Month: July 2026

Real Treasure

(1Kgs.3:5, 7-12; Rom.8:28-30; Mt.13:44-52)

The TV program Antiques Roadshow has long been popular.

Its format is predictable: someone presents an item, perhaps an old vase, a faded painting, or a little box, and an expert inspects it closely. A small crowd looks on; they want to know its worth. Not just the price tag, but the story, the rarity, and the thing that makes it precious.

This search for value is a common human instinct, and Jesus taps into it in today’s Gospel, in three short parables.

The first is of treasure buried in a field. The finder is delighted and sells everything he has to buy that field. The second is the pearl of great price: a merchant searching for fine pearls finds a fabulous one and sells all he has to buy it. And the third is the dragnet: fishermen haul in a net full of fish; they sort the good fish into baskets and throw away the bad.

All three parables are about wealth, and each emphasises a different aspect of how we recognise, acquire, and live with it.

The hidden treasure and the pearl represent two sides of the same coin. One is what you simply stumble upon, and the other is the result of a long search for what is fine and true. But both demand a decision: the man and the merchant sell all they have to keep what they find.

But what is this great Pearl? It’s the love of God, and to truly discover it is to re-evaluate our hearts, for we all live in a society that’s obsessed with worth.

We invest so much time, energy and money into our homes, careers, image, and pleasure. When we’re young, these things seem like gems to us because they promise security, identity, or meaning. But they don’t last, and eventually we realise they are not enough.

St. Paul thought he understood what was precious in life, especially honour, status and religious privilege. But after encountering Jesus he realises they are worthless. ‘I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord,’ he says (Phil.3:8).

Like the merchant, Paul invests everything he has into Jesus and his identity is reshaped. ‘I’ve been crucified with Christ’ he says, ‘and it’s no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me’ (Gal.2:20).

What he gains, apart from heaven, is a life of purpose that’s still shaping the world today.

St. Augustine is another classic pearl-story. He was a restless seeker who, when he finally met Jesus, gave up everything to devote himself to him. ‘Late have I loved you,’ he wrote. ‘Beauty so ancient and so new, late have I loved you.’

Augustine’s life shows both the joy of finding divine treasure and the transformation that follows.

In all this the third parable, the dragnet, adds a sense of urgency. The fishermen haul in a net full of fish; they sort them and discard the bad ones.

We, too, need to constantly discern what God wants of us. What is the good we need to keep and the bad that must go? And we’re reminded that one day we’ll all be held to account, for God will be doing his own sorting (Ps.96:13).

The Antiques Roadshow is a fine program about earthly value, but Jesus’ three parables today call us to a deeper wisdom about eternal worth.

Through the ages, countless saints have modelled the merchant who, having found Christ, sold everything to own and to share that treasure. One such person was St Francis of Assisi.

As a young man, Francis loved fine clothes, partying, and the privileges of wealth. He dreamt of becoming a knight and enjoying the praise of his peers. But after witnessing poverty and suffering, and hearing Jesus say ‘Rebuild my Church’ in the ruined chapel of San Damiano, Francis’ heart began to change.

One day, standing before his father in the middle of town, he stripped off his fine clothes and returned them, renouncing his inheritance and every claim to status. He chose instead a life of radical poverty, simplicity, and service.

He gave up all his worldly goods and honours to purchase a treasure greater than any wealth.

Francis then spent his life helping lepers, feeding the poor, preaching the Gospel, and praising God in every creature. He shared his newfound treasure freely, and established a movement that drew countless others to a simpler, deeper life in Christ.

Like St. Francis, St Augustine, and St Paul, may we have the courage to sell what must be sold, so that we might truly possess real treasure.

And then give it away in loving service.

The Farmer’s Wisdom

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

In ancient times, it was illegal under Roman law to sabotage someone else’s wheatfield with darnel.

Why? Because no-one wanted poisoned flour.

Darnel (also known as ‘tares’) is a toxic rye-grass that looks like wheat. You can’t tell them apart early on, but you can when they are mature. But by then their roots are too entangled to separate without damaging the wheat.

This helps explain Jesus’ parable of the wheat and tares in today’s Gospel. A farmer has sown good quality wheat, but then the weeds start appearing. His workers ask if they should pull them out, but the farmer says no. It’s better to wait for the harvest, when the wheat and weeds can be carefully separated.

This parable unsettles some people, especially those who tend to act quickly when they see something they dislike or that looks wrong. But Jesus’ point is that sometimes it’s better to wait, because many things we think are weeds are not, and waiting can lead to better outcomes.

Consider the story of a volunteer at a soup kitchen who once banned a patron because she’d seen him pocket something small. Later, she learned that he’d been collecting extra napkins for his children. Her quick judgment had cost him dignity and trust.

Consider also the gardener who planted a neat row of baby tulips. She felt proud afterwards, but got annoyed when she later saw little green weeds sprouting. She quickly got her trowel and dug them out, but her bulbs didn’t bloom that spring. In her haste, she had damaged the tulips’ shallow roots.

St Thomas More understood the wisdom of waiting. When Henry VIII tried to force him to agree to his takeover of the Church in England, he refused to be rushed. He spent months in prayer, study, and patient resistance, and even chose to go to prison rather than prematurely agreeing to anything.

In the end, Thomas More did not agree. But his long, prayerful discernment gave him the conviction he needed to face his execution.

And in North Africa, the 4^th century bishop Donatus Magnus insisted that only saints could belong to the Church. He set up a parallel church and decreed that anyone who had ever sinned was permanently excluded.

St Augustine of Hippo objected to this, and he based his arguments on this parable. He argued that the Church on earth will always include both the holy and the hypocrite, the saint and the sinner, for we are all either one or the other, and sometimes we are both.

Augustine said that if we try to root out every imperfect person from our pews, we will end up destroying the very body of Christ. And he explained that God tolerates the presence of weeds because he wants to give them time to be transformed, through his grace, into wheat.

And just as the farmer separates the wheat from the tares, and the fisherman separates the good fish from the bad (Mt.13:47-50), so God will separate the sheep from the goats on judgment day (Mt.25:31-46).

So, what does all this mean for us today?

It means that we must not to be too hasty in branding and banning people, for it’s better to encourage than to judge.

Today’s Psalm 86 reminds us that God is always good, always forgiving and always kind. This must be our aim: to let God’s constant love and mercy shape the way we treat others.

And we must give people the space they need to grow, trusting that God’s love and kindness can reach even the most tangled roots.

Notice how this psalm moves from praise to petition. First, it acclaims God’s greatness and then it asks him for his help. That must be the rule for our own lives: firstly, to humbly praise God’s goodness, and then to ask for his help in living with others.

‘You are a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger…’ the psalmist says. This too, must be our challenge: to be slow-to-anger just like Jesus.

Before we dig with our trowels, we must first ask questions. Before we exclude, we must extend an invitation. Before we declare someone a weed, we must offer an encouraging pathway back to the field.

And when we’re tempted to act hastily, remember the tulips and the soup kitchen. Remember St Thomas More’s patient conscience and Augustine’s warning about a Church of the perfect.

And remember, too, the testimony of today’s Psalm: that our God is merciful, slow to anger, and overflowing in steadfast love.

Let God’s mercy form you. Then help him turn weeds into wheat.

How Deep is Your Love?

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

Most people seem to like the romantic Bee Gees ballad ‘How Deep Is Your Love?’ (1977).

It’s the story of a man who has fallen in love, and wants to know if his beloved loves him equally in return. This song isn’t just about romance, though. It’s about depth, trust, and whether love can survive the challenges of ordinary life.

In today’s Gospel that question, ‘How deep is your love?’ is exactly what Jesus is asking us in his Parable of the Sower. This is the story of a farmer who scatters his seeds everywhere, and it lands on pathways, on rocky ground, among thorns, and on rich, fertile soil.

This parable isn’t really about seeds and soil, however. It’s about how deeply God’s love can penetrate the soil of our hearts.

One of the Early Church Fathers, St John Chrysostom, was struck by the Sower’s generosity in scattering his seed so lavishly, even on hopeless ground. Why is he so lavish? It’s because that’s how God loves. God’s love has no limits.

This seed, Jesus explains, is the Word of God, and behind his every word is God’s loving heart. So, the question is not whether God’s love is deep enough; it’s whether our hearts are deep enough to receive it.

Consider the first soil, the pathway, where the seed simply sits until the birds steal it. This path represents the cynical or superficial hearts who hear God’s Word but either don’t understand or just don’t care, for they are shut tight.

How deep then is your love, if you won’t even let God’s Word in?

Then there’s the rocky ground where the seed starts sprouting. But there’s no depth to receive any roots, and when the sun arrives the plant withers and dies.

St Augustine warned of this kind of faith. He called it a love that’s loud but shallow, eager in good times but absent in suffering.

How many of us love God when life is sweet but question him when life turns bitter? How deep is your love when the cross appears?

The third soil is perhaps most like our world today: the thorns. The seed grows, but it’s choked by what Jesus calls ‘the worries of the world and the lure of riches.’ Pope Francis often spoke of the noise of modern life and the endless anxiety about money and success which slowly suffocate the life of God in us.

These thorns don’t actually attack the seed; they simply crowd it out. And so our prayer life starts shrinking, our generosity dries up, and our love grows cold.

How deep is your love when you allow the world to distract you like this?

And finally, there’s the rich soil, where the seed takes root, grows, and bears loads of fruit. This is the heart that has been well ploughed and prepared. It’s the heart that has made space for God.

Now, notice the difference between all these soils. The difference isn’t the seed, for it’s always the same. God’s love never changes, regardless of where it falls.

The difference is the depth of the ground that receives it.

St Teresa of Ávila often said that the soul is like a garden and we are the gardeners. We cannot make the seed grow, for only God can do that (1Cor.3:6-7). But we can prepare the soil. We can pull up the thorns. We can break up the rocks. We can fence off the path so that the birds cannot steal what God has planted.

So how do we deepen the soil of our hearts? Here are three ways:

Firstly, silence. Noise hardens the pathway, so spend ten minutes each day sitting quietly with our Lord. Pray, and read the Gospel slowly. Let it sink in.

Secondly, perseverance. Rocky soils fail because they have no room for roots. Stay faithful to prayer when you don’t feel like praying. Come to Mass even when it’s inconvenient. Let God’s love seep in and nourish your heart, and allow for rich soil to develop in you.

And thirdly, pruning. Find the thorns and cut them back. This week, name the worries, the attachments, and the distractions that choke your spiritual life. Ask Jesus to remove them, and let your heart flourish.

Every single day, the Sower scatters seed in our lives through scripture, the Holy Spirit, and the grace of the sacraments. The seed is perfect, the Sower is generous, but the question is always the depth of our hearts.

So, today, Jesus is asking: How deep is your love?

In your answer, try to remember the words from that iconic song: ‘I believe in you. You know the door to my very soul, you’re the light in my deepest, darkest hour, you’re my saviour when I fall…’

And ask Jesus to make your heart grow strong and fruitful.

Soulful Symphony

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

It’s wonderful to see children playing musical instruments like the piano, violin, trumpet or flute.

But it’s not quite so wonderful when they’re all rehearsing together without a conductor. There might be some nice notes here and there, but without good direction, their sounds will clash, tempos will drift, and the music, for all its potential, will never really lift anyone’s soul.

But if a good conductor arrives, sets the tempo and teaches them how to breathe and make space for each other, then things will happen. The children will start producing something quite special.

They’ll also discover that their gifts aren’t diminished when they play as one, because it will free them to make music they could never make alone.

It’s rather like this when people call themselves ‘spiritual but not religious.’

Like young musicians, spiritually independent people are drawn to transcendence and beauty. And while they might hit some good notes, without a conductor and without a shared rhythm and guiding hand, the results are likely to be fragmented and their hunger for meaning will be unmet.

In the life of the spirit, private practice usually appears as restlessness and inconsistency, and it never reaches its potential.

In today’s first reading, St Paul tells the Romans, ‘Your interests are not in the unspiritual, but in the spiritual, since the Spirit of God has made his home in you… unless you possessed the Spirit of Christ you would not belong to him…’

Paul is spelling out what makes Christian spirituality different. It’s not just a philosophy or a feeling, but a life that’s filled and shaped by the Spirit of Christ.

This life begins at baptism, for that’s when the Holy Spirit gives us his graces. And, if we allow him, he starts shaping us from within, for Christ is the great conductor. Without him, our spiritual efforts are largely misdirected.

That’s what St Augustine found. He was a clever and curious soul who for years searched desperately for truth in books, teachers and a life of pleasure and success. Yet he kept thinking his famous thought: ‘You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you.’

St Augustine found his ‘spiritual but not religious’ wanderings very frustrating.

One day as he sat in a garden, weeping over his spiritual failure, he heard a child sing: ‘Pick up and read, pick up and read…’

He took it as a sign and opened a Bible at a random page to read St Paul’s words, ‘…put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh… (Rom.13:13-14).

It changed his life. He opened up his heart to the Scriptures and to the Spirit, got baptised and started a life of sacrament and prayer. After that, his gifts became instruments of peace and praise rather than sources of restlessness.

This is what Jesus is offering us in today’s Gospel. Seeing a weary crowd, he says, ‘Come to me, all you who labour and are burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you… for my yoke is easy and my burden light.”

Jesus isn’t promising us an easy ride, but he is promising to give us peace; a peace that flows when our lives are on track and our efforts are shaped by his gentle hand.

That yoke image is important, for two oxen yoked together can go further than one struggling alone. Like a conductor, the yoke shows you how to move with another. But the Spirit does not smother our individuality. The Spirit harmonises our hearts with the life of Christ and the life of the community.

Many who are ‘spiritual but not religious’ have good reason for their distance. If they’ve been hurt in some way, the Church sincerely apologises.

But Jesus’ invitation is a remarkable gift. He’s offering us a personal relationship with him and a life breathed by his Spirit; a life re-ordered towards God and our neighbour that can finally settle restless hearts.

This is like musicians learning to breathe together, by adopting practices that ground us: prayer, Scripture, the Sacraments, simple acts of service, and the companionship of a faith community. These aren’t rigid, suffocating rules; they are guided rhythms that transform wonder into faithful love.

So, if you’ve been practising solo, consider taking one small step toward the conductor. Let the Holy Spirit gently retune your heart.

You may find, as St Augustine did, that your restless searching becomes a rest that’s filled with deep, joyful music.

For the Spirit of Christ is our patient and gentle conductor.

He’s always keen to order our scattered gifts into a soulful symphony.