Homilies & Thoughts

A people who knew true suffering gathered on the mountain that day when Jesus gave his sermon. The Jews had been persecuted for centuries. They had faced exile from their homeland, and in Jerusalem, Babylonians had slain men, women, and children in the streets, taking the survivors to a foreign land. Even when they finally returned, peace eluded them. New rulers came and went; kings and high priests were appointed and overthrown. At times, near-lawlessness reigned. Even in better times, there was a deep dissatisfaction with the way the world seemed to be spiraling—a tension and fear, much like our own times, of impending violence or war. This fear brought turmoil: economic strife, spiritual unease, social unrest, and discord within families.

Parish Stewardship Weekend calls us to reflect on what it means to give—not just with our hands or our wallets, but with our hearts. We see authentic, Christian generosity in the story of Bartimaeus, a blind man sitting by the roadside, crying out to Jesus as he passes by. Though people around Bartimaeus try to silence him, Jesus hears his voice, calls him forward, and restores his sight. What unfolds in this encounter offers us a beautiful image of God’s love.

Often, we are afraid to be Christians, to take the words of Jesus literally and follow him. His demands are not small—he demands everything. We are called to love our enemies, take up our cross, and become the servant of all. This can be a daunting and even frightening task. Following Jesus authentically means letting go of not only our possessions but, perhaps more challengingly, our egos. We fear that living as Christ teaches might leave us vulnerable. We worry that others will take advantage of our mercy and compassion, that we will be misunderstood or even abandoned by those closest to us. And yes, we know that we will suffer.

Christian life can’t be stitched together from separate compartments. Given on the feast of Our Lady of the Rosary, this night of recollection explores St. Josemaría’s image of the “wedding garment”: prayer, work, and penitence as threads that must be woven into one seamless interior life. It offers concrete practices—arrow prayers, sanctifying ordinary labor, and hidden mortifications—to repair the places we’ve grown selective or comfortable. The invitation is simple and demanding: let Christ touch every part of the day, until faith becomes integrity.

A friend of mine once preached on this Gospel. As he read the words of Jesus, “Let the little children come to me,” a little girl suddenly leapt up from her pew and stood beside him at the ambo. Unsure of what to do, he gently patted her on the head and said, “Thank you, you can go back to your parents now,” and off she went. It was a sweet and touching moment—until we realize that this little girl may have been the only one in the church that day who truly embodied the heart of a Christian.

It is hard to picture this Gospel scene. The world has changed dramatically over the last 2,000 years. We do not often witness exorcisms today, and we certainly do not see them happening on the streets. In Jesus’ time, however, exorcisms were not sensationalized by the media or turned into the plots of low-brow movies. They were a regular part of life. Demons were believed to be the cause of bad luck, illness, and psychological disturbance. As a result, exorcists were common, even performing their rituals in public. Walking through the streets of the ancient world, you might see people visiting a local exorcist, having prayers said over them. Some of these exorcists were frauds, taking advantage of the people’s ignorance and stealing their money. Others were sincere believers who sought to bring God’s grace and healing to a world in need.

The Apostles are often, embarrassingly, all too human. I remember attending a retreat for high school seniors several years ago. The retreat was meant to be a time for spiritual growth—a chance for students to grow closer to Christ and form stronger bonds with one another. There were spiritual talks, time for prayer, and moments of quiet reflection. But there was also paintball. And to no one’s surprise, that was the most exciting part for the students. Before the game, all they could talk about was how great they would be and how their strategies were unbeatable. Afterward, they spent hours boasting about their victories. The boys in my cabin stayed up until 3:00 a.m. arguing over who shot whom and, naturally, who was the greatest.

It is interesting to look at advertisements for charities, especially those that feed or provide medical treatment to the poor. When it comes to international charities, they often feature many pictures of those in need. These charities may even offer symbolic adoptions, where you receive photos and biographical details about a specific person. However, with local charities, this is rarely the case. Local organizations tend to avoid using photos of individuals altogether, relying instead on facts and figures. There is a simple reason for this: when we give money to distant causes in places we will likely never visit, we crave a personal connection. We want to see the faces of those we help because it makes us feel good—and it feels safe. But when it comes to giving locally, we often do not want to see the faces of those in need, because there is a chance we might run into them. We shy away from confronting suffering in our own community, fearing that if we truly grasp the depth of the need, we will be forced to share in their pain. As long as the poor remain a faceless mass, hidden behind statistics and dollar signs, we can carry on with our lives undisturbed.

Hypocrisy isn’t only the loud scandal we recognize from afar; it’s often the quieter habit of criticizing the world while neglecting our own conversion. This night of recollection traces both forms: the public denunciation that can hide private weakness, and the constant talk of “reform” that never begins with the heart. Drawing on St. Josemaría, it calls us back to the real instruments of change—prayer, fasting, penance, and mortification—because holiness, not outrage, is what truly converts and renews the world.

In this story of physical healing, we are directed to a much deeper reality—the sacramentality of the world. Sacramentality means that the physical world is a window into God’s presence and action. In the sacraments of the Church, we see this clearly: water becomes the means of new life in baptism; bread and wine become the Body and Blood of Christ in the Eucharist. But sacramentality goes beyond the sacraments themselves—it is woven into the fabric of the world. In the gospel, the man’s ears are opened, and his tongue is freed. Jesus uses the physical—his hands, his spittle, his voice—to bring healing. This is not incidental. God works through the created world to bring about salvation.

I love the book of Deuteronomy. It is such a personal and hope filled work. Deuteronomy presents itself as a letter from Moses to his people. They have already escaped from Egypt and their forty years of journeying in the desert have come to an end. The Hebrew people now stand just outside the land of Canaan, their homeland, their promised land. As they stand upon the mountains and look upon their home, there is joy but there is also a twinge of sadness. Moses is dying. He will not make it home. His final act is to write a letter to his people that he has journeyed with for a lifetime.

This gospel is a sorrowful reflection on humanity’s response to Jesus’ offer of himself. While his Eucharistic speech may seem like just one teaching that is being rejected, it is actually a culmination of all his teachings, a summary of the entirety of his message. When many of his disciples walk away, they are not merely rejecting this single idea, but rather abandoning everything Jesus has taught them.

It is natural to wonder why they would make such a choice. Jesus’ teachings are centered on love, sacrifice, forgiveness, and mercy - ideals that seem universally desirable. Who wouldn’t want to live in a world where everyone loves and cares for one another? Yet, as we look around us, it becomes clear that many people prioritize greed and selfishness over the well-being of others.