Keep Praying - God Hears you (29th Sunday Ordinary Time - Year C)

 

Homily on Luke 18:1–8 (29^th Sunday Ordinary time Year C)

(The Parable of the Persistent Widow)

In today’s Gospel, Jesus tells us the parable of the persistent widow who refuses to give up in her plea for justice.

She keeps knocking, she keeps asking, she keeps pressing forward, until even an unjust judge finally gives in.

And Jesus tells us this parable as Saint Luke says, “to remind us that we should pray always and never lose heart.”

What a message for us today—pray always and never lose heart.

Think about the widow for a moment.

She had no power, no influence, no wealth, no position.

In her society, she was among the most vulnerable.

Yet what she had was perseverance.

She simply would not give up.

And in the end, she wore down even a corrupt judge.

Now if that’s true with a human judge who has no care for God, how much more will our loving Father hear our cries?

Jesus asks, “And will not God bring about justice for His chosen ones who cry out to Him day and night?

Will He keep putting them off?”

The answer, of course, is no.

God hears. God cares. God answers.

But sometimes, like the widow, we are called to be persistent, to not give up when prayers seem unanswered, to trust that God is at work in ways we cannot yet see.

Let me share a story.

There was a young mother whose teenage son had wandered far from the Church.

He was angry, rebellious, and determined to live his own way.

She prayed for him every night, sometimes with tears, sometimes with doubts, but always with persistence.

For years, nothing seemed to change.

In fact, things even seemed to get worse.

Friends told her, “Maybe you should just stop worrying.

Maybe this is just who he is now.”

But she couldn’t stop.

She believed that God loved her son more than she did, and so she kept praying.

After nearly fifteen years, her son one day surprised her by saying he wanted to go to Mass.

Something had stirred in his heart.

Slowly, he returned not only to faith, but eventually even discerned a call to the priesthood.

That son was St. Augustine.

And that praying mother was St. Monica—whose persistence, whose refusal to give up, changed the course of the Church and the world.

Her prayers echo the widow’s persistence in the Gospel.

She is a living reminder of Jesus’ words: “Pray always and never lose heart.”

And I think this is where the Gospel meets our lives.

How often do we pray for something—a healing, a conversion, a new job, the strength to carry a cross—and when the answer doesn’t come quickly, we begin to doubt.

We start to think maybe God doesn’t hear, maybe God doesn’t care.

But faith is not about instant answers.

Faith is about relationship.

To keep praying is to keep trusting.

To keep praying is to keep holding on, even in the silence.

Prayer doesn’t always change God’s timing, but it always changes us—it keeps our hearts open, it strengthens us, it deepens our faith.

And at the end of the Gospel, Jesus asks a piercing question:

“When the Son of Man comes, will He find faith on earth?”

That’s the real heart of the parable.

Will He find people who keep trusting, who keep praying, who keep believing, even when life is hard and answers are slow?

So today, brothers and sisters, let us hear Jesus’ encouragement:

Don’t give up.

Don’t stop praying.

If you’ve been praying for a child, a spouse, a friend—keep praying.

If you’ve been praying for healing—keep praying.

If you’ve been praying for guidance, for peace, for strength—keep praying.

Be like the persistent widow.

Be like St. Monica.

Pray always and never lose heart.

Because the God who loves us hears every prayer,

treasures every tear,

and in His time and His way, He will answer.

Amen.

Jesus: Hate your Parents, Spouse, and Children

 

Homily on Luke 14:25–33

Today’s Gospel is one of those passages that can almost take our breath away.

Jesus says: “If anyone comes to me without hating his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple.

Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple.”

At first hearing, these words sound harsh—even shocking.

Isn’t Jesus the one who taught us to love?

Isn’t He the one who calls us to honor our father and mother, to cherish our families, to lay down our lives for our friends?

Why then does He speak here about hating father, mother, wife, children, and even our own lives?

We must understand what Jesus is doing.

He is not commanding us to despise our loved ones.

He is using the strong language of the time to shake us awake—to make us realize that discipleship is not a hobby, not something we fit in when it’s convenient.

It is an all-consuming love, a total surrender, a willingness to place Him above every other love in our lives.

Think of it this way:

Jesus is saying, “I must come first.

If you want to follow me, I cannot be one option among many.

I must be your foundation, your compass, your everything.”

He gives us two examples:

the builder who starts a tower without counting the cost, and the king who goes into battle without considering the strength of his opponent.

In other words, discipleship requires foresight, commitment, and readiness.

Now, let’s pause here and ask ourselves honestly:

what does this mean for us, here and now, in our parish, in our lives?

For many of us, faith can sometimes slip into the background.

We pray when we have time.

We come to Mass when it’s convenient.

We place Christ somewhere in the mix of our priorities—but not always at the center.

Jesus, in this Gospel, is inviting us to something far deeper, far greater.

He is inviting us to total discipleship.

That means we are willing to carry our crosses.

It means we put Him first, even when it costs us something.

And it always does cost us something.

• For the young person, it may mean saying no to peer pressure and living differently than the crowd.
• For parents, it may mean putting faith into the center of family life—even when it’s easier to skip prayer, or when sports and activities compete with Sunday Mass.
• For someone in the workplace, it may mean choosing honesty and integrity even if it costs a promotion or prestige.
• For all of us, it means being willing to forgive when it’s easier to hold a grudge, to serve when it’s easier to be served, to give when it’s easier to keep.

Carrying the cross isn’t about seeking suffering for its own sake.

It’s about loving Jesus enough to choose Him above everything else, even when it hurts, even when it costs.

I want to share a little story.

A few years ago, a woman in another parish told me about her journey back to the Church.

For years she had lived her faith only half-heartedly.

She prayed sometimes, went to Mass occasionally, but her career was her real priority.

Then, one day, she received difficult news:

her mother was diagnosed with a terminal illness.

Suddenly, all the things that had seemed so important—her promotions, her salary, her recognition—felt empty.

In caring for her mother, she rediscovered prayer.

She began to rely on Christ again, to surrender to Him.

She told me: “It wasn’t easy.

I had to let go of control.

I had to carry the cross of watching my mother suffer.

But in that cross, I found peace, and I found Him again.”

That’s what Jesus means.

When we place Him first—even above family, above our own lives—we don’t lose love, we don’t lose joy.

In fact, we discover them in their truest, deepest form.

St. John Paul II once said,

“The person who does not decide to love forever will find it very difficult to really love for even one day.”

That’s what Jesus is calling us to:

not a passing feeling, but a forever decision to put Him at the center.

And let’s be honest: this isn’t easy.

Sometimes discipleship feels overwhelming.

That’s why Jesus tells us to “count the cost.”

He wants us to know upfront: this is a demanding road.

But here’s the good news—He never asks us to walk it alone.

He doesn’t just say “carry your cross”; He says, “Come after me.”

He is out in front.

He carried His cross first.

He walks with us, strengthens us, and promises us that beyond the cross there is resurrection, beyond the sacrifice there is glory, beyond the surrender there is eternal life.

So what do we take from this Gospel today?

Let me suggest three invitations:

First, let’s examine our priorities. Ask yourself: who or what comes first in my life? Is Jesus truly at the center—or is He on the sidelines?

Second, let’s embrace the cross. What cross are you carrying right now? Illness? Family struggles? Wounds from the past? Instead of running from it, can we carry it with Him, and even offer it up as an act of love?

Third, let’s recommit to discipleship. That means making faith visible in daily life: setting aside time for prayer, making Sunday Mass non-negotiable, forgiving, serving, loving—even when it costs.

My friends, Jesus’ words may sound hard, but they are words of freedom.

When we place Him first, everything else falls into its proper place.

Our families, our work, our possessions—none of them are diminished.

They are purified, strengthened, and transformed.

The saints understood this.

Think of St. Francis of Assisi, who gave up wealth and comfort to follow Christ with total joy.

Think of St. Teresa of Calcutta, who embraced the poorest of the poor because she saw Christ in them.

Think of ordinary men and women—even in our own parish—who quietly, faithfully live their discipleship every day, putting Christ first.

Brothers and sisters, today Jesus looks at us with love, and He says:

“Follow me. Put me first. Carry your cross. Trust me with everything.”

The cost of discipleship is real.

But the reward is greater than we can imagine: eternal life with Him, and even now, a peace the world cannot give.

So let’s not be afraid.

Let’s count the cost—and then say yes.

For in saying yes to Him, we say yes to life, yes to love,

yes to the Kingdom of God.

Amen

The Narrow Way of the Cross (23rd Sunday Ordinary Time - Year C)

 

Title: “The Narrow Way of the Cross”

Gospel: Luke 14:25–33
Theme: The Radical Call of Discipleship

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Dear brothers and sisters in Christ,

Today we are faced with one of the most bracing and uncompromising teachings of our Lord. The Gospel of Luke tells us:

“Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, cannot be my disciple… Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple.”

These are hard words. But they are not cruel.

They are words of divine clarity, given by Christ Himself — not to drive us away, but to awaken us from spiritual complacency.

In an age of compromise and comfort, our Lord is calling us back to the truth — the full truth — of what it means to be His disciple.

There is a temptation in every age, including ours, to present a soft Gospel — a Gospel without sacrifice, without suffering, without the Cross.

But that is not the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

That is a counterfeit.

The real Gospel — the Gospel preached by the Apostles, handed down through the Church, preserved in sacred Tradition — is a Gospel of transformation.

It is a call to die to ourselves, to put God first, to renounce sin, to strive for holiness, and to walk the narrow way, no matter the cost.

When Jesus says, “Whoever does not hate father and mother…”, He is not commanding hatred in the emotional sense.

He is speaking in the Jewish idiom of preference — to love Christ so completely that even the deepest human attachments are secondary.

It is a warning against disordered loves.

Even good things — family, career, reputation — can become idols if they take precedence over our obedience to God.

In our time, how often do people place relationships, political loyalties, or public opinion above the truth of the Gospel?

How many avoid speaking truth out of fear of offending others, rather than out of love for God?

Christ is not asking us to abandon love — but to purify it, to order it rightly.

We love our family best when we love God first.

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[Carrying the Cross: The Heart of Discipleship]

Jesus then says, “Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple.”

To follow Christ is to follow Him to Calvary.

There is no Christianity without the Cross.

There is no discipleship without sacrifice.

The saints understood this.

They embraced suffering as a path to sanctification.

Whether it was St. Maximilian Kolbe, offering his life in place of another in Auschwitz,

or St. Thérèse of Lisieux, enduring hidden suffering with joyful love,

they saw the Cross not as a curse, but as a gift — the means of their union with Christ.

In our own lives, the Cross may take many forms: sickness, rejection, loneliness, the battle against sin, the challenge of remaining faithful in a culture that mocks virtue.

But if we carry our crosses with faith, they become altars of grace — places where Christ conforms us to Himself.

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[Counting the Cost: No Half Measures]

Jesus gives two examples — the man building a tower and the king going to war.

Both must count the cost before acting.

Christianity is not a hobby.

It is not a part-time devotion.

It is not a matter of attending Mass once a week and then living as the world does.

To follow Christ means total surrender.

It means daily conversion.

It means rejecting what is false, no matter how fashionable, and standing by what is true, no matter how unpopular.

This is especially relevant in our time, when so many moral truths — truths about life, marriage, family, sexuality, and the sacredness of the liturgy — are being ignored or attacked.

But we are not called to blend in.

We are called to stand firm.

As St. Paul says, “Do not conform yourselves to this age, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind” (Romans 12:2).

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[Giving Up Everything for the Kingdom]

Jesus ends with a final challenge: “Anyone of you who does not renounce all his possessions cannot be my disciple.”

He is not condemning material goods in themselves.

He is warning us: if we cling to the world, we cannot cling to Him.

The saints gave everything for Christ.

They left homes, lands, wealth, comfort, and even their own lives.

Why?

Because they had found the Pearl of Great Price.

And they knew that nothing compares to the surpassing worth of knowing Jesus Christ.

In our own way, we are called to detach from the things of this world — from greed, from distraction, from sin — and to live simply, humbly, reverently, and obediently.

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[The Church Needs Disciples, Not Spectators]

The Church today needs not more opinions, but more saints.

Not more compromise, but more conviction.

Not more spectators, but true disciples.

Christ is still calling men and women to follow Him radically — to enter the priesthood and religious life, to live holy marriages, to raise faithful children, to pray deeply, and to suffer joyfully.

But this call requires courage.

It requires a willingness to lose everything, if necessary, for the sake of Christ.

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[Conclusion: The Narrow Way Leads to Glory]

Dear friends, we are not made for mediocrity.

We are made for holiness.

And holiness is not comfort.

It is crucifixion.

But it is also resurrection.

For whoever loses his life for Christ will find it.

And whoever follows Him to Calvary will one day rejoice with Him in glory.

Let us then take up our cross, deny ourselves, and follow the One who gave everything for us.

Let us count the cost — and pay it — for the reward is eternal life with God.

“Eye has not seen, ear has not heard, nor has it entered into the heart of man what God has prepared for those who love Him.” (1 Cor 2:9)

Amen.

Jesus - Do you think I have come to bring peace on earth?

 

Today’s Gospel might be one of the most unsettling things we’ve heard Jesus say.

"Do you think I have come to bring peace to the earth?

No, I tell you, but rather division!"

This doesn’t sound like the Jesus we’ve grown comfortable with—the Jesus who blesses peacemakers, who calms storms, who forgives sinners.

But here, Jesus speaks with holy urgency, with the fire of a prophet and the heart of a Savior consumed by love.

Let’s take a moment to look more deeply.

"I have come to bring fire to the earth…"

What is this fire?

It’s not the fire of destruction—it is the fire of conversion, purification, and love.

The fire of the Holy Spirit, who descended at Pentecost in tongues of flame.

The fire of hearts burning on the road to Emmaus when Jesus opened the Scriptures.

The fire that Christ longs to see blazing in the hearts of His followers.

When Jesus says He wishes this fire were already kindled, He’s expressing a divine longing—for the world to be ablaze with truth, with holiness, with passionate love for God and neighbor.

But fire doesn’t just warm. It also refines. And that’s where the challenge begins.

"Do you think I have come to bring peace? No, but rather division."

This isn’t the division of anger or hatred.

It’s the division that happens when truth meets resistance.

When light shines into darkness.

When God’s kingdom confronts the kingdoms of this world.

When you choose to live fully for Christ, you may feel this division.

Maybe you already have.

• A family member who mocks your faith…
• A friend who pulls away because you won’t condone what you know is wrong…
• A culture that calls you “intolerant” for standing up for marriage, for life, for truth…and against homosexuality, abortion, and gender lies.

This Gospel reminds us: you are not alone.

Jesus Himself experienced this.

His message divided households, cities, nations.

But it was never because He lacked love—it was precisely because He loved us enough to tell the truth, even when it cost Him everything.

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And what about The Fire and the Sword

Some hear these words and get nervous. “Division? Fire?

This isn’t the gentle Gospel I wanted!”

But the Gospel isn’t always gentle—because sin is not gentle.

Lies are not gentle. And lukewarm hearts don’t get into heaven.

St. Catherine of Siena once said:

“Be who God meant you to be and you will set the world on fire.”

But brothers and sisters, to set the world on fire, we must first let ourselves be consumed.

Are we willing to be set ablaze with His love?

Are we willing to let Him burn away the pride, the compromises, the fear that keep us from being true disciples?

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And then there is A Baptism of Suffering

Jesus speaks of a baptism He must endure—the baptism of the Cross.

He’s not just talking about water or ritual.

He’s talking about the full immersion into suffering, rejection, and death… for our sake.

If we are serious about following Him, we too must pass through fire.

Through trials.

Through difficult choices.

The world tells us to take the easy road.

Jesus tells us to take up our cross.

Not because He wants us to suffer, but because He knows that only through the cross can we reach the resurrection.

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What Does This Mean For Us Today?

So what is Jesus asking of us here and now?

1.   Kindle the Fire:

Let your faith be visible.

 

Let the fire of the Holy Spirit animate your daily life.

 

Pray fervently. Speak truth courageously. Love sacrificially

 

2.   Be Willing to Stand Alone:

If standing with Christ puts you at odds with the world—even with loved ones—don’t be afraid.

Jesus warned us it would happen.

But He also promised: “I am with you always.”

3.   Speak the Truth in Love:

We are not called to stir division for its own sake.

We speak truth not to win arguments but to win souls.

Always with humility, always with love—but never without truth.

4.   Pray for Unity in Christ:

Real peace comes only through truth.

We must pray for our families, our parishes, our nation—to be united not by comfort or compromise, but by a shared commitment to Christ.

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In Conclusion

Yes, Jesus brings peace—but not the kind the world gives.

He brings a peace that only comes after the battle, after the fire, after the Cross.

So let’s not be afraid of the fire.

Let’s not fear the divisions that come when we put Christ first.

Instead, let us live with hearts ablaze, willing to stand firm, willing to love boldly, willing to follow wherever Jesus leads.

And in the end, we will hear those blessed words:

"Well done, My good and faithful servant… enter into the joy of your Lord."

Amen.