass Readings and Reflection: The Sabbah


First Reading:
(1 Corinthians 4:6b–15)

Responsorial Psalm: (Psalm 145)

Response: The Lord is near to all who call upon him.

Alleluia: John 14:6

“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 6:1–5)

“The Son of Man is lord of the sabbath.”

Reflections:

Today's readings are befitting for a Saturday, a Sabbath. In the Gospel, the Pharisees saw a violation of a rule. Jesus saw hungry people.

That is the heart of today's Gospel.

The disciples were not being rebellious. They were hungry. Yet the religious leaders became so focused on enforcing regulations that they lost sight of the human beings standing in front of them. Jesus reminds them that God's law was never meant to crush people. It was given to lead people to God, to love, and to life.

This Gospel forces us to ask an uncomfortable question: Do I care more about being right, or about doing what is loving?

In our daily lives, we can easily become like the Pharisees. Those of us in the workforce, we tend to judge a coworker without knowing the struggle they are carrying. We become frustrated with a family member who is not meeting our expectations. We focus on procedures, schedules, rules, and technicalities while overlooking someone's suffering. 

Jesus teaches us to see the person before the problem.

This does not mean that rules do not matter. Rules are important. Laws are important. Procedures are important. But when we become so attached to the letter of the rule that we lose compassion for the person in front of us, we have missed the purpose of the law.

The law must serve the good of the person. It must lead us toward love, mercy, healing, and ultimately toward God.

This is especially true in my own field of work. It is easy to become consumed by tasks, documentation, medications, protocols, schedules, admissions, discharges, and the endless demands of the day. All these things are important, and they must be done properly. But every patient is more than a diagnosis, a room number, a chart, or a workload.

Behind every task is a person.

Behind every diagnosis is a human being.

Behind every difficult patient may be fear, pain, loneliness, or a struggle we cannot see.

Christ always noticed the person first.

“The Son of Man is lord of the sabbath” means that Jesus alone has the authority to reveal the true purpose of God's law. The purpose of God's law is not to burden us but to lead us into love, mercy, healing, and salvation.

The First Reading gives us another important lesson. Saint Paul asks: “What do you possess that you have not received?”

Everything we have is ultimately a gift.

Our intelligence is a gift. Our talents are gifts. Our opportunities are gifts. Our education, strength, position, and abilities are gifts we have received. Therefore, there is no room for pride that looks down on others.

Paul reminds us not to boast as if we created ourselves.

Humility begins when we recognize that what we have received is meant not only for our own glory but also for the service of others.

Perhaps that is the connection between today's readings: a humble person sees people differently.

When we are proud, we judge.

When we are proud, we focus on being right.

When we are proud, we can become like the Pharisees, protecting our position while forgetting the person.

But when we remember that everything, we have is a gift, we become more patient, more merciful, and more understanding.

Today, let's ask ourselves:

Who are we judging too quickly?

Are we focused more on rules than compassion?

Do we recognize that everything we have is a gift from God?

Is there someone who simply needs understanding from me today?

May the Lord give us humble hearts. May we never become so concerned with being right that we forget to be loving. May we see people the way Jesus saw them, not as problems to fix, rules to enforce, or burdens to carry, but as souls to love.

Amen.

Friday, September 4, 2026

Our Great Military in the Nutshell

 


New Headlines: Never Good News

 


Mass Readings and Reflection for Friday September 4th, 2026


First Reading: (1 Corinthians 4:1–5)

Responsorial Psalm: (Psalm 37:3–4, 5–6, 27–28, 39–40)

R. The salvation of the just comes from the Lord.

Alleluia: (John 8:12)

“I am the light of the world, says the Lord; whoever follows me will have the light of life.”

Gospel: (Luke 5:33–39)

Reflection:

From the Gospel, Jesus is not asking us merely to adjust our lives. He is asking us to become new. The new wine skin. 

The Gospel is not incremental improvement.

It is resurrection.

Our old patterns cannot contain the pressure of grace.

If we try to live the Gospel while clinging to old habits, old fears, old identities, old sins, and old self-reliance, something must give.

Grace does not come merely to decorate the old self. It comes to transform it.

The bridegroom is present; joy is a sign of true discipleship.

Christianity begins with an encounter: the presence of Christ.

It is rooted in love, not fear; in communion, not mere obligation. Even fasting finds its proper meaning in relationship with the bridegroom.

Fasting has its place-but only after we have first learned to feast on Christ.

Jesus reveals the proper order: first, receive the gift of His presence; then, let love shape sacrifice.

The Gospel demands flexibility, a heart that can stretch.

Rigidity is not holiness.

Holiness is capacity, the capacity to receive more of God, to surrender more deeply, and to expand as grace transforms us.

The question is not whether Christ can fit into our existing lives.

The question is whether we are willing to let Christ make our lives new.

Amen 

Thursday, September 3, 2026

Mass Readings and Reflection for Thursday September 3rd 2026


First Reading: (1 Corinthians 3:18–23)

Responsorial Psalm: (Psalm 24)-To the Lord belongs the earth and all that fills it.

Gospel: (Luke 5:1–11)

Reflection:

In today's Gospel reading, we read about Saint Peter being called by Jesus ti be fisher of men and this reading falls on the feast day of St. Gregory, one of the successors of Saint Peter. How wonderful.

Like Saint Gregory and all those who have succeeded Peter throughout the history of the Church, the successors of Saint Peter have been called to guide the Church. In today’s Gospel, Peter is overwhelmed by the enormous catch of fish. The nets are full. The boats are filled.

But we might ask: were all those fish good fish?

Probably not.

Anyone who has seen a large fishing net knows that a great catch contains all kinds of fish. Some may be worth keeping, while others may have to be thrown away. It is the same when we buy a bushel of apples or tomatoes. When we go through them, we may find a few that are spoiled.

The Church, with its enormous number of members throughout the world, is also made up of all kinds of people.

There are saints.

And there are sinners.

We have had saints such as Saint Gregory the Great. Sadly, we have also had sinners.

Can we live with that reality?

The Church is not a community made up only of perfect people. If people could enter the Church only after becoming completely perfect, there would be no Church at all.

We are all still on the journey.

The Gospel gives us a helpful image in the parable of the wheat and the weeds. The servant wants to remove the weeds immediately, but the master tells him to wait until the harvest, when everything will be separated.

There is wisdom in waiting.

Even what appears imperfect has the opportunity to be transformed. At the harvest, everything will be made right. But for now, we are not yet in heaven.

We live in a world of broken people.

And we live in a Church made up of broken people.

From the beginning of the proclamation of the Gospel, we have been sent out to cast the net and gather people into the Kingdom of God. Those who are gathered are not perfect. Hopefully, through the grace of God, they will be purified and become what they are meant to be-good fish, good sheep, and good wheat.

That is why it is important to have a historical perspective as Christians.

The Church has not always appeared perfect in its human history. There have been crusades, inquisitions, scandals, and many other painful moments. Some of these things can be deeply upsetting.

But we must not forget that the Holy Spirit continues to work in the Church.

It is still the Church that Jesus Christ built upon his apostles.

God has never abandoned his Church.

When Jesus called Saint Peter to be his disciple, he knew what he was doing. Peter became the first Pope, and throughout the centuries the Church has continued under the guidance of Peter’s successors. Was Peter perfect? Not at all. 

For now, the Church remains a community of saints and sinners.

Therefore, let us not become discouraged because there are some bad fish in the net.

Let us not become discouraged by difficult personalities, even those we may encounter in church. They are still God’s children. They are still on the journey, just as we are.

What do we expect the Church to be?

It is not a society of perfect people.

It is a community of people, many of whombbroken, trying each day to live in a manner pleasing to God.

Therefore, we should never give up on our parishes.

We should never give up on the universal Church.

And we should never give up on ourselves.

We are not perfect either.

But by God’s grace, we can grow.

When we are baptized, we are not instantly transformed into people who will never sin again. Original sin is washed away, but we still struggle with weakness and sin. Even after we receive the Sacrament of Reconciliation and are restored to a state of grace, we must continue the journey of conversion.

We are all called to grow.

So let us not judge ourselves too harshly.

Let us not judge one another.

And let us not judge the Church that Christ himself gave us.

Instead, let us believe that God is with us.

Let us trust that the Holy Spirit continues to guide the Church.

Let us remember that we are all on a journey toward the perfection of the Kingdom of God.

The message of today’s Gospel is ultimately one of hope.

Jesus called Peter, not because Peter was perfect, but because he was willing to trust him. Peter recognized his own sinfulness and fell before Jesus, saying, “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.”

Yet Jesus did not reject him.

Instead, Jesus said:

“Do not be afraid.”

That is the message for us as well.

Do not be afraid of our weaknesses.

Do not give up because we are not yet perfect.

Do not abandon the Church because its members are imperfect.

Trust in God’s grace.

Continue to grow.

Continue to follow Christ.

Like Peter and the first disciples, we are called to leave behind whatever keeps us from following the Lord and to trust him enough to put out into the deep.

The Church is still filled with saints and sinners.

We are still broken people on a journey.

But God has not abandoned us.

The Holy Spirit is still at work.

And by the grace of God, we continue moving forward until the day when we reach the fullness of the Kingdom and become what God has called us to be.

Amen 🙏