21st Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

 Is 66:18-2; Heb 12:5-7, 11-13; Lk 13:22-30.

In the heart of the medieval city of Constantinople stood mighty walls, strong enough to repel invaders for centuries. The main gates were wide and bustling — merchants entered with carts full of goods, soldiers marched in proud columns, and travelers poured in from distant lands. Yet there was one gate unlike the rest: a small, low passageway known as The Eye of the Needle. This was not a gate for proud parades or loaded caravans. It was narrow — so narrow that a camel could only pass if its burdens were unloaded and it was led through on its knees.

At night, for the safety of the city, the great gates were shut. Any latecomer had one choice: the little gate. But it came with a price — strip off the load, stoop low, and pass humbly. Many travelers, after long journeys, stood outside in frustration. They could see the lights of the city, hear the laughter and smell the food inside, but the great gates were closed. They had to decide: hold on to their baggage and remain outside or leave it behind and enter through the narrow door.

Jesus’ words in Luke 13 carry this same image. A narrow door is open now, but it will not be open forever. And when it shuts, no amount of knocking, pleading, or past acquaintance will open it again.

20th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

 Jer. 38:4-6, 8-10; Heb. 12:1-4; Luk. 12:49-53.

Once, in a small village overshadowed by a mighty forest, there lived a potter. One day, while walking through the woods, he stumbled upon a group of strangers—ragged, hungry, and shivering. They had been driven out of a neighboring village because they were different: they spoke a strange tongue and wore unfamiliar clothes.

The potter invited them into his home, fed them, and gave them clay pots to carry water. Soon, the villagers began to notice. "Why are you helping them?" they asked. "They don’t belong here."

The potter was shunned. His pottery shop was boycotted. His own brothers refused to speak to him. Yet he continued to help those in need. One evening, an old friend came to him and said, “You’re lighting a fire, and it will burn everything down.”

He replied, “Some fires burn, but others illuminate. I’d rather lose the approval of men than the light of God.”

Jesus said in Luke 12:49–53: “I have come to bring fire on the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled! … Do you think I came to bring peace on earth? No, I tell you, but division.”

The Assumption of Blessed Virgin Mary

 1 Chr 15:3-4, 15-16, 16:1-2; 1 Cor 15:20-26; Lk 1:39-56.

During the Second World War, amidst the horror of Nazi-occupied Poland, a young Franciscan priest named Maximilian Kolbe stood as a beacon of mercy. In the concentration camp of Auschwitz, after a prisoner escaped, the SS decided to punish ten innocent men with death by starvation.

One of the selected, a man named Franciszek Gajowniczek, cried out, “My wife! My children!” At that moment, Fr. Kolbe stepped forward. “I am a Catholic priest. I would like to take his place.” The guards agreed.

Father Kolbe entered the death cell, offering prayers, songs, and spiritual strength to the others. After two weeks, he was the only one left alive and was eventually killed by lethal injection.

Franciszek Gajowniczek would live, reunited with his family, and for the rest of his life, he told the story of the priest who had interceded for him—who stood in the gap and gave his life so another could live.