OT:XXXIII:(C): Malachi 3:19-20a; 2 Thes 3:7-12; Lk 21:5-19

As we approach the end of the liturgical year, today’s Gospel presents us with the classic text on the “end times.” Throughout history, there have always been voices ready to stoke anxiety by interpreting these words with fear and doom. But the Christian response is not panic—it is calm trust in God’s providence.

Just listen to the reassurance embedded within the Gospel itself: “But of that day or hour, no one knows, neither the angels in heaven nor the Son, but only the Father.” If Christ Himself, in His humanity, does not reveal the day or the hour, can any preacher, sect, or doomsayer claim to know more? Jesus assures us of the certainty of His return and the gathering of His chosen, but the colorful imagery—sun darkening, stars falling—is the language of symbol and prophecy, not an apocalyptic weather forecast.

It helps to remember that when Scripture speaks of the end of the world, it often refers to the end of a particular world—the world of a generation or a people—rather than the absolute end of all things. Jesus’ words, “This generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place,” were fulfilled in the passing of the world known to His hearers: the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 A.D. Similar events throughout history—from the fall of Rome to the tragedies of our own era—have seemed like world-ending disasters, but each marks the close of one chapter and the opening of another in salvation history.

Yet none of this lessens the seriousness of Christ’s call. His words are not meant for speculation, but for conversion. We do not know when our personal end will come. For each of us, it could be this very night. That is why Jesus urges us to remain vigilant. To live each day ready to meet Him—not out of fear, but out of hope.

The “end times”—so often reduced to a date on a calendar or an era of catastrophe—are, more deeply, about a Person: our Lord Jesus Christ, the Lord of history. According to Christian belief, we have been living in the “end times” since the Incarnation, when God entered history and began the final era of salvation. This period stretches from Christ’s first coming until His return in glory. Every age experiences suffering, upheaval, and renewal, but these are not omens for calculation—they are invitations to repent, to grow in fidelity and holiness.

When disaster, hardship, or persecution arise, Christians are strengthened by Christ’s promise: “By your endurance, you will gain your lives.” Endurance—not anxiety or despair—is our call.

Too often, talk of the world’s end presents a warped image of God—as an angry judge eager to punish. But Scripture tells us otherwise: “The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love…for He knows how we are formed, He remembers we are dust” (Psalm 103:8-14). The God we await is not quick to wrath, but rich in mercy.

So, what is the true meaning of the world’s end? It is not terror before cosmic destruction, but the Christian’s confident hope in the ultimate triumph of Jesus Christ. In the end, Christ will return in glory, bodily resurrection will take place, and perfect justice and mercy will be revealed. Until then, we are called—not to obsessive worry—but to live in a state of grace, anchored by the sacraments, guided by the Word, and sustained by the virtues of faith, hope, and love.

There is no need to fear the end, for we belong to a Church that already knows how the story concludes: Christ is victorious, “as He was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.”

 

XXXII: Dedication of the Lateran Basilica: Ez:47;1-2, 8-9, 12; 1 Cor 3:9c-11,16-17; Jn 2:13-22

The 1,700th anniversary of the dedication of the Basilica of St. Johns Lateran, observed on November 9, stands as a milestone not just for Rome but for the entire Catholic Church. The Lateran Basilica, though often overshadowed by the grander and more famous St. Peter’s in the Vatican, is actually the Cathedral Church of Rome, the original seat (cathedra) of the bishop of Rome—the Pope. It bears the title “Mother and Head of all the Churches of Rome and the World,” a status rooted in its unique history and its role as the Pope’s episcopal seat.

A Sacred Heritage:

The basilica’s name reflects its origins: the property once belonged to the noble Laterani family, prominent in imperial Roman service. In the early days of Christianity, when the faith was illegal in the Roman Empire, Christians had no formal structures. This changed dramatically with Emperor Constantine, who in the fourth century first legalized Christianity and then, showing remarkable favor, donated the Lateran Palace to the Church. In 313, shortly after the Edict of Milan, Constantine gave the Lateran Palace to Pope Miltiades (and later to Sylvester I), who established it as the official cathedral of the Bishop of Rome in 324—an act commemorated by this anniversary. This was the first Christian basilica in Rome, and its dedication marked the legal, visible birth of Christ’s Church in the city that had persecuted it for centuries.

Unlike St. Peter’s, which dominates Catholic imagination as the Pope’s home church, St. John Lateran is the true cathedral of the Pope, giving it a unique spiritual and administrative primacy. The basilica’s full formal name—Papal Archbasilica of the Most Holy Savior and Saints John the Baptist and the Evangelist at the Lateran—tells of its primary dedication to Christ “the Savior.” Later, in the 10th and 12th centuries, further dedications were made to St. John the Baptist and St. John the Evangelist, serving as reminders of the Church’s biblical roots and the great saints who prepared and witnessed to Christ.

The Life of the Early Church

Reflecting on the story of the Lateran basilica means contemplating more than ancient stones. The basilica symbolizes the structure, dignity, and mission of the living Church—God’s people called together. When Emperor Constantine granted Christians freedom and the Lateran Palace, a new era dawned: no longer persecuted, the Church could build holy spaces, organize public worship, and deepen theological reflection. The great ecumenical councils, soon to include the Council of Nicaea in 325, codified Christian doctrine and unity. The Lateran itself became the home of five Lateran Councils (from the 12th to 16th centuries), each contributing profoundly to Church governance and identity.

For nearly a thousand years, the popes lived and governed from the Lateran, until fires and the Avignon papacy in the 14th century encouraged the move to the Vatican. Since that time, the Lateran has remained the “mother church,” even as St. Peter’s took on a more prominent public role. The Lateran Treaty of 1929, which established the Vatican City State, was signed here—yet another reminder of the basilica’s central place in Church and world history.

More Than a Building: A Spiritual Sign

The biblical readings assigned to the Feast of the Lateran’s Dedication illuminate its meaning. In Ezekiel’s vision, a life-giving river flows from the Temple, bringing renewal and fruitfulness wherever it goes (Ezekiel 47:1-2, 8-9, 12). St. Paul, writing to the Corinthians, teaches, “You are God’s building … Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you?” (1 Corinthians 3:9c-11, 16-17). The Gospel dramatically recounts Jesus driving the merchants from the Jerusalem Temple (John 2:13-22), a vivid sign that God’s dwelling is meant for worship, not commerce or self-interest.

These readings refocus our attention on the true temple of God—Jesus Christ, who through his death and resurrection fulfills all that the Temple promised. In Christ, the dwelling of God is no longer restricted to stone buildings but is present in every person baptized in his name. Each parish community, each believer, is a “living temple.” The Lateran Basilica is a symbol of the whole Church, the “temple of living stones” constructed from the lives, prayers, sacrifices, and service of Christ’s faithful people across history.

Liturgical and Spiritual Dimensions

The universal importance of the Lateran’s dedication is reflected in the liturgy. The anniversary of every cathedral’s dedication is a special feast for its own diocese. Since the Lateran is the cathedral of the Pope, it is celebrated as a feast day by the universal Church. When the feast falls on a Sunday, as it next will, it takes precedence even over the ordinary Sunday celebration, a rare liturgical honor.

This day is a call to spiritual renewal: it is not just about the anniversary of a building’s dedication, but about rededicating ourselves, God’s living temples, to lives of holiness, reverence, and service. The “business mentality” that Jesus challenged in the Temple warns us not to approach worship as a mere transaction, but as the essential relationship between God and his children. Every act of genuine worship, every prayer, every sacrifice grounded in faith, builds up the living Church.

This feast challenges us to reflect on our role as “living temples.” Because the Spirit dwells in us, we must strive to root out every form of impurity, division, or pride—fostering instead holiness, charity, and reconciliation.

On this feast of Saint John Lateran, let us rededicate not just this ancient basilica, but the living temples of our hearts and parish. May God’s river of grace flow through us, healing, nourishing, and transforming the Church and the world.

 

 All Souls Day: Wisdom 3:19; John 6:37-40.

Each of us, at some point in our lives, has known the pain of losing someone we love. This universal truth cuts across every culture and every time. In her wisdom, the Church brings us back to this place each November—setting aside an entire month for remembrance of our beloved faithful departed, and especially drawing our hearts together on All Souls’ Day. On this day, we’re called not simply to mourn, but to remember in hope and to pray for those who have gone before us.

Praying for the dead is a profound act that connects us across the boundaries of this world. It is a tradition rooted in both love and faith. It keeps us linked with family and friends who, in a mysterious but real sense, are even closer to us now in Christ than they were in life. More than just a feeling or ritual, praying for the dead is also one of the spiritual works of mercy. Our prayers become channels of grace, offered so that those who have died may enter fully into the light and joy of Christ.

Today, we take comfort from the words of the Book of Wisdom: “The souls of the just are in the hand of God, and no torment shall touch them.” These words touch the deepest place in our hearts. They affirm that those we cherish, though separated from us physically, are not lost but held securely in God’s loving embrace. Their lives do not end in the darkness of oblivion but continue in God—safe from any harm, beyond the reach of suffering or decay.

Our world often wants to measure life with what can be seen, touched, or counted. Death, through these eyes, looks like defeat or destruction. The Scripture tells us, “They seemed, in the view of the foolish, to be dead.” But faith always sees further. Faith reveals that what appears as an end is, in fact, the threshold of eternal life—a transformation, not an annihilation. The souls of the just are not lost; they are found, cherished, and living in God.

The reading goes on to speak of life’s trials: “God tried them and found them worthy of himself. As gold in the furnace, he proved them.” This is an enormous comfort. The struggles, pain, sorrow, or doubt endured by our loved ones were not wasted or meaningless. In the fire of life’s challenges, their souls were purified, their love for God was deepened, and their hope was molded into something everlasting. When we saw only struggle or frailty, God saw fidelity and loving offering. Now, God calls them to Himself, finishing what He began in them.

This vision is not only beautiful for the dead, but strengthening for the living. We, too, face our own tests of faith and courage. Each patient endurance, every act of love, every quiet prayer, is drawing us closer to that same peace and to the likeness of Christ. We are all in the process of being refined—like gold in the furnace—so that, in the end, we too may be found worthy of the promise God makes to us in Christ.

In the gospel Jesus tells us that God’s great desire is that no one entrusted to His Son be lost, but that all are raised up on the last day. The words of Jesus assure us, “I shall not lose anything of what he gave me.” This tells us that our loved ones are not lost in darkness. The bonds God formed in love cannot be broken by death. They remain in the watchful care of the Good Shepherd.

All Souls’ Day is not only about those who have gone before us—it is also about hope for us who remain. Christ’s promise—“I shall raise him on the last day”—belongs to us, too. The pain of separation does not have the final word. The final word belongs to the One who conquered death and invites us to trust in His promise of eternal life for all who believe.

What we do today—praying for the faithful departed—is truly an act of love and faith. Love, because love always seeks the very best for those it treasures; faith, because faith confidently entrusts everything and everyone to the Lord’s infinite mercy. The Holy Mass, above all, is the greatest prayer for the dead. There is a story of an Irish saint, St. Malachy, who had lost contact with his sister before she died. After her death, he heard a mysterious voice say she was still hungry, not having “eaten for thirty days.” He realized it had been thirty days since he had offered Mass for her. He began again, and in a vision saw her at the church door, first in darkness, then each time in lighter garments, until finally she was radiant in white, surrounded by blessed spirits. This vision of St. Malachy beautifully shows the power of prayer—especially the Mass—for our loved ones who have died. St. Monica told her son Augustine, “When I die, bury me anywhere you like, but remember to pray for me at the altar.”

Therefore, today, as we remember our parents, grandparents, siblings, children, friends, and all the faithful departed, let us return to the words of Jesus: “Everyone who sees the Son and believes in him may have eternal life.” This is the bedrock of our Christian hope. Even in our grief, we give thanks for the promise that Christ will raise us up and reunite us in His eternal peace, one unbroken embrace of the living and the dead in the heart of God. Let this knowledge comfort us and give us strength until the promised day when we, too, will be gathered into His unending light.

 

 

 OT XXX [C]: Sir 35:12-14, 16-18; 2 Tm 4:6-8, 16-18; Lk 18:9-14

 

Prayer is something very personal to each one of us. How we pray can reveal a lot about ourselves and, in particular, about our relationship with God. This is especially the case with informal prayer. Our informal prayer in our own words tends to remain private.

In today’s gospel reading, Jesus speaks a parable about two people who went up to the Temple to pray. They gave expression to what was in their heart before God. They lifted up their hearts to God in the presence of other worshippers. The two men who went up to the Temple to pray came from opposite ends of the religious spectrum. For the majority of Jesus’ Jewish hearers, the Pharisees would have been respected teachers. They not only taught others how to live according to God’s Law, but they tried to live by God’s Law themselves. They took their faith very seriously and were regarded by the people. For a first-century Jew, a tax collector, in contrast, was an agent of Rome. Tax collectors purchased the right from the Roman authorities to collect taxes in a certain region. Whatever they collected over and above their contract was considered a profit for them. It was presumed they were corrupt and dishonest, likely to overcharge people. A tax collector would have been seen as a sinner who likely had shown no mercy to others.

The prayer of the Pharisee begins well. He thanks God that he has lived according to God’s Law, thereby showing his dependence on God for all his good acts. This particular Pharisee has gone beyond what the Jewish Law required. The Law did not insist that everything be tithed, but this Pharisee pays a tithe on all his possessions. There is also no requirement in the Jewish Law to fast as often as twice a week, which this Pharisee does. He would have been seen as expressing outstanding fidelity to God’s Law. However, his prayer had one fatal flaw. In his prayer, he sat in judgment upon the great mass of humanity, conveniently represented by the tax collector alongside him. He expressed a mentality that those who take their faith seriously can sometimes fall into. It is the mentality which compares our own actions favourably to those whose lives seem to us far less religious or virtuous. The Pharisee had forgotten that obedience to God’s Law cannot be separated from loving one’s neighbour as oneself. Religious observance without compassion for others is not acceptable to God.

The tax collector stands far off from others, perhaps indicating his sense of isolation from the community. He does not even raise his eyes towards heaven, suggesting that he feels unworthy to be talking to God. In beating his breast, he acknowledges his sin. The tax collector’s prayer is much more succinct than the prayer of the Pharisee. He recognizes that he is a sinner who is in need of God’s mercy. He has come to the Temple believing that he can find forgiveness from God for his sin, and his humble prayer for mercy is without any judgment of others. Unlike the Pharisee, the tax collector is aware that he has nothing to offer God, but everything to receive from God. He doesn’t say I do this and this. He knows that he can sink no further and that if anyone is to rescue him, it can only be God. Whereas the Pharisee looked around, comparing himself favourably to others, the tax collector looked within, comparing himself unfavourably to God. He recognizes his own inner truth, such as it is, and he hopes, indeed, he trusts, that God can take care of it.

Whose prayer found favour with God, the prayer of the religious professional or the prayer of the religious outsider? Jesus’ own answer to that question would have probably shocked his listeners. It was the tax collector who ‘went home being at right with God’, whereas the Pharisee did not. Of the two people who went up to the Temple to pray, only one of them was empty enough to receive from the fullness of God’s hospitable love. The parable encourages us to place our trust in God more than in ourselves. It assures us that if we come before God, empty-handed, recognizing our poverty, God’s loving mercy towards us will know no bounds.

God cannot be bribed (see Deuteronomy 10:17). We cannot curry favor with Him or impress Him—even with our good deeds or our faithful observance of religious duties such as tithing and fasting. If we try to exalt ourselves before the Lord, as the Pharisee does, we will be brought low (see Luke 1:52).

This should be a warning to us—not to take pride in our piety, not to slip into the self-righteousness of thinking that we’re better than others, that we’re “not like the rest of sinful humanity.”

The prayer of the lowly, the humble, pierces the clouds. 

Let’s pray today for the grace not to compare ourselves a lot with others, before God or before others but rather be grateful for what we’ve received. 

 OT XXIX [C] Ex 17:8-13, II Tm 3:14–4:2, Lk 18:1-8

We live in an age obsessed with speed and immediacy. From cooking meals in minutes to sending messages across the globe instantly, fast is the norm. This has brought many blessings—connections and conveniences once unimaginable. But some things cannot be rushed.

An oak tree does not grow faster today than it did hundreds of years ago. True friendships still require patience and time. Deep human relationships cannot be formed at the push of a button or the swipe of a screen. They require perseverance through joy and setbacks, faithfulness when things are hard, and the willingness to work through difficulties, sometimes with the help of others.

In the first reading, the Israelites on the battlefield are sustained by Moses’ prayerful posture, his hands lifted in a gesture that becomes the iconic “orans” position of prayer. Their victory is not the fruit of strategy, but of fidelity to God through intercession. Note the gesture of Moses - raised hands, the Orans or prayer posture which the priest observed during Mass when he prays on behalf of his people. But those outstretched hands also remind us of our Lord Jesus Christ when He was pinned to the cross. His death would be the final victory God would use to defeat sin and Satan. He raises his hands in surrender to God’s Providence and not as an act of surrender to his enemies. Ultimately, the battle was won not through military strategy but through fidelity and prayer. Our battles, too, are first won in prayer, not by strength or planning alone.

 

In the Gospel, Jesus frames his teaching through a parable about an unjust judge confronted by a persistent widow. But it is not the intention of our Lord to compare the unjust judge to God as an equivalent. Rather, the example is meant to show the vast contrast between a self-serving figure and the All-Merciful, Ever-Compassionate and Just God. If such an unscrupulous man could dispense justice to his petitioners when pressed to do so, should we even doubt that we will have a quick answer from the God who always has our back?
Our Lord then turns the table on us. It is not God who is on trial but us. Prayer is no longer a test of God’s efficacy but rather of our fidelity. Our Lord promises us this: “I promise you, (God) will see justice done to them, and done speedily.” We should never doubt this. Our fidelity will be tested by our perseverance in prayer even when it is difficult to do so.

Pope Francis has said that prayer is the very breath of faith. Without prayer, faith cannot live or grow. Yet prayer does not always come easily to us. One reason is that sometimes our prayers seem unanswered, and we lose heart. Jesus knew this well. That is why he tells today’s parable: to encourage us to persevere in prayer, even when it feels like God is silent.

Prayer is, above all, about relationship—a humble seeking of Christ’s mind and will. Sometimes this pursuit leaves us without words, like the young boy who, unable to recall his prayers, simply recited the alphabet in faith that God would piece together his needs. This story reminds us that seeking God is more about sincerity than eloquence. We bring our imperfect words, asking the Holy Spirit to complete and perfect our offerings. Jesus assures us: If we seek in this humble way, we shall find.

Prayer is not the only weapon we can avail of in spiritual warfare. We have the Word of God. St Paul in his second letter to Timothy which we heard in the second reading tells us that “all scripture is inspired by God and can profitably be used for teaching, for refuting error, for guiding people’s lives and teaching them to be holy.”

Jesus himself modeled this ceaseless prayer. The Gospels record him praying at every opportunity: by day, at dawn, in the evening, and through the night. Prayer was the thread uniting all the episodes of his earthly mission. But Christ also shows us another vital lesson: The discipline of fixed, intentional moments of prayer. Just as he, like all Jewish people of his time, paused daily to pray at dawn, midday, and dusk, so too should we dedicate specific times for God. Jesus joined his community in the synagogue, sanctifying the Sabbath with prayer. In imitation, the Church, from its beginnings, set Sunday as a privileged day for worship, a time to commune with God and each other.

The widow’s justice was rooted in truth. Our prayers too must be grounded in faith and truth. We do not bring empty pleas but the earnest desire for what God wills: love, mercy, justice, and peace. At times, we may feel as weak and powerless as the widow. But just as her persistence made her powerful, our persistent prayer draws us closer to God’s power—the power that transforms hearts, heals wounds, and changes circumstances beyond what we can imagine.

The challenge Jesus sets before us today is simple yet profound: Will we pray always? Will we keep faith, even when the answers seem delayed? In that perseverance, we share in the ongoing work of God’s justice, mercy, and love in our world. May the Lord inspire us to pray always and not lose heart, trusting that God hears every prayer and will bring justice in God’s perfect time.

 

 XXVIII-C: Luke 17:11–19; 2 Kings 5:14–17

Today’s readings bring us two powerful healing stories: one from the Old Testament — Naaman the Syrian, a foreign military commander — and one from the Gospel — ten lepers, including a Samaritan. In both stories, God works a miracle. In both, someone who was seen as an outsider not only receives healing but returns with faith and gratitude. And in both cases, we’re reminded that the greatest miracle is not just physical healing… It’s the transformation of the heart.

In Naaman’s story, he nearly missed healing because he thought the prophet’s instructions unworthy of him. But Naaman’s servants persuade him: if the prophet had asked something difficult, he would have done it—so why not this simple thing? We sometimes resist God’s blessings because they do not match our expectations.

Only when Naaman lays aside pride and receives the prophet’s instruction with humility does healing occur. Healing, here, is tied to obedience and trust, even when the means seem simple or lowly. Afterwards, Naaman’s gratitude is not superficial—he changes allegiance. He declares that there is no God in all the earth except in Israel. Gratitude draws him into covenantal faith.

The Samaritan’s gratitude springs from a profound awareness that he had not earned God’s mercy; as an outcast, he asked and received it freely. His response was to give thanks and praise, recognizing the gift of healing and the generosity of God. Moreover, because Samaritans were not accepted in the Jerusalem Temple or by Jewish priests, the Samaritan leper bypassed religious formalities and came directly to Jesus to express his gratitude—a further sign of his faith and devotion.

Gratitude Requires Recognition: We cannot thank God for what we fail to notice. The nine lepers presumably returned to their families, delighted, yet they did not recognize—or chose not to dwell on the deeper meaning behind their cure. The Samaritan saw beyond the surface. In our own lives, God’s mercies are abundant but often unnoticed: a spared accident, an encouraging word, an opportunity we did not expect. Without awareness, gratitude cannot grow.

Like those two, We All Need Healing. We may not suffer from leprosy like the ten men in the Gospel, or like Naaman. But all of us carry wounds — some are physical, others emotional, spiritual, relational.

• Maybe it’s the wound of anxiety or depression.
• Maybe it's a broken relationship with a family member.
• Maybe it’s grief, or a fear about the future.
• Or maybe it’s a deep feeling of unworthiness — like we’re too far gone for God to care.

Just like the lepers who “stood at a distance,” sometimes we feel like we’re on the outside, too — far from God, far from others, ashamed or forgotten.

But what does the Gospel show us? That Jesus sees. Jesus hears. Jesus responds.

“Jesus, Master! Have pity on us!”
And Jesus does. He doesn’t heal them with a dramatic gesture — he gives them a simple instruction:
“Go show yourselves to the priests.”
And as they were going, they were cleansed.

Sometimes God doesn’t work instant miracles. He asks us to take a step in faith, and healing happens along the way — through prayer, support, obedience, sacraments, or time.

Is there a step God is asking us to take right now — a step of faith, even before things are fixed or feelings change?

The Power of Gratitude: The most striking moment in the Gospel is not the healing — it's the response.
Ten were healed. Only one came back. A foreigner. A Samaritan.

Jesus asks:

“Where are the other nine?”

It’s a question that echoes into our world today. We can be like the nine: we experience good things, but we quickly move on. We forget to return to the source — to God.

Think about this:

• How many of us remember to thank God after we get through a hard time?
• How often do we thank Him in the small, ordinary moments — waking up, a friend’s kindness, a child’s smile, a meal on the table?
• Do we come to Mass out of obligation… or as an act of thanksgiving?

The word Eucharist literally means “thanksgiving.” Every Mass is our opportunity to return to Jesus — like the Samaritan — and fall at his feet in gratitude.

The one leper who returned was not only healed — he was saved. Jesus says: “Your faith has saved you.”

He received more than the others because he came back with a heart full of worship.

So how do we live like that leper? 

Here are three simple practices for daily life:

1. Practice Daily Gratitude

One of the practical Ways to grow in Gratitude is to do a Daily Examen of conscience. Each evening, take one minute to thank God for three things. They can be big or small. This rewires the heart to look for grace. This trains the eyes of our hearts to see God’s action.

 

2. Return Often to the Eucharist

Make Sunday Mass not just a habit, but a conscious homecoming to Jesus. And when possible, come during the week — even for a brief visit in Adoration.

3. Share Your Gratitude with Others

When you notice God working in your life, tell someone. Gratitude is contagious. Your story may lead someone else to recognize God in their own life.

Finally, let’s not be part of the nine who went on with their lives and forgot who healed them. Let’s be like Naaman, like the Samaritan — those who came back, who gave thanks, who turned a miracle into a moment of faith.

Because ultimately, it's not just about being healed. It's about being saved, being whole, and living a life centered on Jesus Christ.

So… what blessings have you forgotten to thank God for?

Today, this week — return to Him. Say thank you. And hear Him say to you:

“Stand up and go. Your faith has saved you.”

 Respect Life Sunday

Today we gather on Respect Life Sunday to reflect upon one of the most urgent and foundational themes of our Catholic faith: the profound and unshakable dignity of human life. Every human person, created in the image and likeness of God, bears a dignity that is inherent, inviolable, and sacred. This dignity does not depend on what someone can accomplish, how attractive they are, how much wealth they possess, their age, their health, or their usefulness to society. It flows simply from the reality that they are beloved children of God, wonderfully made, and loved into existence by the Creator Himself.

The Foundations of Life’s Dignity

The very first pages of the Bible proclaim this truth: “God created man in his image; in the divine image he created him; male and female he created them” (Genesis 1:27). These words form the bedrock of all Catholic teaching on life. To be human is to bear the mark of God’s own image. From conception until natural death, therefore, human life is a sacred gift, entrusted to us to protect, to cherish, and to nurture.

Yet, we live in an age when this truth is often forgotten or even rejected. Human life can be treated as something disposable. The unborn child is threatened by abortion, the elderly or seriously ill are pressured toward assisted suicide, the stranger or immigrant can be dismissed through prejudice, and too many communities are scarred by violence, neglect, or war. In many corners of our world, human life is reduced to a commodity—something to be manipulated for convenience, profit, or social utility.

Pope St. John Paul II, in his encyclical Evangelium Vitae, (Gospel of Life) described it as an ongoing struggle between a “culture of life” and a “culture of death.” The culture of death sees life as expendable and embraces violence as a solution. It isolates and discards rather than welcomes. But the culture of life, the way of the Gospel, looks at each person as a gift.

Respecting Life at Every Stage

To be pro-life is not just about opposing abortion, though that remains central and urgent. It is about weaving the Gospel of life into every stage and every circumstance of human existence. It means accompanying the mother who feels overwhelmed, supporting families who struggle, and creating a society where children can thrive free of fear. It means refusing to abandon the elderly, the sick, or those living with disabilities, and instead, offering them love, companionship, and dignity.

Respect for life also challenges us to work for peace in a world fractured by war and hatred, to reject racism and prejudice in all their forms, and to reach out to those who seem most difficult to love—even the enemy, the incarcerated, or the one who has wronged us. To be a people of life requires courage to look beyond appearances and differences, to see in each soul the face of Christ.

Mother Teresa, who spent her life tending the poorest of the poor, is a prophet of the Gospel of life. She once said, “If you want to change the world, go home and love your family.” Respect for life begins right where we are—not first in arguments or public debates, but in the daily love we extend in our homes and relationships. It is in small acts of kindness, in patient care for the vulnerable, in standing beside the voiceless, that we make the Gospel of life visible.

And, as contemporary voices like Charlie Kirk remind us, “Every life has value, and every voice deserves to be heard.” These words echo the core Christian conviction: no one is expendable, no one is beyond the Redeemer’s love. Life is not a problem to be solved, but a mystery to be embraced and cherished.

A Story of Love: A nurse once cared for a premature infant abandoned at birth. The baby weighed less than two pounds and her survival seemed impossible. Yet the nurse wrapped her gently, held her close, sang to her, prayed for her, and refused to leave her side. Hours passed into days, and against all odds, the child survived.

Years later, that little girl grew into a strong young woman. She studied, worked hard, and became a nurse herself. Her life and vocation were born from an act of love that refused to measure worth, that did not calculate whether care was “useful,” but that simply recognized and celebrated the dignity of life.

This story is a parable for us all. To respect life is to choose love over indifference, tenderness over calculation, compassion over convenience. It is to trust that when we love as Christ loves, God multiplies that love into miracles beyond imagining.

As we gather at this altar, we remember the source of that love: Jesus Christ Himself, who gave His Body and Blood so that we might have life—life abundant and eternal. The Eucharist is the food of life. To receive it is to receive not only Christ but also the commission to carry His life-giving love into the world.

To be a people of life is not easy. It requires courage to defend the unborn in the face of opposition. It takes perseverance to love the elderly when society pushes them aside. It demands sacrifice to embrace the inconvenient, the stranger, and the enemy. But this is the way of the cross, and it is also the way of joy, for it leads to resurrection and lasting hope.

On this Respect Life Sunday, let us recommit ourselves to building the culture of life. Let our families become schools of love. Let our parishes be sanctuaries of compassion where no one is forgotten. Let our voices be clear and courageous in proclaiming that every life, without exception, is a precious gift from God.

Strengthened by the Eucharist, may we go forth into the world as ambassadors of life, bearers of hope, and witnesses of the God who created us not for death, but for life everlasting.

Amen.

 OT XXVI [C]: Am 6:1a, 4-7; 1Tm 6:11-16; Lk 16:19-31

The parable that Jesus speaks in today’s gospel reading is a very uncompromising parable, and a somewhat unsettling one for that reason. He told this story to challenge the great gulf that existed in his day between the extremely wealthy and the destitute. This was one of the gulfs that Jesus was passionate about eliminating. The story focuses on two individuals who are physically close but, in reality, inhabit different worlds which never meet, between which stands a great gulf. The parable doesn’t say that Lazarus was a good man because he was poor or that the rich man was a bad man because he was rich. Nothing is said about the moral status of either. However, the parable clearly criticizes the rich man for doing nothing when he could have done something that would have made a huge difference to the situation of the miserable man at his gate. The poor man had a modest longing - to eat the scraps that fell from the rich man’s table. The rich man could have satisfied that modest longing without any loss to himself. A little was being asked for, but nothing was done. If the rich man had done the little that the poor man longed for him to do, the great gulf between them would have narrowed ever so slightly. Instead, he allowed the gulf to stand, and in the next life that gulf between them remained - only now it was the rich man whose modest longing for a drop of cold water could not be satisfied.

We can sometimes feel helpless before the enormity of the gulfs that exist between individuals, communities and nations. We feel there is nothing we can possibly do to bridge those gulfs. Yet, the parable in today’s gospel suggests that there is always something we can do to bridge gulfs between people, even if what we do is on a very small scale. If the rich man had satisfied the modest longing of Lazarus, it would not have fundamentally changed the great inequalities between the very rich and the very poor in the society of Jesus. However, it would have been a step in the right direction. One human being’s life would have changed for the better. Certainly, in Jesus’ eyes, that would have been no small thing. There is always something each of us can do to bring the kingdom of God nearer for someone, a gulf we can cross to engage with someone in a way that enhances that person’s well-being. The parable strongly suggests that the individual is all-important. The small acts of kindness for any one person are of great value in God’s eyes. On one occasion, Jesus said to his disciples, ‘whoever gives you a cup of water to drink because you bear the name of Christ will by no means lose the reward’. A cup of water is nothing, at one level, and, yet, Jesus seems to be saying that the giving of it has eternal significance. The small act of kindness done for one person can bring heaven nearer for that person and for us. The parable suggests that the doing of a little, when it is within our power to do it, is infinitely better than doing nothing.

The story is about the rich man’s failure to notice. He must have seen Lazarus almost every day at his gate, but he saw him without noticing him. The gospel suggests that the rich man failed to notice not because he was too busy or in too much of a hurry, but because he was too self-absorbed; he was the servant of his wealth; he was so immersed in his own lifestyle that he had lost the ability to notice the likes of Lazarus at his gate. The gospel reading also suggests that his lifestyle so absorbed him that he had ceased to notice God or God’s call. If he had been attentive to God, he would have recognized that God was calling out to him through the wretched man who sat at his gate. The rich man had five brothers who were somewhat like himself. They, too, were self-absorbed, immersed in their own comfortable world; they too failed to notice what God was saying to them through Moses and the prophets; they too were not hearing God’s call to them through the sufferings of fellow human beings. 

When someone who appears to be in much greater need than I am crosses my path, I may be the really needy one, and that person may be my path to salvation. It is in noticing that person and responding that I become the person the Lord is calling me to be.

 The main theme of this Sunday’s readings is the warning that the selfish and extravagant use of God’s blessings, like wealth, with no share going to the poor and the needy, is a serious sin deserving eternal punishment. According to Pope Benedict XVI, today’s parable reminds us that while we are in this world, we should listen to the Lord who speaks through the Sacred Scriptures and live according to his will, for after death it will be too late to repent. Wealth without active mercy for the poor is great wickedness. We are all rich enough to share our blessings with others. God has blessed each one of us with wealth, health, special talents, social power, political influence or a combination of many blessings. May the good Lord inspire us to share with others what we have been given, in various ways, instead of using everything exclusively for selfish gains.

 OT XXV [C]: Am 8:4-7; I Tm 2:1-8; Lk 16:1-13 

Different people will react to a crisis situation in different ways. Some people tend to go to pieces in a crisis. They feel overwhelmed by the crisis and sink down under it. Then there are others who are at their best in a crisis. They stay calm in the midst of the crisis and get clarity as to the best course of action to take. They keep a cool head and find a way through the crisis for themselves and others.

The parable that we have just heard is probably one of the strangest parables that Jesus spoke. The main character in the story, a rich man’s steward, seems to be a bit of a rascal, but he has some good instincts. When he went about the business of reducing what the tenants owed his master, it was because he wanted to be welcomed into people’s homes when he was dismissed from his job. In his own perverse way, he was trying to make friends. When the chips were down and he was about to lose his good salary, he realized that what mattered most in life was not money but human relationships. Yes, he was trying to buy friends, but he had enough insight into himself to realize that he would need all the friends he could get.

 

       The tenants must have been delighted when their debts were reduced, but, in a way, they were now in debt to the steward and they would have to give him some hospitality after he was fired, at least until he found his feet again. There isn’t a great deal to admire about this steward. Yet, his rich employer had a grudging admiration for his steward’s energy, his ingenuity, his resourcefulness, his decisiveness. ‘The master praised the dishonest steward for his astuteness’, according to the last line of the parable.

 

       Jesus is saying that we need something of the steward’s astuteness, his decisiveness, his ingenuity, in our efforts to allow the light of Christ to shine through our lives. It took a serious crisis to bring home to the steward that people were more important than material possessions. I think we all know that other people are more important than possessions. It doesn’t take a crisis to bring that home to us. If we were asked what is most important to us in life, we would surely name people before material possessions, the people we love and who love us. Perhaps the steward didn’t have such loving relationships in his life and it took this crisis to bring this truth home to him.

 

We can all get our priorities wrong from time to time. We can give too much importance to what doesn’t really matter and not enough importance to what does matter. Sometimes it takes a crisis in our lives to help us to see everything more clearly. A health crisis can often bring home to us what really matters in life, how people are so much more important than work or possessions. Saint Ignatius of Loyola was the founder of the Jesuits. It was while he was recovering from a serious leg wound that he came to realize that, in the words of the gospel reading, he had been serving Mammon rather than God. While recovering, he allowed God to find him, to touch him deeply. He began to see everything with new eyes, with God’s eyes, and he went on to give his life to the service of the Lord.

 

In this parable Jesus implies that the qualities that the steward displayed in a crisis will also be very necessary in the service of God’s kingdom – in particular, his sense of urgency, his decisiveness, his cleverness, his imagination. If God’s kingdom is to come, the followers of Jesus will need all of these qualities. We cannot wait for God to do everything; decisive action from us is needed if God’s will is to be done among us, if the future God intends for our world is to come about.

 

 As disciples of Jesus, we are both children of this world and children of light. We live in the midst of the secular world and we can learn from how the secular world operates. Yet we are called to live in the secular world as those who have been enlightened by the gospel of Christ. We are called to allow the light of the gospel to shape the way that we live in the world. We are to bring the values of God’s kingdom to bear on that world where we live and work. We seek to promote God’s vision for our world.

 

In the end, the lesson of the Shrewd Manager is not about dishonesty but about urgency and foresight. Just as he acted decisively when he knew his time was short, so must we. Our life is brief, and our opportunity to use what we have for God’s Kingdom is fleeting. 

In 1997, Princess Diana of Wales—one of the most photographed, admired, and influential women of her time—died suddenly in a car accident at just 36 years old. She had wealth, fame, and the admiration of millions across the globe. Only hours before, she had been enjoying dinner and laughter, unaware that her life would be cut short that very night. The shocking news reminded the world that no amount of privilege or power can shield us from mortality. Her funeral drew millions into grief but also served as a stark reminder that life is fragile and fleeting.

Her story echoes the words of the Psalmist: “Man is like a breath; his days are like a passing shadow” (Psalm 144:4). No matter how high we rise or how much we possess, life remains temporary. Death does not ask whether we are rich or poor, young or old, powerful or powerless—it comes to all. What matters, therefore, is not the length of our days nor the abundance of our possessions, but how faithfully we live, love, and prepare for the eternal life to come.

May we, then, be as shrewd as this steward was—though not in dishonesty but in holy wisdom—using every resource entrusted to us for God’s glory, so that when our days are done, we may be welcomed joyfully into eternal dwellings by the One who said: “Well done, good and faithful servant. Come enter into my joy”

 

 

 OT XXIV [C] (The Exaltation of the Holy Cross) (Nm 21:4b-9; Phil 2: 6-11; Jn 3: 13-17)

The Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross is one of twelve “Master feasts” celebrated in the Church to honor Jesus Christ, our Lord and Master. This feast is celebrated to memorialize the first installation of the remnants of the true cross of Jesus in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher on Mount Calvary.

Early in the fourth century, Saint Helena, mother of the Roman Emperor Constantine, went to Jerusalem in search of the holy places of Christ’s life. In AD 326, she razed the second-century Temple of Aphrodite, which tradition held was built over the Savior’s tomb. During the excavation, workers found three crosses. Legend has it that the one on which Jesus died was identified when its touch healed a dying woman.

The Emperor built the Church of the Holy Sepulcher on Calvary, it was consecrated on September 14, AD 335, and the remains of the cross were installed in it by Archbishop Maccharios of Jerusalem. After three centuries, the Persians invaded Jerusalem, plundered it of all valuables and took with them the relic of the Holy Cross. In AD 630, Emperor Heraclius II defeated the Persians, recaptured the casket containing the holy relic, and reinstalled it in the rebuilt Church, which was destroyed by Muslims in 1009. The crusaders rebuilt it as the present Church of the Holy Sepulcher in 1149. The largest fragment of the holy cross is now kept in Santa Croce Church in Rome. We have a small piece of it as relic her, as our church is named Holy Cross Church and we will have a veneration right after the Mass.

 

Today’s feast of the exaltation or triumph of the Holy Cross is not like Good Friday. The words ‘triumph’ and ‘cross’ don’t normally belong together. ‘Triumph’ suggests celebration, achievement, recognition. ‘Cross’ indicates suffering, humiliation, defeat. How could anyone who ended up crucified ever be said to have triumphed. It is hard to think of a greater paradox than the phrase ‘the triumph of the cross’. Far from being a triumph, death by crucifixion was considered to be the most degrading and terrifying form of execution. It was a way for the Roman authorities to show its triumph over all those who dared to threaten Roman order and peace.

Yet, as Christians, we have no difficulty in looking upon the cross of Jesus as a triumph. Rome did not have the last word when it came to Jesus, because God raised Jesus from the dead and he made him the cornerstone of a new community, which went on to include a future Roman Emperor, Constantine. It was firstly the triumph of love over hatred, the triumph of God’s love over human sin. All authentic love is life-giving and God’s love is supremely life-giving. In the light of the resurrection, the crucifixion of Jesus was understood as the triumph of God’s goodness over the powers of evil, the triumph of light over the power of darkness, the triumph of love over hatred and sin.

The cross was invented by the Persians and then adopted by the Romans as one of the cruelest and most frightening instruments of torture and execution to instill fear among subjects. Constantine used it as a talisman of power in the civil war with his brother. Some people treat the cross as a trinket. For them the cross is merely a piece of jewelry. Other people treat the cross in a superstitious manner. They give a cross powers that belong to God. These people have seen too many cheap horror movies and act as though a cross can defeat evil spirits. It is not the object that conquers evil, it is the power of Christ whose presence the object reminds us that conquers evil.

The deeper meaning of the Cross is presented in today's second reading from the Letter of Paul to the Philippians. Jesus emptied himself completely, not just becoming a human being but accepting the worst public death of the society he was in to demonstrate the extent of the love of God for us. He died making a willing statement of love, filling the world with the love he had for his Father and his Father has for him. As today’s gospel reminds us, “for God sent his Son into the world not to condemn the world, but so that through him the world might be saved”. The Cross possesses the power to forgive sins, the power to heal consciences and human hearts.

When we celebrate this feast, particularly of our parish feast, let’s meditate on the significance of the Cross in our life.  

1) We should honor and venerate the cross and carry it on our person to remind ourselves of the love God has for us and the price Jesus paid for our salvation.

2) The cross will give us strength in our sufferings and remind us of our hope of eternal glory with the risen Lord. With St. Paul, we express our belief that the “message of the cross is foolishness only to those who are perishing” (1Cor 1:18-24), and that we should “glory in the cross of Our Lord” (Gal 6:14).

3) We should bless ourselves with the sign of the cross to remind ourselves that we belong to Christ Jesus, to honor the Most Holy Trinity, and to ask the Triune God to bless us, save us and protect us from all danger and evil.

4) The crucifix should remind us that we are forgiven sinners and, hence, we are expected to forgive those who offend us and to ask for forgiveness whenever we offend others or hurt their feelings.

Today we are invited to look upon the cross as the 'explosion of God’s life-giving love for us all' and then to allow ourselves to be drawn into that love so that we can reflect it to others through our lives.

 

 OT XXIII: Wis 9:13-18b; Phlm 9-10, 12-17; Lk 14:25–33  

Many of us may have had the experience of starting into something and not being able to see it through. This can happen for many reasons. If a project turns out to be more expensive than was planned for, and people don’t really have the money to finish it. Or if a task we began took much longer than we had expected, and found it hard to sustain the interest to keep at it to the end. Or we can begin a project with enthusiasm, but our health takes a turn for the worse and, as a result, we just do not have the energy to complete it.

The two parables that Jesus speaks in today’s gospel reading have to do with people starting a project and not being able to finish it. In the case of both the builder and the king in those parables, the basic problem was a failure to think through what they were entering into. The builder did not calculate his costs correctly, and the king underestimated the strength of his enemy. Jesus speaks those two parables in the context of highlighting the demanding nature of being his disciple. At this point in Luke’s gospel, Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem, where crucifixion and death await him, so he does not mince his words about what following him really means. Hence, the two parables call on people to think it through carefully before committing themselves to becoming his disciples. Jesus is saying that this is not a decision you can make casually; you need to be aware of what you are letting yourself in for.

 

 Indeed, it could be said that many of us never really had to think through becoming a follower of the Lord; we were born into it, as it were. We were certainly baptized into it at an early age; it came natural to us, to some extent. It was a gift that came our way from our parents and we have been grateful for that gift ever since.

 

Being a Christian, being a Catholic, always requires a certain amount of thinking things through and figuring out what is to be done. For example, various options will come our way in life; some of them will be compatible with the Lord’s way, others may not be. We will often find ourselves asking, ‘Can I do this and be faithful to the gospel?’ At other times, some demand may be made of us and our natural instinct might be to shirk it. Rather than going with our natural instinct, thinking it through may bring home to us that the Lord’s call is present in this demand.

This is the situation that we find unfolding in the second reading. Paul writes a short letter to Philemon from his prison cell. Philemon was a reasonably wealthy person whom Paul had baptised. He had a house large enough to provide a space for the local church to gather, and, so was a leader of his church. As a person of wealth, he had slaves. One of them, Onesimus, ran away and made his way to Paul. While he was in prison Paul brought him to faith in the Lord. Paul refers to himself as Onesimus’ spiritual father. Paul sends Onesimus back to Philemon with this letter. Slaves had no rights and Philemon could have had Onesimus put to death for running away. However, Paul called on Philemon to receive Onesimus back, not as a slave, but as a brother in the Lord. Having both been baptized into Christ by Paul, they were now spiritual brothers with one heavenly Father. Paul was asking Philemon to do something very difficult. To receive his runaway slave back as a brother, as an equal, meant that Philemon would be going against what his social peers would have expected of him, and probably members of his blood family as well. Yet, Paul was saying to him, ‘If you are to be faithful to your baptismal calling, you have to do what I am asking, even if it is going to cost you a lot, in terms of your standing in society and in your family’.

 

Philemon’s dilemma can be that of any one of us. We find ourselves having to work out for ourselves, ‘What is the right thing for me to do in this situation?’ Our decision will depend on how much we have given ourselves over to Christ.

Jesus says ‘If anyone comes to me without hating his father, mother, wife, children, brothers, sisters, yes and his own life too, he cannot be my disciple’. In the language that Jesus spoke if you wanted to say that you preferred one thing to another, you said you loved the one and hated the other. Jesus is really saying that we are to prefer him to everyone else, to love him with a greater love than we love even our own family members. Soren Kierkegaard said that there are a lot of parade-ground Christians who wear the uniforms of Christianity, but few who are willing to do battle for Christ and his kingdom. When it comes to doing battle for the Lord, too many church members are just sitting on the sidelines instead of “standing on the promises of God.” Jesus does not want a large number of “half-way” disciples who are willing to do a “little bit” of prayer, a “little bit” of commitment, a “little bit” of dedication, a “little bit” of love. Jesus wants disciples who are truly committed to prayer, to discipleship and to being ruled by him as their king. 

 

Jesus’ challenge of true Christian discipleship can be accepted only if we practice the spirit of detachment and renunciation in our daily lives.  Real discipleship demands true commitment to the duties entrusted to us by life, circumstances, the community, or directly by God Himself, and by loving acts of selfless, humble, sacrificial love offered to all God’s children around us.  Let us remember that all this is possible only if we rely on the power of prayer and the guidance of the Holy Spirit. 

 OT 22 [C]  Sir 3:17-18, 20, 28-29; Heb 12:18-19, 22-24a; Lk 14:1, 7-14

Humility features prominently in today’s first reading. It is a virtue that is not spoken about much today. It tends to get a negative press when it is spoken about. The term humility comes from the Latin word ‘humus’, meaning earth or ground. Humility, in that sense, is about keeping our feet on the ground; it is the virtue of being honest and real. To be humble is to recognize our own truth and the truth of others.

 

Humble people acknowledge that whatever abilities they possess have been given to them by God. Thanksgiving to God rather than self-congratulations is the response of the humble person to the ways that they have been graced and gifted. Mary, the mother of Jesus, exemplifies the virtue of humility in the opening words of her Magnificat prayer, ‘My soul glorifies the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour, for the Almighty has worked marvels for me. Holy is his name’. Mary knew that she was greatly favoured, but she also acknowledged that this was due to God alone and not to herself. Mary did not attempt to be less than she was. All generations will call me blessed she said. She recognized the truth of her own life and she proclaimed it publicly. She did not pretend to be more than she was either.

Humility is first of all, clarity and honesty about ourselves, the gifts and talents we have, and the gifts we don’t have, our limitations. Humility is also about the truth of our relationship with God. We recognize that the gifts, the abilities, the strengths we have are ultimately gifts from God for the service of others. This is what St Paul had to say about himself ‘By the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace towards me has not been in vain’.

 

There are forms of pride that are good… and there are certainly forms of pride that are bad. Balancing pride and humility is a problem for most of us. It all depends upon what we’re being proud about.

We should have enough pride to render good quality to our workmanship. We should do things well and be properly proud of that quality of the product of our craftsmanship. If we have musical or artistic talents we should openly share them with others and not have a false humility that causes us to withhold what we can create for others. Hiding our light under a bushel does not give honor and glory to God, to our heavenly Father who gave us our talents so that we might brighten and build up the lives of those around us. So, there are forms of pride that are healthy and beneficial not only to ourselves but to others as well.

Then there are forms of pride that are bad. They cut us off from others and isolate us. There is a kind of pride that comes from the delusion that tells us we’re totally self-sufficient. Satan tempted Adam and Eve by telling them that if they ate of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil they would be like God, that they could decide for themselves what was good and what was evil. In other words they could make their own reality.

We are deluded if we think we can handle everything and that we don’t need anyone else’s help. We disguise it by saying, “my problems are my problems – they’re no one else’s business. I can take care of my own problems.”
For instance, some people proclaim that they’re not alcoholic. For them an alcoholic is a drunken bum, living in filth in the gutter, drinking booze from a bottle wrapped in a paper bag. In their deluded pride alcoholics say, “Thank God I’m not one of them!”

The truth is that judges are alcoholics, doctors are alcoholics, airline pilots are alcoholics… and, yes, even some priests are alcoholics. Pride keeps many from admitting that fact. Pride prevents them from acquiring the necessary help to bring it under control. Pride keeps people in a world of denial. They think that while they may perhaps have a problem it’s only a minor problem. The truth is that many others suffer from their problem. “I may drink too much once in a while”, alcoholics claim, “but it’s not hurting anyone.’ All the while their spouse and their children are suffering as the alcoholic rages on in the way he or she treats all who have to live with an alcoholic or work with that drinker.

Then there are horrible problem marriages. Pride rears its ugly head again, and say: “Well, I don’t need any counseling help. Counselors don’t know what they’re talking about. I can take care of my own problems – I don’t need anyone else’s help.”

In this parable Jesus isn’t merely talking about nice table manners. He’s talking about the way you and I live our lives. He’s talking about the way we treat our selves, others, and God.

Pride is the root cause of all sin. Pride, we must always remember, caused Lucifer’s downfall. Perhaps that’s why Jesus spent so much time pointing it out to us and calling us to humbly deal with it under God’s power, under God’s terms.   

There is nothing to lose by being humble. The book of Proverbs tells us, “Humility and the fear of the Lord bring wealth, honor, and life” (Prov 22:4). On the contrary, pride results in defeat and shame. Any spiritual life not anchored on humility definitely will be an empty one. This is because such a Christian will only work for himself and without regard for others.

        Finally, the church teaches us that: “Humility is the foundation of prayer.” (CCC 2559). Only a humble heart can come and prostrate before God in prayer. Humble persons are always ready to ask for guidance from God and others. Also, they listen and learn from others. It takes humility to say please, and also to ask for forgiveness. So, let us humbly implore the Lord: “O Jesus! Meek and humble of heart, make my heart like yours. From the desire to be honored and esteemed deliver me!”