24th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

 Exo  32:7-11,13-14; 1 Tim 1:12-17; Lk 15:1-32

Napoleon Bonapart, the French Emperor, decided to campaign against Russia, in 1812. Napoleon was pushing on with preparations for war on a colossal scale. By the summer of 1812 he had about 750,000 men under arms of whom 450,000 were destined for the actual invasion. On 28 May this army of armies set out towards East. Immense stores were collected. Two million pairs of boots were held in reserve. The baggage was hauled by 18,000 heavy draft horses, the siege-guns and pontoons by 10,000 oxen. A million great coats had been bought. 

The army passed into Russia unopposed. As Napoleon reached Moscow he had understood the mistake he had made. The marshals too were reluctant to march northwards. With the first fall of snow the story of the march became an epic of human misery; no food, no shelter, no fuel. Icy gales froze them and killed scores every night. History testifies that it was one of the great errors of Napoleon. Out of 450000 who had crossed into Russia only 20,000 marched back. 

If Napoleon had corrected himself 430,000 men who had crossed into Russia would not have lost their lives or pushed into misery. 

23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Wis 9:13-18b; Ps 90:3-4, 5-6, 12-13, 14, 17;  Phil 1:9-10, 12-17; Lk 14:25-33.

It is said that long ago in the days of the Scottish Highlands, there was a young chieftain who inherited a vast but troubled clan. His people were poor, surrounded by rival clans who were stronger, and the English crown often demanded allegiance that would compromise their independence. One day, he was summoned by the king himself and offered a place of safety, wealth, and honor—if he would agree to surrender his clan’s autonomy and allow English soldiers to occupy their land. The young chieftain was torn. Accepting would mean comfort and survival, but it would betray his people’s heritage and everything his father and grandfather had fought to protect. Refusing would mean war, sacrifice, and perhaps even death. After a night of sleeplessness, he told his council, “If I must die to remain faithful to what I was born to protect, then I will die. For what use is a chieftain who saves his life but loses the soul of his clan?” The cost was real—battle followed, losses were great—but his decision kept the honor of his people alive for generations."

When Jesus turned to the large crowds following Him and spoke the words we heard in Luke 14:25–33, He was confronting people with a similar question. Many followed Him with curiosity, others in hope of miracles, others perhaps thinking He would

22nd Sunday of Ordinary Time (C)

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

In the early 1900s, there was a man named Booker T. Washington, born into slavery and rising to become one of the most influential African American leaders of his time. Despite his extraordinary achievements, Washington was known for his profound humility. On one occasion, when invited to a prestigious dinner alongside wealthy and powerful individuals, he noticed how everyone was eager to sit closest to the host, seeking the best seats and the greatest honors. Washington, however, quietly chose a modest place at the back of the room, not demanding attention or special treatment.

As the evening unfolded, the host himself noticed Washington’s humble demeanor and invited him to join the main table, elevating him in front of the guests. Washington’s humility, patience, and dignity earned him genuine respect—not because he sought it, but because he embodied a spirit of service and humility that transcended social status.

This example echoes the words of Jesus in today’s gospel. He noticed how guests at a table jockeyed for places of honor and gave a parable that turned the social order upside down. Jesus advised taking the lowest place, not the highest, because true