LAMBS NOT WOLVES

July 11, 2025 Friday within the 14th week in Ordinary Time: Year C Matthew 10:16-23 Being sent “like sheep among wolves” is not just a spiritual image—it’s a deeply spiritual reality. It stirs our natural fear of harm, rejection, and abandonment. As a priest, I’ve felt the emotional weight of this many times—when I preach something difficult, when I stand alone in a room of opposing opinions, or when I feel misunderstood even by those I serve. There’s a quiet anxiety that comes with knowing you may not be welcomed, even when your intentions are pure. It’s the inner voice that asks, “Will they listen? Or will they turn against me?” Jesus’ words about being “wise as serpents and innocent as doves” resonate with the psychological tension of ministry. It takes tremendous inner strength to remain discerning without becoming suspicious, to protect your heart without building emotional walls. Wisdom without love can harden us. Innocence without wisdom can leave us broken. The mental and emotional toll of navigating criticism, betrayal, and spiritual warfare can lead to burnout if not grounded in grace. It’s a constant inner negotiation between strategy and sincerity, courage and vulnerability. And yet, in that same breath, Jesus offers a healing truth: “The Spirit of your Father will speak through you.” There is profound personal relief in that promise. I don’t always have to have the perfect words or carry the weight alone. I just need to stay grounded, present, and open. It comforts me to know that I am not expected to be emotionally invincible. Even in moments of fear, mental fatigue, or doubt, God’s Spirit sustains and speaks. That’s where true peace begins—not in having all the answers, but in trusting that I am not alone. Blessings Fr. Jhack

YOUR WORTH

July 12, 2025 Saturday within the 14th week in Ordinary Time: Year C Matthew 10:24-33 In today’s gospel, Jesus prepares His disciples for the cost of discipleship. “A disciple is not above his teacher, nor a servant above his master.” These words remind us that to follow Christ is to walk His path—one marked not by comfort, but by courage. If Jesus Himself was misunderstood, mocked, and persecuted, how can we expect anything different? This is not a call to fear, but a call to fidelity. In a world that often resists truth and light, discipleship means standing firm, knowing that we are not walking alone—we are walking in His footsteps. Jesus then urges us not to be afraid: “Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul.” Fear can silence the Gospel, but faith empowers us to proclaim it. We are not meant to hide truth in darkness or whisper it in secret—we are called to speak it boldly in the light. In our own time, standing for what is right can come at a great cost: rejection, ridicule, even persecution. But Jesus assures us that our lives are not in the hands of this world—they are in the hands of the Father. Our mission is not to be safe, but to be faithful. Finally, the heart of this Gospel beats in the words: “You are worth more than many sparrows.” God’s love is not abstract or distant—it is intimate, detailed, personal. Every hair on our head is counted. This divine attentiveness gives us strength. When we feel unseen or insignificant, God sees. When we feel afraid to stand for Him, He reminds us: if we acknowledge Him before others, He will acknowledge us before the Father. This is the promise that sustains the heart of every true disciple—courage rooted not in pride, but in being deeply known and eternally loved. Blessings Fr. Jhack

I DON’T HAVE MUCH BUT I HAVE HIM

July 10, 2025 Thursday within the 14th week in Ordinary Time Year C Mt 10:7-15 There’s a peculiar joy in being sent with nothing but faith. Jesus told His disciples to carry no gold, no bag, not even a second tunic — just the message that “the Kingdom of heaven is at hand.” When I think about it, it almost feels reckless by worldly standards. Yet, I’ve come to realize that there’s deep freedom in this kind of trust. Ministry has taught me that I don’t need to have everything figured out before I go. What matters most is that I have a willing heart — a heart that says, “Yes, Lord, send me,” even when my hands feel empty. I’m called to go, even without a map. In my weakness, He walks with me. There have been many days when I walked into people’s lives — into hospitals, homes, or confessionals — with no plan, no prepared speech, just the quiet hope that God would use me. And every time, He does. I’ve seen tears turn into healing, silence turn into peace, and burdens lifted by nothing more than a listening presence and a whispered blessing. The joy I carry in those moments doesn’t come from being perfect or prepared — it comes from knowing that even my weakness can become an open door for grace. That’s the beauty of the Gospel: it doesn’t rely on our strength, only our surrender. Jesus also said that if we’re not welcomed, we can shake the dust from our feet and move on in peace. That, too, is liberating. I’m not called to carry rejection, only the message. I can go forward joyfully, knowing that God uses even the smallest “yes” to build His Kingdom. So I continue to go — often with empty hands, but always with a heart ready to love, to serve, and to be surprised by how powerfully He moves through simplicity. And that, for me, is one of the greatest joys of the priesthood. Blessings Fr. Jhack

MERCY IS OUR MIRROR

There will always be people who disappoint us, offend us, or hurt us in ways we never expected. Human relationships are messy and unpredictable. When others show their worst, our natural instinct is to mirror it—to return sarcasm with sarcasm, coldness with coldness, or anger with silence. But Jesus shows us a different way. He didn’t treat people according to their sins, but according to His mercy. That’s what grace does. It calls us not to reflect the brokenness of others, but to reflect the goodness God has planted within us. We are not called to be reactors—we are called to be witnesses. Witnesses to love, to patience, to dignity, and to forgiveness. When someone is rude, unkind, or unjust, that is their choice. But how we respond is our choice. And our response reveals more about who we are than who they are. To treat others as good as we are, not as bad as they may be, is not weakness—it is strength. It is character. It is holiness. And it is Christ-like. So when you are tempted to lash out, take a breath and remember: You are not them. You are better not because you’re superior, but because you choose to live by grace. The world doesn’t need more retaliation—it needs more redemption. The next time someone shows you their worst, show them your best. That’s how hearts are changed—not always theirs, but certainly yours. NB: Let mercy be our mirror. Let us reflect God not bitterness because how we respond says more about me than about them. Inshort, grace over grudge must be a choice we should make every day. Blessings Fr. Jhack

CALLED TO BE FAITHFUL

July 9, 2025 Wednesday within the 14th week in Ordinary Time: Year C Mathew 10:1-7 There is something deeply personal in the way Jesus calls each of the twelve by name. He doesn’t summon a crowd or choose the most influential. He chooses fishermen, tax collectors, ordinary men — broken, flawed, and uncertain. When I reflect on my own vocation, I can’t help but wonder why He chose me too. Like the apostles, I had my fears, my doubts, my hidden wounds. And yet, Jesus did not call me because I was ready. He called me so that I would become ready — in His time, by His grace. Jesus not only calls them; He sends them. He entrusts them with the sacred mission to heal, to cast out demons, to proclaim the nearness of God’s Kingdom. What a terrifying and beautiful task — to become vessels of healing in a hurting world. I think of the times I’ve been sent to hospital beds, confessionals, or lonely parishioners. Often, I didn’t feel powerful. I felt small, exhausted, unsure of what to say. But somehow, through that weakness, grace moved. Healing happened. Not because of me, but because He was with me. This Gospel reminds me that I am not called to be impressive, but faithful. I am not called to succeed by the world’s standards, but to serve with Christ’s heart. Being sent by Jesus is not about status — it’s about surrender. The Kingdom of God is still near, still breaking into this world through the hands and hearts of those willing to go. And so, like the apostles, I rise again today with my name on His lips and His mission in my heart — uncertain, unworthy, but undeniably chosen. Blessings Fr. Jhack

WHEN COMPASSION BECOMES A MISSION

July 8, 2025 Tuesday within the 14th week in Ordinary Time Year C Matthew 9:32–38 In this powerful passage, we witness the heart of Jesus revealed again and again—not just as a healer of bodies but as a restorer of souls. When they brought the paralyzed man to Him, Jesus first forgave his sins before healing his legs. This moment reminds us of the deepest healing humanity needs—not physical strength, but inner freedom. The priority of mercy over miracle in Jesus’ action speaks volumes. In a world obsessed with instant cures, Jesus gives us lasting grace. And through this grace, we too are invited to rise, walk, and carry our mats—not to return to comfort, but to move forward in faith. As the chapter unfolds, we see Jesus healing the blind, casting out demons, restoring dignity to the afflicted—and still, His gaze lifts to the crowd, and He is “moved with compassion.” This phrase is not casual—it’s the very core of His mission. His heart is stirred by the sight of people who are “harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.” He doesn’t merely observe their pain—He feels it. And from this sacred compassion, He calls for laborers. The mission of the Church is born not in strategy, but in shared suffering. It is love that sends, love that preaches, love that heals. For us priests, ministers, and faithful alike, Matthew 9 ends with a burning call: “The harvest is abundant, but the laborers are few.” Jesus is not simply stating a fact—He is revealing a heartbreak and extending an invitation. We are asked not just to admire His compassion, but to live it. To be laborers in the fields of brokenness, to be bringers of healing, and above all, to be channels of mercy. Our ministry is not about results, but about presence—being with the wounded and carrying them to Christ. In every act of mercy, we join Jesus in His mission, and in doing so, we become His hands and heart in a world that is still harassed, helpless, and in need of a Shepherd. Blessings Fr. Jhack

YOUR FAITH HAS MADE YOU WELL

July 7, 2025 Monday within the 14th week in Ordinary Time Year C Matthew 9:18–26 There are moments in life when everything feels like it’s falling apart—when sickness lingers, when silence fills the house after a loved one has gone, when prayers feel unanswered. In today’s Gospel, I see not just stories, but real people holding onto fragile hope. A father, desperate for his daughter’s life, kneels before Jesus with trembling faith. A woman, weary from twelve years of bleeding, risks humiliation just to touch His cloak. And in both, I see myself—reaching for God not with perfect faith, but with a heart full of longing and tears. What moves me most is how Jesus responds. He does not dismiss their pain, nor does He rush past their desperation. Instead, He enters into their brokenness with tenderness. He walks into the house of mourning. He turns to the woman hidden in the crowd. His power is not distant—it is personal. Theologically, this passage reminds me that Jesus is not merely the Lord of miracles; He is Emmanuel, God-with-us. He restores life not only through divine command but through His presence that dignifies our pain and restores our worth. This Gospel fills me with emotion because it assures me that my suffering is seen. When I feel unworthy, when I kneel with my quiet prayers, when all I can do is reach out in hope—He sees me. He turns, and He speaks. “Take heart… your faith has made you well.” In a world that often leaves us feeling invisible and unheard, this passage whispers a deeper truth: even when all we have is a thread of hope, that’s enough for Jesus to work wonders. And that is more than comforting—it is life-giving. Blessings Fr. Jhack

NEW WINESKIN

July 5, 2025 Saturday within the 13th week in Ordinary Time Year C Matthew 9:14–17 There was a time in my journey when I tried so hard to fit into what others expected of a “holy person.” I fasted, I followed the rules, I tried to be enough. But deep inside, I was tired—spiritually tired. I began to ask the same question John’s disciples asked: “Why do we have to do all these things?” And then I encountered Jesus in a deeper way—not in the rigidity of my routines, but in the freedom of His presence. Like new wine, His love poured into parts of me that had long dried up. I realized He wasn’t asking for performance. He was asking for my heart. Jesus’ words about new wine and new wineskins hit me personally. I was still trying to pour His grace into the old wineskin of guilt, pressure, and perfectionism. No wonder I kept bursting. But Jesus gently reminded me: I am not the same as I once was. His love had changed me. He wanted to give me something new, but I had to be willing to let go of the old—old wounds, old fears, old ways of measuring my worth. That was hard. But slowly, I began to surrender. And the more I let go, the more joy I found. Now I understand—Jesus is not just the Bridegroom of the Church, He is the Bridegroom of my soul. His presence is not a burden to carry but a celebration to embrace. Life with Him isn’t meant to be dry or rigid—it’s meant to overflow with grace, with mercy, with laughter even in tears. He is constantly making things new in me. And though I am still learning, still growing, I now welcome each day with a heart stretched open like a new wineskin, ready to be filled again by the One who turns the ordinary into joy. Blessings Fr. Jhack

FOLLOW ME

July 4, 2025 Friday within the 13th week in Ordinary Time Year C Matthew 9:9–13 There are days I still wonder why God called me. I wasn’t the most prayerful, the most brilliant, or the most confident. Like Matthew, I was simply “there”—in my own little corner of life, doing what I knew, not even thinking I was worthy of something greater. But Jesus came anyway. Not with judgment, but with invitation. Not with a list of requirements, but with a gaze that saw deeper. And when I first heard that gentle whisper in my heart—“Jhack, follow me”—I felt like Matthew must have felt: surprised, undeserving, and yet, suddenly full of hope. It was not a call to perfection. It was a call to begin. Matthew’s story comforts me deeply because it reminds me that God doesn’t wait for us to clean up our lives before He calls us. He meets us in the middle of our mess, and He chooses us anyway. Matthew was a tax collector, a man probably used to dirty money and broken trust. And yet, those same hands once used to collect bribes became the hands God used to write the Gospel of Matthew. That’s how God works—He doesn’t erase our past; He transforms it. I think of the parts of my life I used to hide in shame—my fears, my failures, even my doubts—and now I see how God has slowly been using those very things to shape my ministry. It is never about being good enough. It is about saying yes. Discipleship, I’ve learned, is deeply personal. When Jesus says, “Follow me,” He is not giving an order—He is offering intimacy. He is inviting us not just to work for Him, but to walk with Him. Like Matthew, I left behind things when I answered that call—comfort, certainty, and even parts of who I thought I was. But in return, God gave me a mission far greater than I could have imagined. My limitations have become places of grace. My wounds have become doors of healing. And every day I wake up, I remember: I was not called because I was perfect. I was called because I was loved. Blessings Fr. Jhack

FEAST OF ST. THOMAS, Apostle

July 3, 2025 Feast of St. Thomas Apostle John 20:24–29 There are days in my priesthood when I find myself standing exactly where St. Thomas once stood—not in defiance, but in deep longing. Longing for clarity. Longing for proof that God has not forgotten us in the silence. I remember one particular night after comforting a grieving family at the bedside of a dying loved one, I sat in my chapel alone. I had just finished praying the rosary, but my heart was heavy. I whispered into the silence, “Lord, where are You?” And in that moment, I realized—I was not far from Thomas. Thomas was not a doubter in the shallow sense. He was a man who loved deeply and expected honestly. He had given everything to follow Jesus, and when He saw the others rejoice at the Resurrection, he wasn’t stubborn—he was broken. He needed to touch the wounds because he himself was wounded. I understand that now more than ever. In my own moments of grief—especially when I lost my mother to cancer—I longed not just for theological answers but for a real encounter, something tangible. Like Thomas, I wanted to reach out and say, “Let me touch You, Lord, before I fall apart.” But what amazes me, and gives me comfort to this day, is that Jesus did not scold Thomas. He came to him—gently, personally, intimately. “Put your finger here,” He said. Not to shame him, but to embrace his humanity. That moment changed everything. And every time I stand before the altar, every time I hold the broken host and whisper, “My Lord and my God,” I know I am standing with Thomas again—wounded, yes, but found. I pray that like him, I may always have the courage to be honest in my faith, and the humility to recognize Jesus when He comes, even through the veil of my doubts. Blessings Fr. Jhack

JESUS AND THE PIGS

July 2, 2025 Wednesday within the 13th week in Ordinary Time Year C Matthew 8:28–34 There is something hauntingly beautiful about this passage. Jesus enters the region of the Gadarenes—a place avoided, feared, even cursed. And there, He is met not with welcome, but with violence: two men possessed, outcast, and tormented by demons. Their pain was so fierce that no one dared pass by them. But Jesus did. He crosses into the margins—not just geographically, but spiritually—stepping into the very place where human suffering and evil are most raw and terrifying. It moves me deeply that the Son of God does not flinch. He sees them, not just the demons. And in His seeing, He restores. The demons recognize Him instantly and tremble: “What do you want with us, Son of God?” That question cuts into the heart. Because many of us—wounded, ashamed, trapped in our own silent battles—have whispered that same question: Jesus, what do You want with someone like me? And yet, He answers not with condemnation, but with liberation. He casts the demons out, sending them into the pigs. It’s a powerful act of deliverance, but what pierces my heart is what follows. The townspeople, instead of rejoicing, beg Jesus to leave. Sometimes the presence of healing disturbs the comfort of what is familiar—even if it’s broken. They preferred silence over transformation, pigs over people, safety over salvation. This Gospel wounds me and heals me at the same time. It reminds me that Christ will go where no one else dares—into the graves of our past, into the caves of our fears, into the places people have written off. And when He does, demons flee, chains break, and the possessed become whole. But it also challenges me: Will I welcome Him when He disturbs my comfort? Will I choose people over possessions, freedom over fear, healing over hiding? Because Jesus still steps into Gadarenes today—and sometimes, that dark and dangerous place is our very own heart. And even there, He comes not to destroy… but to save. Blessings Fr. Jhack