Month: August 2025

Lesson from Lourdes

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

Have you ever explored the psychology of seating?

When you walk into a café or a meeting, where do you like to sit? On an aeroplane, do you choose the aisle, middle or window seat?

Where we choose to sit says a lot about us. It reveals something of our outlook on life, our relationship with others and our desire to influence any given situation.

Many of us like such control. We want a good seat, not too far back, but not too close to the front. We want to be seen, but not awkwardly. And we want to be valued, without seeming too proud.

Today, Jesus says: ‘When you are invited, go and sit at the lowest place.’

He’s not just telling us to be humble; he’s asking us to trust. To trust that our worth doesn’t just come from pushing ourselves forward, but from letting God lift us up in his time.

Today’s Gospel finds a living echo in the story of St. Bernadette Soubirous, the 14-year-old girl who saw Our Lady at Lourdes, in southern France in 1858.

Bernadette was young, sickly and could barely read. Her family was so poor that they lived in a former jail cell. If anyone in town was allocating ‘important seats,’ Bernadette would surely have been left at the back, if invited at all.

And yet, the Blessed Virgin Mary chose to visit her. Not the mayor or the rich or the educated, but a girl who was so poor that she was practically invisible. And she visited her not just once, but eighteen times over six months.

Bernadette didn’t seek attention. In fact, she avoided it. But when people learnt of her Marian visions, she suffered ridicule and brutal interrogation.

And later, when people realised that her story was true, she was offered praise and prestige. But this did not move her. ‘The Blessed Virgin used me like a broom,’ Bernadette humbly said, ‘she’s put me back in my corner.’

Bernadette always chose the lowest place, and was lifted up by God’s grace.

Lourdes today is a remarkable place. People from all nations gather there, especially the sick, the disabled and the forgotten. They are looking for healing and hope. And there something surprising happens: those who are weak and wan are welcomed as honoured guests.

Volunteers gently push wheelchairs into positions of prominence. Nurses bathe the sick with reverence. Pilgrims bow before those who suffer, not because they’re pitiful, but because they are holy.

At Lourdes, the first become last, and the last are made first.

Pride and prestige have no place there. Only people longing for grace. And amidst all that humility, miracles do happen – not always in the body, but very often in the heart.

Many pilgrims step into the cold baths of Lourdes, not for comfort, but for surrender. It’s humbling. You let go of control. You let others help you. It’s not dramatic. But when you step out, something inside you shifts.

It’s like entering Jesus’ narrow door, like taking the lowest place at the table.
And from that low place, grace flows.

Today we’ve come to this altar to celebrate the heavenly banquet, and Jesus is our host. But the guest list looks upside-down. It’s not the proud, the successful or the self-righteous we have here, but the broken, the humble and the hungry.

We come to this table not by climbing, but by kneeling. Not by proving ourselves, but by letting ourselves be loved.

So, let me ask you: where in your life are you being asked to take the lower seat?

Is it in a family relationship where you need to listen more than speak? Is it in your workplace, letting others shine without you being resentful? Is it in your faith, returning to prayer like a child, with no fancy titles or defences?

The world teaches us to rise and push ourselves forward. Jesus teaches us to stay back and kneel, so that he can raise us in his time.

At Lourdes, grace pours out in the lowest places: in muddy grottoes, hidden hearts and quiet prayers.

Let it pour into your heart, too.

For ‘everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but whoever humbles himself will be exalted.’

The Secret Garden

(Isa.66:18-21; Heb.12:5-7; 11-13; Lk.13:22-30)

In the late 1800s, when the author Frances Hodgson Burnett (1849-1924) lived at Maytham Hall in England, a red robin led her to a hidden walled garden.

It inspired her to write her famous children’s novel, The Secret Garden. Set in 1901, it’s the story of a spoiled, lonely and recently orphaned young girl named Mary Lennox. Mary is sent to live at her uncle’s mysterious estate in Yorkshire.

There she hears whispers of a secret garden that’s locked, hidden and long forgotten. Mary becomes very curious, and starts looking for it. First she finds the key, and then she finds a door hidden behind a wall of ivy.

She enters that garden to find it choked by weeds, but it’s not dead. It’s waiting to be reborn. And as she starts caring for it, something else starts to blossom: her heart. Mary reaches out to her unhappy cousin Colin, who is crippled by fear and self-pity. She invites him to join her and he, too, starts to heal.

What was once hidden becomes a place of friendship, laughter and new life.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus speaks of a ‘narrow door’ that leads to life. He says we must ‘try our best’ to enter it, not because God wants to make it hard for us, but because this doorway requires something small and simple: our humility.

You cannot fit through that door carrying any sense of pride, ego or entitlement.

We often think of salvation as a wide, comfortable path. But Jesus is making it clear: if we want to follow him, we must change. It’s not enough to say, ‘I knew about you, Lord.’ We must truly know Jesus through our hearts, through our life choices and through our daily acts of love and mercy.

In The Secret Garden, both Mary and Colin are initially inward-looking, angry and resistant to change. They avoid the ‘narrow door’ of vulnerability, responsibility and love. But once they enter and engage with that secret garden, everything changes. Why?

It’s because that garden is hard work. It demands attention and it doesn’t flatter them. But in returning every day to dig, prune and tend it, they discover a joy that gives them new life.

And so it is with us. Jesus’ ‘narrow door’ is not a trap; it’s the threshold to our new life, but we have to work at it.

In Luke’s Gospel, someone asks Jesus, ‘Will many be saved?’ But Jesus doesn’t answer. Why? Because it’s essentially irrelevant.

There are better questions to ask, like: Am I willing to change to fit through that narrow door?

Am I willing to forgive, to let go of the resentment that poisons my soul?

Will I drop the distractions that block me from truly loving God and my family?

Am I humble enough to accept help and to apologise when I’m wrong?

And like Mary in The Secret Garden, will I reach out to those who are forgotten and unloved?

This secret garden is a fine metaphor for the Kingdom of God. It’s a very special place where the sick are healed, dead things bloom again, and joy returns.

Unfortunately, it’s hidden and forgotten by too many people today. They’ve forgotten it because they believe it’s no longer important. ‘We’re going to heaven anyway,’ they think, ‘so why should we bother?’

Or they might think ‘we’re good people, so heaven must surely be ours.’

Jesus is trying to shake us out of this complacency. In John 10:9, Jesus tells us that he is the door, and today he says this door is narrow and not everyone will enter it.

People will come from east and west, from north and south, Jesus says. In other words, people will come from everywhere and even some of the most unlikely souls will be welcomed into God’s Kingdom.

But note this: many others who assume they are safe may be left out, especially if they refuse to change. As Jesus says: ‘the last will be first, and the first will be last.’

This, then, is our message for today: If you want to enter God’s secret garden through that narrow door, then you must approach it honestly, humbly and be prepared to change.

And the key to this door can be found in our bold ‘yes’ to God’s call.

Beyond that threshold lies our personal transformation and unimaginable beauty and joy.

But first we must do our very best to enter that narrow doorway. [i]

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[i] The Secret Garden Movie – https://archive.org/details/the-secret-garden-1993-dv-drip-720x-576-ac-3-2ch-eng-rhoo-d

Dead Man Walking

(Jer.38:4-6; 8-10; Heb.12:1-4; 8-19; Lk.12:49-53)

It seems hard to believe that Jesus would ever say he’s come to set fire to our world, let alone cause division rather than peace. Yet that’s exactly what he does in today’s Gospel.

It’s tempting to try to soften these words. After all, isn’t Jesus the Prince of Peace? Didn’t the angels sing ‘Peace on Earth’ at his birth?

Yes, but not peace at any price. Jesus didn’t come to promote a false peace, one that avoids conflict by quietly hiding the truth or overlooking evil.

The fire Jesus came to bring is the fire of love, the fire of truth, and the fire that can divide but also purify and heal when it addresses an injustice.

There’s a good example of this fire at work in Tim Robbins’ movie Dead Man Walking. It’s based on the true story of Sister Helen Prejean.

Sr Helen is a sister of the Congregation of St Joseph and a tireless advocate for the abolition of the death penalty in the United States. In 1993 she wrote a powerful book detailing her experience as a spiritual advisor to two men on Louisiana’s death row.

In 1995, her book became a movie starring Susan Sarandon and Sean Penn. It tells the story of how Sr Helen accompanies one convicted murderer to his execution. She chooses to walk with him, not to excuse his crimes, but to help him face the truth, and to encounter the possibility of mercy.

This causes great division. The victims’ families and even some Church members are outraged that she gave him any support at all. ‘How can you comfort someone like him?’ they ask. ‘Aren’t you on the wrong side?’

But Sr Helen isn’t choosing sides. She’s choosing Christ. And sometimes Jesus divides us, not to destroy, but to save. Sr Helen brings the fire of truth and mercy into a place of hatred and shame. That fire hurts, but it also saves.

Jesus’ words today are not about violence or vengeance. They’re about the division that can happen when we stand for truth and love in a world that too often prefers comfort and convenience.

This division can occur when we choose to forgive rather than seek revenge, or when we refuse to gossip or participate in an injustice.

It can also happen when someone stands for life and the dignity of the poor, or when someone speaks out against cruelty, racism or violence.

They may lose friendships, and even family bonds may be tested. But that division isn’t meant to destroy relationships. It’s meant to expose the false peace for which we too often settle, and it opens the way for real reconciliation, grounded in truth.

Jesus says, ‘I’ve come to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were blazing already!’ But what is this fire?

It’s the fire of the Holy Spirit, which is the flame of conversion, justice, and mercy. This is the fire that burns away our selfishness, refines our intentions and warms the cold parts of our hearts. This isn’t the fire of destruction. It’s the fire of transforming love.

So, what does all this mean for us today?

Most of us hate conflict and try to avoid anything that might cause division. But some divisions are necessary and some are holy.

Ask yourself: do I try to ‘keep the peace’ by avoiding something that deep down I know I should be doing?

Am I hiding an important truth for the sake of comfort?

Is Jesus calling me to take a stand, even if it makes me unpopular or uncomfortable?

Jesus doesn’t divide for the sake of destruction. He divides to make us whole.

Sr Helen Prejean has long argued that the death penalty is not only morally flawed, but incompatible with the Christian call to mercy, reconciliation, and human dignity.

She chose to enter a place that most people would run from – a prison cell. But by doing that, she brought a soul closer to salvation.

This is precisely what Jesus did. He walked into our broken world, full of fire and mercy. He, too, caused division as many people objected to his presence. But Jesus didn’t come to affirm our false peace. He came to save us, to give us hope.

Today, let’s pray that we will have the courage to welcome Jesus’ spiritual fire into our lives, burning away all that is empty and false.

May we be filled with the fire of God’s love.

May we accept the truth that sets us free.

To the Heights!

(Wis.18:6-9; Heb.11:1-2; 8-19; Lk.12:32-48)

Mountain climbing is more than just trying to reach the summit. It’s also a test of your planning and perseverance.

Fitness and practice are important, too, as is carrying only what you need. It’s also critical to stay focussed on the goal, especially when the going gets tough.

Mountain climbing is a good metaphor for life because we’re all ascending towards something. But here’s the question: what are we climbing towards?

Next month, on September 7, Pope Leo XIV will be canonising Blessed Pier Giorgio Frassati, who was a mountaineer, both literally and spiritually. He was born in Turin, Italy, in 1901.

Pier Giorgio’s father was a wealthy businessman and the Italian ambassador to Germany, and his mother was an artist. Neither had much connection with religion, but Pier Giorgio discovered Jesus at an early age and his faith grew quickly.

As a child he started giving away things like his food and his shoes to poor people. At other times he gave away his bus money. One cold winter he gave his shoes to a homeless man and walked home barefoot.

Pier Giorgio was very sociable and loved parties, but he worried about the rise of fascism, communism and anti-Catholic persecution in Italy. So, he got actively involved in Catholic youth groups and joined the St Vincent de Paul Society when he was 17.

He loved sports, hiking and climbing, and said that mountains lifted his soul towards God. But he also climbed to the spiritual heights of holiness, by living simply, going regularly to Mass and sometimes spending all night in Eucharistic adoration. In 1922 he joined the Lay Dominicans.

Pier Giorgio once wrote: ‘The higher we go, the better we shall hear the voice of Christ.’

He regularly visited the poor in the slums of Turin, often in secret, carrying groceries or medicine on his way to his university classes. He gave away so many things – his clothes, his money, and his time – but never his joy.

Then suddenly he got sick with polio. He had caught it from the slums where he’d helped so many people. But even on his deathbed he still worried about others. Just before he died, he scribbled a note reminding a friend not to forget the medicine for someone he had been helping. He died in 1925, aged only 24.

His parents expected a quiet funeral, but when thousands arrived they were stunned. They had no idea how much their son had been doing for others.

Pier Giorgio Frassati’s life reminds us that the way to God’s Kingdom is an upward path – one that demands readiness, simplicity and plenty of love.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus says to his disciples, ‘Don’t be afraid, little flock, for it has pleased the Father to give you the Kingdom.’

Now this is significant. Jesus doesn’t say sell everything first, and then God’s Kingdom will be yours. Rather, God is already giving you his Kingdom because he loves you. Now, all you have to do is trust and love him – and then ‘Sell your possessions and give alms.’

Why? It’s because you need to let go of whatever weighs you down. Like mountain climbing, it’s much easier when you carry very little.

Then Jesus utters his famous line: ‘Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.’ This is like a spiritual compass. If you want to know where your heart is, just look at your treasure. What are you clinging to? Where do you spend most of your time, energy and love? And what do you most fear losing?

Pier Giorgio found his treasure in the faces of the poor, in friendship, in the Eucharist and in the joy of the Gospel. He happily gave away his privileges to climb towards a higher goal.

Today, Jesus is telling us to be ready, like servants waiting for their master. Not because of fear, but because we love God and long to see his face.

How might we be ready? By living with humility and deep purpose, doing whatever we can for others. As Jesus says, ‘To whom much is given, much is expected.’

We’ve all been blessed in so many ways, but what are we doing with it all? Pier Giorgio was born into a wealthy family, but he poured it all out for others.

He once said: ‘Charity is not enough; we must also bring them the truth.’

At his beatification ceremony in 1990, Pope John Paul II described Pier Giorgio as a ‘man of the eight beatitudes.’ His friends called him ‘an explosion of joy.’

Today, as we continue climbing that mountain towards the heart of God, let’s lighten our packs, trim our lamps and lift up our hearts.

And let’s consider adopting Pier Giorgio’s motto: Verso l’alto! – ‘To the heights!’ [i]

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[i] https://frassatiusa.org/frassati-biography

Lagom Living

(Ecc.1:2; 2:21-23; Col.3:1-5, 9-11; Lk.12:13-21)

There’s always something interesting to learn from other cultures. The Swedes, for example, have a very sensible concept they call Lagom.

Lagom basically means ‘just the right amount.’ It means knowing when enough is enough, and aiming for balance and moderation rather than constantly seeking more.

It’s the contented feeling you get when you have everything you need to be comfortable, including somewhere to live, something to eat, enough money and friends to get by, and being happy with that (Prov.30:8-9).

The idea of Lagom apparently comes from the Vikings, and from the expression ‘Lagom är bäst’, which means ‘The right amount is best.’ The Vikings used to pass mead around in a bowl or horn and each person had a sip, making sure everyone got their fair share.

Now, contrast that with the way many people live today. Many people have far more than they will ever need, and yet they’re still not satisfied.

There’s a word for this. It’s greed. Greed is craving something you like, when you really don’t need it. It’s about trying to get more of what you want, in a world where there’s never enough for everyone.

This worries Jesus. In fact, 16 of his parables mention money, wealth or material possessions. Why? It’s because our relationship with wealth says a lot about our priorities and our trust in God (Mt.6:21).

In Luke’s Gospel today, Jesus is teaching a crowd of people when a man calls out to him, ‘Master, tell my brother to give me a share of our inheritance.’ He has been fighting over this money and wants Jesus to adjudicate.

In those days rabbis gave legal judgements on a whole range of civil, criminal and religious questions. But this time Jesus doesn’t want to get involved. Instead, he tells the parable of a rich man who’s had a great harvest and plans to build bigger barns to store his new wealth. He wants to spend it all on a life of pleasure.

Today, many people would admire this man’s success, and yet Jesus calls him a fool. Why? It’s because the only thing he cares about is his wealth and the pleasure it gives him.

He doesn’t realise that everything comes from God, and that God expects us all to use what we have for the benefit others as well as ourselves (Eph.4:28).

And importantly, this man has forgotten about time. He dies soon afterwards and has to account for himself before God (Dt.16:16-17).

When we think about it, this story really isn’t about money. It’s about how we choose to live our lives. It’s not wrong to be wealthy, but it is wrong to be selfish with what we have, especially when it means that others go without.

In his book Balaam’s Donkey, Michael Casey writes, ‘What I want for myself involves my denying it to others, since there is not enough for everyone. But there is irony here. As the Irving Berlin song reminds us, “After you got what you want, you don’t want it.” We move on to the next thing.’

He continues: ‘You might recall that Ethan in John Steinbeck’s The Winter of our Discontent concludes that you can never have enough money; you either have no money or not enough. And wasn’t it the Beatles who sang, “Money can’t buy me love?” Greed remains hungry even when the monster is fed. Meanwhile, having acquired what we wanted, we worry about losing it, and if that should happen, we grieve over its loss. The moment of bliss is brief indeed.’ [i]

There is something very sensible about Lagom living, and striking the right balance in all aspects of our lives. At the end of the day, we only need enough. If we have too much, it means that someone else may be suffering.

Let’s close with a story.

A pastor was invited to the home of a wealthy man in Texas. After the meal, the host took him to a spot where they could get a good view of his land.

Pointing to the oil wells, he boasted, ‘I used to have nothing. Now, all you can see here is mine.’ Then looking in the opposite direction at his sprawling fields of grain, he said, ‘That’s all mine.’ Turning east toward his cattle, he bragged, ‘They’re also mine.’ Then pointing to a huge forest in the west he beamed, ‘That’s all mine, too.’

He paused, expecting to be congratulated on his success. But the pastor simply placed his hand on the man’s shoulder, pointed towards heaven and asked ‘How much do you have in that direction?’

The man thought for a while and then confessed, ‘I’ve never thought of that.’

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[i] Michael Casey, Balaam’s Donkey, Liturgical Press, Collegeville MN, 2018:188.