Have you ever said “no” to God? Maybe through anger, fear, pride, disappointment—or simply by walking away.
In Matthew 21:28–32, Jesus reminds us of something incredibly hopeful: your first answer does not have to be your final answer.
No matter how long we’ve been away, how many mistakes we’ve made, or how many times we’ve resisted God’s call, the Father continues to invite us into His vineyard.
You cannot change yesterday. But you can change your answer today.
The Father is still calling. The vineyard is still open. And it is never too late to say, “Yes, Lord. I’ll go.”
25th Sunday in Ordinary Time — It Is Never Too Late for Grace
In today’s Gospel, Jesus reminds us that God’s grace isn’t something we earn—it is a gift. Whether we have followed Him our entire lives or find our way home in the final hour, His mercy is waiting.
If you’ve ever wondered whether you’ve waited too long, wandered too far, or made too many mistakes, this message is for you. With God, there is still time. There is still mercy. There is always a road home.
It Is Never Too Late for Grace
Matthew 20:1–16a
There is something about today's Gospel that bothers us.
If we're willing to admit it, when we hear Jesus tell this parable, part of us wants to say:
“That's not fair.”
Some of those workers got up early.
They worked through the heat of the day.
They were tired. Sweaty. Their backs hurt.
And then there were others who showed up at the very end.
Maybe they worked only an hour.
And when payday came…
they received the same amount.
Come on, Jesus.
How is that fair?
But maybe that's exactly the reaction Jesus wanted.
Because this Gospel isn't really about wages.
It's about grace.
And grace has never been about getting what we deserve.
Grace is about receiving what we could never earn.
I want you to imagine a man named Michael.
Michael grew up Catholic.
He was baptized. Made his First Communion. Was confirmed.
His mother took him to Mass every Sunday.
And when he was young, he believed.
But then life happened.
He went off to college.
Stopped going to Mass.
Got married.
Had children.
Built a career.
And little by little, God disappeared from his life.
One year became five.
Five became ten.
Ten became thirty.
His mother never stopped praying for him.
Whenever he came home, she would gently say,
“Michael, I wish you'd come to Mass with me.”
And Michael would smile.
“Maybe someday, Mom.”
But someday never came.
His mother eventually died.
And standing beside her casket, Michael remembered all those Sundays.
He remembered seeing her rosary sitting beside her chair.
He remembered hearing her whisper his name when she prayed.
But even then, he didn't come back.
Years passed.
Then one afternoon, Michael sat in a doctor's office.
The doctor closed the door.
Sat down across from him.
And said the words none of us ever wants to hear.
“The cancer has spread.”
Suddenly Michael's world became very small.
The career didn't matter.
The bank account didn't matter.
The house didn't matter.
The things he had spent his whole life chasing didn't matter.
And one night, unable to sleep, Michael found himself thinking about God.
He hadn't prayed in decades.
He didn't even know how to begin.
So he whispered:
“God… I don't know if You're still there. I don't know if You still want me. But I'm scared.”
A few days later, Michael drove to a Catholic church.
He sat in his car for almost twenty minutes before he could make himself go inside.
Eventually, he walked through the doors.
The church was nearly empty.
And he saw the red sanctuary lamp burning near the tabernacle.
Something inside him broke.
He sat in the last pew.
And this grown man began to cry.
Not polite tears.
He wept.
Thirty years of regret.
Thirty years of mistakes.
Thirty years of believing that someday he would come home.
Finally, a priest noticed him.
He walked over and sat beside him.
Michael looked at him and said,
“Father, I think I've waited too long.”
And the priest said,
“Too long for what?”
Michael answered,
“For God.”
The priest smiled.
And said:
“Then you don't understand God yet.”
And sometime later, after thirty years away,
Michael went to confession.
Imagine that moment.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned…
it has been thirty years since my last confession.”
And when that priest raised his hand and spoke the words of absolution…
Michael came home.
And here's the scandal of today's Gospel:
Michael receives the same Jesus you received this morning.
The same mercy.
The same forgiveness.
The same heaven.
The same love of the Father.
You might have been going to Mass for seventy years.
Michael may have returned seventy days before he died.
And Jesus says:
Welcome home.
That's today's Gospel.
We tend to keep score.
I've served God all these years.
I've gone to Mass.
I've prayed.
I've sacrificed.
I've tried to raise my children in the faith.
I've stayed when others walked away.
And sometimes, without realizing it, we begin thinking God owes us something.
Then someone comes stumbling into the Church after making a mess of his life…
And God embraces him.
Someone who hasn't been to confession in forty years kneels down…
And God forgives her.
Someone who ignored God most of his life turns toward Christ at the very end…
And God opens His arms.
And something inside us says:
“But that's not fair.”
You're right.
It's not.
It's mercy.
And thank God that God isn't fair in the way we sometimes mean fair.
Because if God only gave me what I deserved…
I wouldn't want that.
I need mercy too.
So do you.
Maybe someone here today feels like Michael.
Maybe you have wandered.
Maybe there are things in your life you're ashamed of.
Maybe you haven't been to confession in years.
Maybe your prayer life has disappeared.
Maybe you've been sitting in church thinking:
“If these people really knew me… If God really knew what I've done…”
But He does know.
He knows everything.
And you're still here.
Listen carefully:
You are not too late.
As long as there is breath in your lungs, God is still calling you into His vineyard.
The thief beside Jesus spent his life making terrible decisions.
Yet hanging beside Jesus, he finally said:
“Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”
And Jesus didn't say,
“Too late.”
He said:
“Today you will be with me in Paradise.”
That's grace.
But perhaps you're not Michael.
Maybe you're the worker who arrived early.
You've been faithful.
You've been serving.
You've carried crosses nobody knows about.
You've prayed for your family.
You've tried to do the right thing.
Then this Gospel has another message for you:
Don't become resentful because God is generous.
When the prodigal son comes home…
celebrate.
When the alcoholic gets sober…
celebrate.
When the marriage is restored…
celebrate.
When someone walks into confession after thirty years…
celebrate.
And when the son or daughter you've been praying for finally walks through those church doors again…
don't ask where they've been.
Run to them.
Put your arms around them.
And say:
“Welcome home.”
Because that's what the Father does.
Brothers and sisters, someday the sun will begin to set on every one of our lives.
Some of us entered the vineyard early.
Some came at noon.
Some arrived late in the afternoon.
And perhaps someone will come at the final hour.
But when evening comes, there is only one thing that will matter:
Did we finally say yes when the Master called?
Maybe you've been away from God.
Come home.
Maybe you've been carrying a sin for years.
Come to confession.
Maybe you've convinced yourself God could never forgive you.
Let Him surprise you.
Maybe you're praying for a child or grandchild who has walked away from the faith.
Don't stop praying.
Because you don't know what God might do at five o'clock in the afternoon.
You don't know what conversation He might use.
What suffering.
What person.
What memory.
What moment of grace.
You don't know when someone you love might finally whisper:
“God… are You still there?”
And when they do…
they may discover what Michael discovered sitting in the back of that church.
God wasn't standing there looking at His watch saying:
“You're late.”
He was standing there with His arms open saying:
“I've been waiting for you.”
And perhaps that is the most beautiful message of today's Gospel.
With God…
there is still time.
There is still mercy.
There is still forgiveness.
There is still a place in the vineyard.
There is still a seat at the table.
There is still a road home.
So whether you came to Christ at sunrise…
at noon…
or in the final hour…
come.
Because the reward isn't something God places into your hand.
How many times are we supposed to forgive someone who has hurt us? In Matthew 18:21–35, Peter asks Jesus that very question. Jesus’ answer challenges us to stop keeping score and remember how much mercy we ourselves have received.
Forgiveness does not mean pretending the wound didn’t matter. It doesn’t excuse what happened, erase necessary boundaries, or automatically restore trust. Forgiveness means refusing to allow someone else’s actions to control the rest of our lives.
Sometimes the person we need to forgive is another person. Sometimes it is ourselves.
This Sunday, Jesus invites us to put down the weight of resentment, surrender the debt to Him, and discover the freedom that comes from mercy.
“What you did will no longer have the final word in my life. Jesus will.”
✝️ Matthew 18:21–35 The Catholic Journey with Deacon Pat Kearns
There are many questions we have to answer during the course of our lives.
What am I going to do with my life?
Whom will I marry?
Where will I live?
What kind of person do I want to become?
But in today's Gospel, Jesus asks a question that is more important than all the others.
“Who do you say that I am?”
Notice how the conversation begins.
Jesus first asks the disciples, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?”
And everybody has an answer.
Some say John the Baptist.
Some say Elijah.
Some say Jeremiah.
Others say one of the prophets.
In other words, there were plenty of opinions about Jesus.
And two thousand years later, there still are.
Some people say Jesus was a great teacher.
Some say He was a prophet.
Some say He was a moral leader.
Some admire His teachings about love and forgiveness but aren't quite sure what to do with His claims about God, salvation, sin, judgment, or eternal life.
But Jesus doesn't seem particularly interested in conducting an opinion poll.
He turns to His disciples and makes the question personal:
“But who do YOU say that I am?”
And suddenly the question changes.
Because it is one thing to know what the Church teaches about Jesus.
It is another thing to know Jesus.
It is one thing to recite the Creed:
God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God.
It is another thing to look at Jesus and say with Peter:
“You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.”
And I think every Christian eventually has to answer that question personally.
Not your parents.
Not your spouse.
Not your priest.
Not your deacon.
Not the person sitting next to you.
You.
Who do you say that Jesus is?
Because our answer changes everything.
If Jesus is simply a wise teacher, then we can listen to the teachings we like and ignore the ones we don't.
If Jesus is simply an inspirational figure, then we can admire Him from a distance.
But if Jesus truly is “the Christ, the Son of the living God,” then He cannot simply be one part of our lives.
He becomes the center.
And that is where this Gospel becomes uncomfortable.
Because sometimes our lips give the right answer while our lives give a different one.
We say, “Jesus is Lord,” but then we make our decisions as though everything depends entirely upon us.
We say, “Jesus is Lord,” but hold onto grudges He has asked us to surrender.
We say, “Jesus is Lord,” but allow money, success, comfort, politics, fear, anger, or pride to have more influence over us than the Gospel.
We say we trust Him—until trusting Him becomes difficult.
Peter's confession isn't simply something he says.
Eventually it becomes something he must live.
And so must ours.
There is something else important in this Gospel.
After Peter makes his profession of faith, Jesus says:
“You are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my Church.”
Notice what Jesus does not say.
He doesn't say, “Peter, go create your own version of Christianity.”
He doesn't say, “Everyone figure this out for yourselves.”
Jesus establishes a Church.
He gives Peter the keys of the Kingdom.
He gives authority to bind and loose.
And He makes an extraordinary promise:
“The gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against it.”
That doesn't mean the Church will never struggle.
The Church has struggled from the beginning.
Peter himself will fail.
He will deny Jesus three times.
The apostles will argue.
Christians will sin.
Church leaders will sometimes disappoint us.
There will be scandals, divisions, persecutions, and dark moments throughout history.
And yet Christ's promise remains.
“I will build my Church.”
Not Peter's Church.
Not the pope's Church.
Not the bishop's Church.
Not the priest's Church.
Not our Church.
His Church.
And perhaps that is something we sometimes forget.
The Church ultimately belongs to Jesus Christ.
And despite all the weakness of the human beings within it—including every one of us—Christ continues to work through His Church.
The Gospel continues to be proclaimed.
Children continue to be baptized.
Sins continue to be forgiven.
The sick continue to be anointed.
Men and women continue to give their lives in service.
And on altars throughout the world, Jesus Christ continues to give Himself to us in the Eucharist.
Two thousand years later, the Church is still here.
Not because Catholics have always been perfect.
Far from it.
The Church is still here because Jesus Christ is faithful.
And that brings us back to His question.
“Who do you say that I am?”
Maybe we should hear that question differently today.
Imagine Jesus standing before you.
Not before Peter.
Not before the apostles.
Before you.
And He asks:
“After everything you've experienced in your life…
after your joys and disappointments…
after your successes and failures…
after the prayers that were answered and the prayers that seemed unanswered…
after the times you were faithful and the times you wandered away…
Who do you say that I am?”
Perhaps our answer is:
“Lord, You are the Christ.
You are the Son of the living God.
You are my Savior.
You are my hope.
You are the One who forgives me when I fall.
You are the One who has never stopped calling me.
And even when I don't understand where You are leading me,
I choose to trust You.”
Brothers and sisters, Christianity ultimately isn't simply about knowing the right answers.
It is about knowing the One who is the answer.
And every morning, in one way or another, Jesus asks us again:
