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.

23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

 Ezekiel 33:7-9, Psalm 95, Romans 13:8-10, and Matthew 18:15-20.

There is an old story about two brothers who lived on neighbouring farms. For forty years they had worked together, shared machinery, helped one another during harvest and eaten at the same table. Then, over a small misunderstanding, they quarrelled. Angry words were exchanged, pride entered, and for several weeks they stopped speaking. One morning a carpenter came looking for work. The older brother pointed to the stream separating the two farms and said, “My brother lives on the other side. Build me a high fence so that I will never have to see him again.” The carpenter worked all day. When the farmer returned in the evening, he was shocked. There was no fence. Instead, the carpenter had built a bridge across the stream. At that moment the younger brother appeared on the other side. Seeing the bridge, he thought his elder brother had built it. He walked across and said, “After everything I said, you

22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

 Jer. 20:7-9; Rom 12:1-2; Mt. 16:21-27

There are moments in life when a person discovers that love is not merely a feeling but a decision to give oneself for another. A firefighter, Corey Comperatore, was attending a public gathering with his family in Pennsylvania in July 2024 when gunfire suddenly broke out. According to his family and Pennsylvania's governor, when the shooting began, he threw himself over his family to protect them. He was killed, but his wife and daughters survived. His wife later remembered him as a man who died protecting his family. What makes such an act so moving? At that moment, he was not thinking, "How can I save myself?" His instinct was, "How can I save those I love?" Love made him forget himself. And this brings us very close to the words of Jesus: "Those who lose their life for my sake will find it." The Gospel is telling us that the greatest life is not the life spent protecting ourselves, our comfort, our possessions and our reputation at any cost. The greatest life is the life given in love.

The Bible has always presented this truth. In the Old Testament, we find people who discovered that life becomes meaningful when it is offered for God and for others. Abraham was asked to place even his beloved son Isaac into God's hands. He had waited for Isaac for years, and Isaac represented his future, his hopes and God's promise. Yet Abraham had to learn that even what is most precious cannot become more important

21st Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

Is. 22:15, 19-23; Rom. 11:33-36; Mt. 16:13-20

There is a story about a man who spent years studying a famous person. He read his books, studied his speeches, learned about his childhood, knew the important events of his life and could explain his ideas better than many people who admired him. One day someone asked him, “You seem to know so much about this man. Did you ever meet him?” The man paused and said, “No. I know everything about him, but I have never actually known him.”

That is a very important distinction in life: knowing about someone is not the same as knowing someone. We can know a person’s name, profession, achievements and history without ever having a personal relationship with that person.

There is something very striking about today’s Gospel. Jesus asks a general question: “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” And after hearing their answers, he makes the question more personal: “But who do you say that I am?”

20th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

 Is. 56:1, 6-7; Rom. 11:13-15, 29-32; Mt. 15:21-28

There is a beautiful story associated with George Müller, the nineteenth-century Christian known for caring for thousands of orphaned children in England. One morning, the children came to the dining room, but there was no food on the tables. The kitchen had no bread, and there was no money to buy any. Yet Müller asked the children to sit down. He prayed, thanking God for the food they were about to receive. The children waited. A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. A baker stood there. He said that he had been unable to sleep and felt strongly that he should bake bread for the children. He had brought several loaves. Soon afterwards, another knock came. A milkman had broken down near the orphanage and did not want the milk to go to waste, so he offered it to the children. Whether every detail of the story has been preserved exactly as it happened or not, the story has remained because it captures something very

The Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary (A)

Rev. 11:19a, 12:1-6a, 10ab; 1 Cor. 15:20-26; Lk. 1:39-56

Today we celebrate one of the most beautiful feasts of our Catholic faith—the Solemnity of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary. The Church teaches that, when the course of her earthly life was completed, Mary was taken up body and soul into the g
lory of heaven. This doctrine was solemnly defined by Pope Pius XII on November 1, 1950, in Munificentissimus Deus. The Church proclaimed that the Immaculate Virgin, preserved from original sin, was assumed into heavenly glory.

 But today, rather than looking at the Assumption merely as something that happened to Mary at the end of her earthly life, let us look at the kind of life she lived that prepared her to become the woman whom God glorified. The secret of Mary's life can be found in one sentence from today's Gospel: “My soul magnifies the Lord.” That sentence is almost like the spiritual biography of Mary. She did not spend her life magnifying herself; she magnified God. She did not make herself the centre; she made God the centre. And perhaps that is the most important message Mary has for us today.

There is a beautiful example of this in the life of St. André Bessette, a simple religious brother from Canada. He had very little formal education, was physically frail, and for many years his main responsibility was simply to serve as a doorkeeper at the

19th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

 1 Kgs. 19:9, 11-13; Rom. 9:1-5; Mt. 14:22-33

There is a remarkable story in the life of Corrie ten Boom that illustrates what extraordinary faith can look like when everything around a person seems to say, “There is no reason to trust.” During the Second World War, Corrie and her family in the Netherlands risked their lives by hiding Jewish people from the Nazis. Eventually, Corrie and her sister Betsie were arrested and sent to the Ravensbrück concentration camp. Betsie died there, but Corrie survived. After the war, Corrie became known not only for speaking about suffering but also for speaking about forgiveness. One day, after a Christian meeting, a former concentration-camp guard who had participated in the cruelty came toward her. Corrie recognized him. For a moment, everything inside her resisted extending her hand. Yet she chose to forgive him. Her faith was not simply faith when life was comfortable; it was faith when her memories, emotions and circumstances told her to do the opposite. Her story has been remembered as an example of faith, courage, perseverance and forgiveness.

The Transfiguration of the Lord (A)

 Dan. 7:9-10, 13-14; 2 Pet. 1:16-19; Mt. 17:1-9

Jesus takes Peter, James and John up a high mountain, and there, before their eyes, something extraordinary happens. His face shines like the sun, his clothes become dazzling white, Moses and Elijah appear, and then a bright cloud overshadows them. From the cloud comes the voice of God: “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!” These words are not merely words spoken to Peter, James and John. They are words spoken to every generation of believers, including us today: This is my Son. Listen to him.

The Transfiguration becomes even more meaningful when we understand the significance of the cloud in the Bible. In Scripture, the cloud is often much more than something in the sky. It becomes a sign of the mysterious presence of God. When the Israelites were leaving Egypt, the Lord went before them in a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. When they did not know which way to go, the cloud showed them the way. They did not possess a map. They did not know what lay ahead. But they had the presence of God. The lesson is beautiful: when we cannot see the road ahead, we can still trust the One who leads us.

The cloud appears again on Mount Sinai. Moses goes up the mountain, and the glory of the Lord settles upon it in the form of a cloud. The mountain is covered by the presence of God. Moses enters into that cloud and receives God's word. The cloud therefore becomes associated not only with God's presence but

18th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

 Is. 55:1-3; Rom 8:35, 37-39; Mt. 14:13-21

Compassion is sometimes found in the most unexpected places. A little-known story is told from the winter of 1982 during a terrible snowstorm in the United States. An elderly widow lived alone in a small house. Heavy snow blocked her door, and she had no food or medicine left. The roads were closed, and no one even knew that she was trapped inside. A young postal worker, who had noticed that her mailbox had not been emptied for two days, became worried. Although delivering mail was finished for the day, he walked through waist-deep snow carrying a small bag of groceries from his own home. When he reached her house, he had to dig through the snow to open the door. The old woman broke into tears because she had begun to think that everyone had forgotten her. The young man simply said, "I did not want you to feel alone." Years later, when people asked him why he had risked his life, he answered, "Anyone can deliver letters. I only wanted to deliver hope." Compassion begins when we refuse to let another person suffer alone. It is not measured by the greatness of the gift but by the greatness of the heart.

That is exactly what we see in today's Gospel. Jesus had just received the heartbreaking news that John the Baptist had been brutally executed by Herod. John was not only the prophet who prepared His way; he was also His cousin, His friend, and the courageous witness who had proclaimed the truth without fear. Naturally, Jesus wanted to be alone. He crossed the lake seeking a quiet place where

17th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

 1 Kgs. 3:5-12; Rom. 8:28-30; Mt. 13:44-52

The Gospel of today presents three short parables spoken by Jesus—the hidden treasure, the pearl of great price, and the dragnet. At first they seem like three separate stories, but in reality they are three chapters of one great message about the Kingdom of Heaven. The first parable tells us how the Kingdom is discovered, the second teaches us how the Kingdom should be valued, and the third reminds us that everyone who enters the Kingdom must persevere faithfully until the end. In other words, Jesus invites us first to discover Him, then to choose Him above everything else, and finally to remain faithful to Him until we meet Him face to face.

 Jesus begins by saying, "The Kingdom of Heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which someone found and hid; then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field." In the time of Jesus, people often buried their treasures because there were no banks and no safe places to keep valuables. During wars or invasions, many died without returning to recover what they had hidden. Imagine an ordinary

16th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

 Wis. 12:13, 16-19; Rom. 8:26-27; Mt. 13:24-43

Dear brothers and sisters 

In today's Gospel, Jesus gives us three beautiful parables that together reveal the mystery of the Kingdom of God. At first glance they seem to speak about farming and baking, but in reality, they speak about our lives, our families, our Church, and our eternal destiny. The parable of the wheat and the weeds teach us about patience and discernment. The parable of the mustard seed teaches us never to underestimate small beginnings. The parable of the yeast reminds us that God's transforming power often works quietly and invisibly. These three parables together invite us to trust God even when we cannot understand everything that is happening around us.

Jesus begins with the story of a farmer who sowed good seed in his field. The seed was healthy, the field was prepared, and everything was done properly. But during the night, while everyone slept, an enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat.

15th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

 Is. 55:10-11; Rom. 8:18-23; Mt. 13:1-23

The Gospel according to Matthew 13:1–9 presents one of the most powerful and practical parables ever spoken by Jesus. Jesus left the house and sat beside the sea. Soon, such a great crowd gathered around Him that He entered a boat and sat down while the people stood along the shore. The sea became His pulpit, the boat His platform, and the people His congregation. He chose to teach them through parables—simple earthly stories that carried profound heavenly truths. Among these, the Parable of the Sower stands as a mirror in which every listener can see the condition of his or her own heart. It is remarkable that in this story the sower is the same, the seed is the same, and the message remains the same. The only difference lies in the soil. The success or failure of the harvest depends not on the seed but on the condition of the ground that receives it. Even today, the Word of God remains living and active (Hebrews 4:12), but its fruitfulness depends upon the response of the human heart. Therefore, Jesus concludes with a solemn invitation: "Let anyone with ears listen." This is more than hearing with our ears; it is listening with a willing and obedient heart.

14 Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

 Zech. 9:9-10; Rom: 8:9, 11-13; Mt. 11:25-30

A touching way to enter today's Gospel is through a scene from Victor Hugo's masterpiece, Les Misérables. After spending nineteen years in prison, Jean Valjean leaves with a heart filled with bitterness. Society rejects him everywhere he goes. No inn welcomes him, no family trusts him, and every door seems closed. Finally, an elderly bishop opens his home to the weary stranger. During the night, Valjean steals the bishop's silver and runs away. When the police capture him and bring him back, expecting the bishop to condemn him, the bishop astonishes everyone. Instead of accusing him, he says, "My friend, you forgot the silver candlesticks also." The police release Valjean. The bishop then tells him that with this gift he has bought his soul for God. That act of mercy breaks the chains that prison never could. Valjean walks away carrying the same body, the same past, and the same scars, but no longer carrying the crushing burden of hopelessness. Compassion gave him rest before his circumstances ever changed.

The words of Jesus in today's Gospel speak directly to every weary heart: "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest." There is perhaps no invitation in the Gospel more tender than this. Jesus does not first  

13th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

 2 Kgs. 4:8-12a, 14-16; Rom. 6:3-4, 8-11; Mt. 10:37-42

Many years ago, during the Second World War, a remarkable incident took place in a small French village called Le Chambon-sur-Lignon. The village was led not by soldiers or politicians but by an ordinary Protestant pastor, André Trocmé. When the Nazi government ordered the villagers to hand over the Jews hiding among them, Pastor Trocmé gathered his people and said, "These people have come here seeking refuge. We do not know what a Jew is. We know only human beings." The villagers risked everything. They hid thousands of Jewish children and families in their homes, barns, schools, and churches. They knew that if they were caught, they could lose their property, their freedom, or even their lives. Yet they continued. After the war, historians estimated that nearly five thousand lives had been saved because an entire community chose to lose its security in order to preserve the lives of strangers.

Years later, when one of the villagers was asked why they had taken such a terrible risk, she gave a simple answer: "What else could we do? If someone knocks on your door in need, you open it."

12th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

Jer. 20:7, 10-13; Rom. 5:12-15; Mt. 10:26-33

A young prince once asked an old wise man, “What is the greatest prison in the world?” The old man smiled and handed him a copy of John Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress. As the prince read, he came across the journey of Christian, the pilgrim, who left the City of Destruction in search of the Celestial City. Along the way, Christian was mocked, threatened, imprisoned, and tempted to abandon his journey. At one point he was locked inside the terrible Doubting Castle by Giant Despair. The giant constantly whispered to him, “Give up. There is no hope. No one will rescue you.” Christian almost believed the lie. But one night he remembered that he carried in his pocket a small key called Promise. With that key he unlocked every door of the prison and walked out into freedom.

John Bunyan himself wrote this masterpiece while imprisoned for preaching the Gospel. The authorities could imprison his body, but they could not imprison his faith. They could chain his hands, but not his hope. They could silence his voice in the marketplace, but not the truth that echoed through generations. Bunyan teaches us a lesson that perfectly introduces today's Gospel. Fear is the greatest prison. It is fear that keeps us silent when we should speak, inactive when we should act, and

11th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

 Exo. 19:1-6; Rom. 5:6-11; Mt. 9:36-10:8

The Gospel today begins with one of the most moving sentences in the whole Bible: “When Jesus saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.” Before Jesus sends the disciples, before He gives them authority, before He asks them to preach, He first looks at people with compassion. Mission begins not in power but in compassion. The heart of the Christian mission is not to conquer, control, or dominate; it is to see the suffering of humanity through the eyes of Christ and respond with love.

Many years ago, a young woman named Priti Sinha was waiting at a railway station in India. As she stood on the platform, she noticed a little girl scavenging for food among piles of garbage. Hundreds of passengers passed by. They saw the child, but they

The Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ (A)

 Deut. 8:2-3, 14-16; 1 Cor. 10:16-17; Jn. 6:51-59

There is an old saying that all of us have heard: "You become what you eat." Nutritionists remind us that the food we consume eventually becomes part of us. Good food strengthens the body; unhealthy food weakens it. What enters us shapes us.

A story is told about a young boy who dreamed of becoming a champion athlete. He greatly admired a famous runner and one day asked him, "What is the secret of your success?" The athlete smiled and replied, "Before I eat anything, I ask myself one question: Will this food help me become the person I want to be?" The boy never forgot that advice. Years later he became a champion himself. He learned that what we take into ourselves eventually influences what we become.

That simple truth helps us understand the mystery we celebrate today. Jesus says in the Gospel: "I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats this bread will live forever." The people listening to Him were shocked. They asked, "How

The Most Holy Trinity (A)

 Ex 34:4-6, 8-9; 2 Cor 13:11-13; Jn 3:16-18

Trinity Sunday is one of the most beautiful feasts of the Church. The mystery of the Trinity is not a puzzle to be solved but a relationship to be lived.

There is an old African story about three villages that stood on three hills. A severe drought struck the region. Each village had a small spring, but none had enough water to survive. The people argued and blamed one another. “Our spring is the best.” “We must protect what belongs to us.” “We cannot share.” As the drought worsened, an elderly woman suggested that the three villages dig channels connecting their springs. The people laughed at her. Why should they give away their precious water? But finally, with no other choice, they worked together. When the channels were completed, the waters flowed into one another and formed a strong stream that nourished all three villages. Years later, when children asked who owned the stream, nobody could answer. The stream belonged to all because it was sustained by all.

That story gives us a glimpse of what Trinity Sunday is really about. God is not loneliness. God is communion. God is relationship. The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit are distinct, yet united in perfect love. God’s very nature is not isolation but communion. The feast of the Trinity tells us that love is not something God does; love is what God is.

Pentecost (A)

 Acts 2:1-11; 1 Cor. 12:3b-7, 12-13; Jn. 20:19-23

There is a touching story told about the great Russian writer Leo Tolstoy. One winter evening, a poor cobbler named Martin sat alone in his tiny shop. His life had become empty after losing his wife and child. In his loneliness he cried out to God, “Lord, where are You? Why have You abandoned me?” That night, while reading the Gospel, he heard in his heart: “Martin, tomorrow I will visit you.” The next day he waited eagerly for God. Instead of a heavenly vision, he saw only ordinary people: an old street sweeper shivering in the cold, a hungry mother carrying a child, and a boy caught stealing apples. Martin welcomed each one, shared food, warmth, and kindness. At the end of the day he wondered, “Lord, You never came.” Then he heard the words of Christ within him: “Martin, I came to you in each of them.” In that moment Martin understood that the Spirit of God does not always arrive with thunder and lightning. The Holy Spirit comes quietly, entering hearts, turning fear into compassion, loneliness into love, and ordinary people into instruments of God.