St. Thomas the Apostle Parish

In today’s Gospel, Jesus reveals the twofold action of angels: they “ascend and descend on the Son of Man.” Angels ascend to serve God and descend to serve us on God’s behalf. This dynamic was echoed in today’s Collect Prayer, where we asked God to “graciously grant that our life on earth may be defended by those who watch over us [descending] as they minister perpetually to you in heaven [ascending].” As we reflect on their purpose and mission, we can also let their example inspire us—teaching us to ascend in praise of God and descend in humble service to others.

 

The Archangels’ primary role is to ascend in praise of God. Their second task is to descend and bring God’s help to us. Gabriel brought the Word of God to the Blessed Mother and Zechariah; Raphael brought healing and guidance to Tobias; and Michael stands as our defender and protector.

 

Let us pray to God, asking for the help of the archangels:

 

Heavenly King, You have given us archangels to assist us

during our pilgrimage on earth.

Saint Michael is our protector;

[We] ask him to come to [our] aid,

fight for all [our] loved ones,

and protect us from danger.

Saint Gabriel is a messenger of the Good News;

[we] ask him to help [us] clearly hear Your voice

and to teach [us] the truth.

Saint Raphael is the healing angel;

[we] ask him to take [our] need for healing

and that of everyone [we] know,

lift it up to Your throne of grace and

deliver us back to the gift of recovery.

Help us, O Lord, to realize more fully

the reality of archangels and their desire to serve us.

Holy angels, pray for us.

Amen.[1]

[1] From the website for the Diocese of St. Petersburg

 

Jesus frequently taught profound life lessons through both His actions and His words. On one occasion, His disciples found themselves entangled in a self-centered debate: Who among them was the greatest? Their ideas of greatness may have stemmed from personal abilities, family background, or even their proximity to Jesus Himself. Yet Jesus recognized the need to correct their perspective, revealing that true greatness, in God's eyes, stands in stark contrast to worldly definitions.

 

To illustrate His lesson, Jesus placed a child beside Himself—a powerful gesture that communicated more than words alone could. In that cultural context, children symbolized weakness and vulnerability, not greatness. By associating Himself with the least and the overlooked, Jesus challenged His disciples’ misguided aspirations. Their pursuit of greatness revealed a misunderstanding that echoes our own need for guidance and humility as we navigate our spiritual journeys.

 

Ultimately, God’s values differ profoundly from those of the world. Just as the disciples were prone to rivalry and ego, we too can find ourselves motivated by self-interest. Jesus calls us to realign our ambitions with God’s values, following the example He set through humility and selfless service.

For decades, author Jonathan Kozol has been exploring the depths of poor inner-city neighborhoods and the children who live there in award-winning books such as Rachel and Her Children and Amazing Grace: The Lives of Children and the Conscience of a Nation. 

Mr. Kozol once observed that poor neighborhoods serve a critical purpose for the wealthy. He said that if there were no poor neighborhoods, the rich and the privileged would have to look into the eyes of the poor every day.

In the 1980s, thousands of families in New York became homeless. These people walked the streets and gathered outside the restaurants and theaters. Civic-minded people in the city were not happy. He said, "The last thing the theater owners wanted was to have a wealthy couple spend $200 to see Les Misérables, a musical about the poor, and then come out from the theater and see the real thing!"

Mr. Kozol said that sometimes he would walk by that theater and see people who, only moments earlier, had likely been weeping for the poor children in Paris, exit onto the street, and be offended by people begging on the sidewalk.

In today's Gospel and throughout the Gospels, Jesus defends the dignity of all people in the eyes of God—the poor, the powerless, the ignored, the forgotten. We are called to support that dignity, not just in the words of songs sung comfortably in the theater or church, but on the street corners of our own cities and neighborhoods. 

Jesus demands that we, His disciples, voice our faith not just in the prayers and rituals we speak, but also in how we reach out and help the needy, how we treat those who are different from us, and the relationships we form with one another. 

The challenge of discipleship is to translate our many "good intentions" into the work of discipleship, transforming our emotional feelings for the unseen, distant poor and marginalized into genuine compassion and charity for the poor and marginalized in our midst. 

 

 

God’s plan frequently defies human logic, calling us to surrender our need for control and place our absolute trust in Him.

 

In today’s Gospel, the disciples are enjoying a surge of popularity, surrounded by crowds in awe of Jesus’ mighty deeds. Yet, at the very height of this triumph, Jesus delivers a sobering reality: "The Son of Man is to be handed over to men." He deliberately shatters their illusion of worldly success, understanding that faith rooted solely in miracles cannot withstand the test of the Cross.

 

The Gospel reveals a profound human struggle: the disciples did not understand, and “they were afraid to question him.” When God’s plan diverges from our expectations, fear can paralyze us. We long for a roadmap with clear, comfortable destinations, but Jesus invites us instead into a relationship of deep, trusting surrender.

 

Trusting God’s plan means allowing His words to penetrate our hearts even when they unsettle us. It challenges us to believe that the valleys of our lives—our disappointments, illnesses, and griefs—are not detours from God’s purpose, but the very places where we grow closer to Him. True peace is found not in perfect understanding, but in knowing and trusting the One who holds the future.

 

Let us pray that God will grant us the grace to trust His plan, especially when it remains hidden from our sight. When fear paralyzes us, may we be infused with courage. When suffering confounds us, may we be filled with peace. May we surrender our need for control, confident that the path through the Cross always leads to the glory of the Resurrection.

In today's Gospel, after spending time in prayer, Jesus posed two questions to His disciples: "Who do the crowds say that I am?" and "Who do you say that I am?"

The first question was broad and straightforward, but the second was deeply personal and profoundly challenging.

 

When faced with this second question, we are invited to reflect on who Jesus is to each of us personally. While it is easier to consider what He means to others in general, it takes much deeper introspection to articulate what He means to me. Ultimately, our answer to this second question holds the greatest significance. Jesus desires that we express our personal faith in Him. He asks, "What do you believe?" and then sends us forth to share that faith with others.

Herod exercised power in Galilee on behalf of Rome. Saint Luke portrayed his attitude toward Jesus as somewhat dismissive. When Herod learned about Jesus' activities and the intense interest people had in Him, he became curious and sought to meet Him. Their encounter would finally occur during Jesus' Passion, when Pilate sent Jesus to Herod to confirm His guilt. Herod questioned Jesus but ultimately treated Him with contempt. His curiosity about Jesus was superficial and did not lead to any faith.

While some people were led to faith by their interest in Jesus, even those with faith have much to contemplate regarding His life and teachings. Herod's question, "Who then is this?" is not just for him but for all of us to ponder. We must remain constant seekers in our pursuit of knowing Jesus.

Let us pray that we will always strive to understand Jesus and His role in our redemption, deepening our relationship with Him and our hope for salvation.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus entrusts the Apostles with immense spiritual authority, yet strips them of every earthly security. He instructs them: “Take nothing for the journey, neither walking stick, nor sack, nor food, nor money, and let no one take a second tunic.”

 

To our contemporary sensibilities, this command sounds reckless. We live in a culture that prizes insurance, backup plans, and the illusion of control. But Jesus reveals a profound truth about the human heart: the more we rely on our own resources, the less space we leave for God to work.

 

Jesus empties the Apostles' hands so they must rely entirely on Divine Providence. If they eat or find shelter, it will be because the Father provides. By removing their safety nets, Jesus teaches that true trust is not a feeling—it is a lived dependence. Traveling light, they are freed from anxiety, able to preach and heal with radical focus.

 

Today, Jesus asks each of us: What is your "extra tunic"? What are you clinging to out of fear? Perhaps it is anxiety over finances, a desire to control a family situation, or worry about the future.

 

(As we come forward to receive the Eucharist today, we stretch out our hands—open and empty.) Let us ask the Lord for the grace to surrender our need for control, to travel lightly, and to trust that the Father will provide for us this day and all days.

True intimacy with Jesus grows in the quiet, daily habit of listening to God’s Word and intentionally living it out.

 

In today’s Gospel, Jesus transforms a crowded, ordinary moment to redefine closeness with Him. When told His mother and brothers are waiting outside, He says to those gathered, “My mother and my brothers are those who hear the word of God and act on it.”

 

During Ordinary Time, the Church calls us to embrace the steady, day-to-day rhythm of discipleship. Jesus teaches that holiness is not reserved for those with special status or family ties. Instead, it is grounded in two simple, daily actions:

 

Hearing the Word of God: Letting Scripture and the promptings of the Holy Spirit break through the noise of our routines.

 

And Acting on the Word of God: Turning our prayer into concrete choices—showing patience to a coworker, offering charity to a neighbor, or performing hidden acts of kindness.

 

Let us pray for the grace to hear God’s voice clearly in our daily routines and to become His hands, feet, and voice in our world today.

 

We are familiar with today's Gospel story. Matthew, a tax collector and presumed sinful man, followed Jesus and ate with Him, much to the objection of the Pharisees, who believed it violated their laws about ritual purity.

In response, Jesus referenced Hosea, saying, "Go and learn the meaning of the words, 'I desire mercy, not sacrifice.'" Jesus stressed that mercy is above Temple sacrifices and, therefore, stands higher than the laws of ritual purity.

The Pharisees prioritized strict obedience to the law as God's will, but Jesus emphasized that mercy and love are above these laws and traditions. St. Paul affirmed this by highlighting the importance of love in all actions and knowledge.

Mercy, a product of love, is the voice of God's love for us and His desire for our well-being on earth and in the kingdom to come. Excluding and criticizing sinners, those whom Jesus came to save, is not a merciful response. Instead, let us remember that God's love is inclusive, accepting all who seek His mercy, and that we are called to imitate that love.

As we strive to spread the Good News, let us pray that God's mercy and love may guide our actions, words, and attitudes toward the people we are called to serve.

Most of us like to see ourselves as fair and generous, rooting for the underdog, enjoying a success story. Yet, if we're honest, there may be a quiet, hidden corner of the human heart that deflates a bit whenever someone else succeeds.

 

When a coworker receives the public praise we secretly desired, or a neighbor gets the lucky break we think we deserved, something inside us may groan, quietly asking God: "Why them and not me? Haven't I been faithful? Haven't I put in the time? Haven't I carried my share of the burden?"

 

Today, Jesus tells a story that directly challenges our human sense of fairness. He does it to heal this inner malady. He wants to pull our envy into the light so we can stop treating faith like a business agreement and start living it as a gift.

 

If we look closely at today’s Gospel, we notice that the peace in the vineyard was shattered not during the heat of the day. The workers who arrived at six o’clock in the morning didn't complain while they worked. They had agreed to a fair wage—a denarius—and were content to earn their living. The peace was shattered when they stopped looking at the work of their own hands and started looking at the work of their neighbors. The trouble began when they started to compare.

 

When the five o'clock workers—the ones who gave only a single hour of light labor—received the same pay, the early morning workers felt cheated. But notice the landowner’s penetrating response. He doesn't apologize. He looks them in the eye and asks: "Are you envious because I am generous?"

 

In the original Greek text, that question is even more blunt. It literally reads: "Is your eye evil because I am good?"

 

That’s what envy does. It gives us an "evil eye"—a spiritual blindness that recasts someone else’s blessing into our own sense of deprivation. Envy looks at God’s unlimited goodness to another and somehow concludes, "God must not love me." It turns the spiritual life into a competitive scorecard.

 

But God doesn’t use a calculator. The landowner didn't return to the marketplace at five o'clock because he needed more productivity. He went because those people still needed work. He was moved by their vulnerability, not their efficiency. When they said, "No one has hired us," he saw people facing a night of hunger and responded with radical grace.

 

The denarius in this story stands for the ultimate gift: salvation, the love of God, and eternal life. You cannot divide eternal life into percentages. You cannot receive only ten percent of God’s presence because you came to the faith late, nor can you demand a double portion because your family has been Catholic for generations. God gives all of Himself to everyone who answers the call.

 

It's easy to mistake ourselves for the six o’clock morning workers. We think, "I’m here every Sunday. I serve in the ministries. I try to follow the commandments." But the truth is, before God, we’re often not the early-morning workers, but the ones standing around at five o’clock in the evening.

 

Think about the Sacrament of Reconciliation. Every time we sin and return to Confession, we arrive at the end of the day, empty-handed, with nothing to show but our weakness. And what does God do? He doesn't dock our pay. He doesn't lecture us. He pours out the full, overflowing “denarius” of His mercy anyway.

 

If we want God to judge us by strict merit and flawless math, none of us would stand a chance. We don’t really want fairness from God. If God were strictly fair, we would be lost. What we truly want—what we desperately need—is His mercy.

 

If we live by mercy, we must let go of the ledger-book mindset. The cure for an envious eye is a heart of intentional thanksgiving. The next time you feel resentment creeping up because someone else is blessed—whether with material success, a loving family, or a vibrant spiritual life—catch yourself. Stop tallying. Look at them and pray: "Praise God that He is so good to them. And praise God that He is so good to me."

 

Let us pray today for deliverance from the trap of comparison. Let us ask the Holy Spirit for a heart that stops counting hours and measuring graces. When we walk up to this altar to receive the Eucharist, let us remember: the King of the Universe is giving all of Himself to each one of us, who are completely undeserving.

 

May we stand in this vineyard not as bitter, tired employees watching the clock, but as grateful, joyful children of a supremely generous, loving, and merciful Father.