Not worthy yet loved

June 28, 2025 Saturday within the 12th week in Orinary Time: Year C Matthew 8:5–17 In today’s gospel we encounter two moments of deep human need—a Roman centurion whose beloved servant is suffering terribly, and many others who come to Jesus with sickness and affliction. What stands out is not just the healing that takes place, but the heart that dares to ask. The centurion, a man of authority, approaches Jesus not with pride, but with profound humility: “Lord, I am not worthy to have you under my roof.” It is a line that has echoed for centuries in our Eucharistic prayers. Behind those words is the aching heart of someone who loves deeply—who is willing to set aside status, power, and reputation just to see someone he cares for be restored. And Jesus, moved not by rank but by faith, marvels. This Gospel reveals a love that crosses boundaries—cultural, religious, personal. Jesus heals not just because He can, but because His heart is always drawn to the suffering. He enters Peter’s house, sees his mother-in-law lying sick, and touches her hand. There’s no grand miracle here—just a quiet gesture of compassion that lifts her up and restores her strength. And then, like her, we are called to rise from our own healing and begin to serve. The grace we receive is not meant to end with us—it must overflow. Healing is not only about physical restoration; it is the reawakening of the soul, the stirring of gratitude, and the rebirth of purpose. This passage reminds us that no suffering is hidden from the gaze of Christ. Whether we are pleading like the centurion or lying helpless like Peter’s mother-in-law, Jesus comes close. He doesn’t just cure diseases; He carries our burdens, fulfills Isaiah’s prophecy, and enters into the wounds of humanity to bring light. This is our hope—that even in moments when we feel unworthy, broken, or far from help, He is willing to come under our roof. His presence heals. His word restores. And in every Mass where we whisper, “Lord, I am not worthy…” we are echoing the cry of the centurion—and trusting in a love that still heals today. Blessings Fr. Jhack