32nd Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

 Wis. 6:12–16; 1 Thes.4:13–18, and Mt. 25:1–13.

In Samuel Beckett’s famous play Waiting for Godot, two men, Vladimir and Estragon, spend their time beside a lonely road waiting for someone called Godot. They talk, argue, joke, remember, forget, become tired, think of leaving, and then continue waiting. At the end of the day, a boy arrives with the disappointing message that Godot will not come that evening but will surely come tomorrow. Tomorrow arrives, and again they wait. The play is sometimes funny because the two men hardly know what to do with themselves while waiting. In fact, it resembles some of our own waiting. At a doctor’s clinic we look at the clock every three minutes and become restless. At an airport, when the board says “Delayed,” suddenly everybody becomes an aviation expert. Human beings are not very good at waiting. Yet today’s readings are entirely about waiting—Jesus tells us about ten young women waiting in the night for a bridegroom. Unlike Beckett’s Godot, however, the Bridegroom does come. The question of the Gospel is not whether he will come, but what happens to us while we wait.

Jesus is in my Mother

In the room of a priest, Fr Mary John of Quilon diocese, only a photo of his mother who died recently was found. I asked him, “Why, there is no photo of Jesus or your father.?” He replied, “In the photo of my mother, there Jesus and my father.” He wiped his tears during his answer. He spoke his meditative insights,

"What I am today is because of my mother.

After the death of my father, my mother became my father and mother.

They are still with me.

They still give me strength.

They interceed for me.

They are in heaven with God." -Fr Mary John

All Saints (A)

 Rev 7:2-4, 9-14; 1 Jn 3:1-3; Mt 5:1-12

My dear brothers and sisters,

One of the greatest gifts God has given humanity is the gift of people who inspire us to become better human beings. We all need examples to follow, people who encourage us when we are discouraged, who strengthen us when our faith becomes weak, and who remind us that goodness, sacrifice, compassion and holiness are still possible in this world. We may learn many things from books, but it is the lives of good people that often teach us the deepest lessons. A child learns generosity by watching a generous parent; a young person learns courage by observing someone who stands for truth; and a Christian learns holiness by looking at the lives of those who have allowed God to transform them. This is precisely the importance of saints in our religious life. They are not merely historical personalities or figures whose statues adorn our churches. They are living witnesses to the power of God's grace. They demonstrate that the Gospel is not an impossible ideal but a way of life that ordinary human beings can practise.

Today, as we celebrate the Solemnity of All Saints, the Church invites us to look beyond the visible world and recognise that we belong to a much larger spiritual family. The saints are not distant strangers living in a world completely disconnected from ours. They are our brothers and sisters who have completed their earthly pilgrimage and now share in the glory of God. The Church celebrated not only those officially

30th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

 Ex. 22:20-26; 1 Thess. 1:5-10; Mt. 22:34-40

Oscar Wilde tells a beautiful story called The Happy Prince. High above a city stood the statue of a prince, covered with gold, with sapphires for eyes and a large red ruby on the handle of his sword. When the prince had been alive, he had lived inside a palace where sorrow was carefully kept outside the gates. Everyone called him the Happy Prince because he had never seen suffering. But now, standing high above the city as a statue, he could see everything—the poor seamstress struggling to care for her sick child, the hungry young writer shivering in his room, and children suffering from poverty. A little swallow, preparing to fly away to warmer Egypt, rested at the prince’s feet. The prince asked the swallow to take the ruby from his sword to the poor woman. Then one sapphire eye went to another person in need,

29th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

 Is. 45:1, 4-6; 1 Thess. 1:1-5ab; Mt. 22:15-21

In Leo Tolstoy’s story What Men Live By, Simon, a poor shoemaker, is walking home one cold evening when he notices a man sitting almost naked beside a roadside chapel. Simon himself is poor. He has hardly enough money for his family, and his first thought is very practical: “If I go near him, he may become my problem.” So he walks past. But after a few steps his conscience troubles him. He turns around, gives the stranger his coat and takes him home. Simon’s wife, Matryona, is not delighted when her husband arrives with an extra mouth to feed. Their cupboard is nearly empty. But gradually her anger gives way to compassion, and she shares what little food they have. Then something remarkable happens: the stranger smiles. Tolstoy’s story reminds us that poverty can hide dignity, rags can hide holiness, and an apparently useless stranger can carry a mystery we fail to recognize. The first page of the Bible tells us why: “God created humankind in his image” (Genesis 1:27).

That truth opens the door to today’s Gospel. The Pharisees and the Herodians come to Jesus with a carefully prepared trap. “Is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar, or not?” (Matthew 22:17). If Jesus says no, he can be accused before the Roman authorities; if he says yes,

28th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

 Is. 25:6-10a; Phil. 4:12-14, 19-20; Mt. 22:1-14

In Karen Blixen’s beautiful story Babette’s Feast, a French woman named Babette arrives as a refugee in a small, austere village in Denmark. She becomes the servant of two elderly sisters who live very simply. For fourteen years Babette cooks their plain meals and quietly serves them. Then one day she wins a large sum of money in a French lottery. Everyone assumes that she will now return to France and begin a comfortable life. Instead, Babette asks permission to prepare one magnificent French dinner for the sisters and their little community. She spends her entire fortune on the meal. At first the guests are suspicious. They almost seem afraid of enjoying themselves too much! But as the meal continues, something happens around the table. Old quarrels soften, memories are healed, people begin to smile, and friendship returns. The feast

27th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

 Is. 5:1-7; Phil. 4:6-9; Mt. 21:33-43

In Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince, the little prince discovers a garden filled with roses and is disappointed. Until then, he had believed that the single rose on his tiny planet was unique. Now he sees thousands that look exactly like her. Later the fox teaches him something important: his rose is special not because she is the only rose in the universe, but because he has spent his time caring for her. He watered her, sheltered her, listened to her complaints and protected her. Love had invested itself in that rose. Something similar lies behind Isaiah’s beautiful song of the vineyard. God says, “My beloved had a vineyard on a very fertile hill. He dug it and cleared it of stones and planted it with choice vines” (Isaiah 5:1–2). Nothing was neglected. The soil was prepared, the stones removed, the best vines planted, a watchtower built and a winepress prepared. Naturally the owner expected good grapes. Instead, “it yielded wild grapes” (Isaiah 5:2).

26th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

 Ezek. 18:25-28; Phil. 2:1-11; Mt. 21:28-32

In Shakespeare’s King Lear, the old king decides to divide his kingdom among his three daughters according to how beautifully each can describe her love for him. Goneril and Regan pour out magnificent words. They tell their father that they love him beyond measure. Cordelia, the youngest, cannot compete with such extravagant speeches. She loves her father deeply, but she refuses to decorate that love with flattering words. Lear is furious and disowns her. Yet, as the tragedy unfolds, the daughters who spoke so beautifully abandon their father, while Cordelia, who spoke so little, remains faithful to him. Lear discovers painfully that there can be a great distance between the words of the mouth and the truth of the heart. 

Jesus tells of two sons. The first says, “I will not,” but afterward changes his mind and goes. The second politely says, “I go, sir,” but does not go (Matthew 21:28–30). Jesus asks the wonderfully simple question: “Which of the two did the will of his father?” (Matthew 21:31). There is really no difficulty answering that examination question!

25th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

 Is 55:6–9, Ps 145, Ph 1:20–24, 27a; Mt 20:1–16a.

There is a beautiful scene in Victor Hugo’s novel Les Misérables. Jean Valjean has spent nineteen years in prison, originally for stealing bread to feed his sister’s starving children. When he is finally released, nobody wants him. Doors are shut in his face because his passport marks him as an ex-convict. Eventually Bishop Myriel welcomes him into his house, gives him food and a bed, and treats him with dignity. During the night, Valjean steals the bishop’s silverware and runs away. The police catch him and bring him back. We expect the bishop to condemn him. Instead, the bishop looks at Valjean and says, in effect, “My friend, you forgot the silver candlesticks I gave you as well.” He gives him even more than he had stolen. The police release Valjean. That undeserved kindness becomes the turning point of his life. Valjean had expected justice; instead, he encountered mercy. He had expected condemnation; instead, he received generosity. From that moment, he begins to become a different man.