Tuesday in the Fifth Week of Ordinary Time, February 10, 2026

Mark 7, 1-13

When the Pharisees with some scribes who had come from Jerusalem gathered around Jesus, they observed that some of his disciples ate their meals with unclean, that is, unwashed, hands. (For the Pharisees and, in fact, all Jews, do not eat without carefully washing their hands, keeping the tradition of the elders. And on coming from the marketplace they do not eat without purifying themselves. And there are many other things that they have traditionally observed, the purification of cups and jugs and kettles and beds.) So the Pharisees and scribes questioned him, “Why do your disciples not follow the tradition of the elders but instead eat a meal with unclean hands?” He responded, “Well did Isaiah prophesy about you hypocrites, as it is written: This people honors me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me; in vain do they worship me, teaching as doctrines human precepts. You disregard God’s commandment but cling to human tradition.” He went on to say, “How well you have set aside the commandment of God in order to uphold your tradition! For Moses said, Honor your father and your mother, and Whoever curses father or mother shall die. Yet you say, ‘If someone says to father or mother, “Any support you might have had from me is qorban”’ (meaning, dedicated to God), you allow him to do nothing more for his father or mother. You nullify the word of God in favor of your tradition that you have handed on. And you do many such things.”

In this passage, Jesus does something both bracing and merciful: he exposes a subtle way the human heart can evade God while appearing to serve Him. The Pharisees are not villains in the crude sense. They care deeply about holiness. They have inherited a tradition meant to safeguard reverence, order, and remembrance of God in everyday life. Handwashing, purification, attentiveness to ritual — these began as ways of keeping God close.

But somewhere along the way, the means replaced the end.

Jesus does not criticize their concern for purity; he criticizes the direction of their concern. Isaiah’s words cut straight to the point: “This people honors me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me.” What has gone wrong is not practice, but priority. Human precepts—originally meant to serve God’s command — have become shields behind which one can hide from the demands of love.

The example Jesus gives is devastating in its simplicity. A person declares his resources qorban, a Hebrew word meaning  “drawing near”. In a religious context this means to draw near to God in order to present him a gift. And in doing this the person is excused from caring for his parents. The act sounds pious. It even sounds sacrificial. But it empties the commandment—Honor your father and your mother — of its living force. God is honored in name, while the neighbor is abandoned in fact.

This is why Jesus calls it hypocrisy — not play-acting, but division. The lips and the heart are no longer aligned. Worship becomes something one performs rather than something one lives.

And here is the uncomfortable truth for us: Jesus is not warning us against tradition as such. He is warning us against using religion to manage God, to keep Him safely at a distance. Traditions become dangerous when they allow us to feel righteous without becoming loving, correct without becoming just, devout without becoming generous.

The question Jesus leaves us with is not, Do you keep the traditions? but rather, Do your practices bring you closer to God’s will — or do they protect you from it? Do they sharpen the demands of love, or soften them?

At its heart, this Gospel is a call to reunite what should never be separated: worship and obedience, reverence and mercy, doctrine and love. God does not ask for cleaner hands at the expense of a hardened heart. He asks for a heart so alive to His command that even the smallest actions—eating, giving, speaking—flow from love.

Jesus does not abolish holiness here. He restores its center. And when holiness is centered again on love of God and love of neighbor, worship ceases to be vain — and becomes true.

Monday in the Fifth Week of Ordinary Time, February 9, 2026

Mark 6, 53-56

After making the crossing to the other side of the sea, Jesus and his disciples came to land at Gennesaret and tied up there. As they were leaving the boat, people immediately recognized him. They scurried about the surrounding country and began to bring in the sick on mats to wherever they heard he was. Whatever villages or towns or countryside he entered, they laid the sick in the marketplaces and begged him that they might touch only the tassel on his cloak; and as many as touched it were healed.

The city of Gennesaret was in existence at about the time of Abraham and Issac.  It was a large, fortified city on the western coast of the Sea of Galilee.  Long before the sea there was called the “Sea of Galilee”, or, later, “the Sea of Tiberias”, it was called the “Sea of Gennesaret” due to the city’s prominence.  To get to this city from Capernaum, Jesus and his Apostles would have sailed south, but not very far.  The city was situated halfway between Capernaum and Magdala.  Now, in Mark 6, 45, the Evangelist tells us that Jesus and his Apostles went from Capernaum, where the Lord had fed the five thousand, to Bethsaida, which was a little distance to the north.  Now, leaving that location, they sail down past Capernaum to Gennesaret.  The ceaseless traveling and the bearing of the hardships associated with that, such as the irregular meals, the sleepless nights, and the physical exhaustion tell us how driven Jesus was to save the human race.  It says a great deal too about the willingness of the Apostles to endure this for his sake.  We get one tiny insight into their attitude in John 6, 69, when Peter answers Christ’s question about whether they will walk away from him: “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.”  

“People immediately recognized him.”  These words suggest that the Lord was distinguished by his garb, as John the Baptist had been by his.  His appearance certainly did not fit in with that of a Pharisee or a high priest.  His physical features do not seem to have made him instantly recognizable.  The early Father Tertullian even tells us that he looked very ordinary, and this is backed by Isaiah 53, 3: “Despised, and the most abject of men, a man of sorrows, and acquainted with infirmity: and his look was as it were hidden and despised, whereupon we esteemed him not.”  

“They scurried about the surrounding country and began to bring in the sick on mats to wherever they heard he was.”  For the people, Jesus meant certain help from above.  He had never turned anyone away, and he had cured everyone who approached him.  He did not demand payment, nor did he act haughtily.  All disease fled before him.  Even the demons who had long sunk their talons into some unfortunate’s soul, screamed and fled in absolute terror.  And as eagerly as the people sought him, he more eagerly sought them.  In fact, he “scurried” about the surrounding country for them.  He let them meet him halfway, however, allowing them to come the final mile or two.  He did this to show that while he offers the grace we could otherwise not receive, we must cooperate with it.

“They laid the sick in the marketplaces and begged him that they might touch only the tassel on his cloak.”  These words speak to the Lord’s power, but also to the people’s belief in it.  “The tassel on his cloak”: these tassels or fringes hung off of the mantle the Lord wore over his knee-length tunic, the customary length for Jewish men of that place and time — only the rich wore longer tunics.  The tassels were tiny and thin, like threads or bits of string.  We might think of the Saints as tassels on the mantle of his glorified Body.  As great as they might appear to us through their words and deeds, they are tiny with respect to the Lord.  All the same, Jesus so deigns that if we “touch” one of these “tassels” with our prayers, he will hear them, for as Mark tells us: “as many as touched it were healed.”

The Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time, February 8, 2026

Mark 6, 30-34

The Apostles gathered together with Jesus and reported all they had done and taught. He said to them, “Come away by yourselves to a deserted place and rest a while.” People were coming and going in great numbers, and they had no opportunity even to eat. So they went off in the boat by themselves to a deserted place. People saw them leaving and many came to know about it. They hastened there on foot from all the towns and arrived at the place before them. When Jesus disembarked and saw the vast crowd, his heart was moved with pity for them, for they were like sheep without a shepherd; and he began to teach them many things.

The Gospel reading for today’s Mass follows the events of Mark 6, 7-13, in which the Lord sent out his Apostles on mission.  Here, we see them return, exhausted, but crowned with success.  They had “preached that men should do penance: and they cast out many devils, and anointed with oil many that were sick, and healed them” (Mark 6, 12-13).  They returned to the Lord at the place he had designated for them and at the time he had appointed, and they “reported all that they had done and taught”.  The Lord approved of their work, and sympathized with their worn out state: “Come away by yourselves to a deserted place and rest a while.”  The Lord noticed when the people around him were hungry or tired or sick or were running out of wine at their wedding feasts.  He has the eye of a servant intent on his service and on pleasing his master, and he provides aid in due season.  His Apostles are weary and he would take them to a quiet location to eat and sleep.  At the same time, he plans to reveal a fact that will benefit them later when they are preaching in foreign lands.

“People were coming and going in great numbers, and they had no opportunity even to eat.”  Mark’s detail here indicates that the Lord had made it easy for the Apostles to find him when their mission was over by telling them to come to a popular place: a crossroads or a marketplace in one of the Galilean towns.  After they had excitedly told Jesus how they had fared in their travels, the Lord and they “went off in the boat by themselves to a deserted place.”  The Greek text says “the boat”, as opposed to “a boat”, which suggests Jesus and the Apostles met up at Capernaum where Peter still kept his fishing boat.  The Lord seemed to want to offer them a break of some days in this “deserted place”, or it would hardly be worthwhile to go to all the trouble of getting there.  First, they would have stocked up on their provisions in the town, and then headed out.

However, “People saw them leaving and many came to know about it.”  Jesus lay low during the time his Apostles had been away, keeping mostly to himself, perhaps spending his time in the wild country around the city where he preferred to pray.  Now that the Apostles had returned and Jesus was publicly meeting them, it would have appeared that he would resume preaching and healing.  Many in Capernaum would have gone off to apprise their friends and relatives in the nearby towns of this so that they could come and listen and be healed of their afflictions.  When the people saw the Lord and his Apostles get into their boat and head out, they worked out about where they would go, and “hastened there on foot from all the towns and arrived at the place before them.”  Possibly people had heard the Lord or the Apostles talking.  They might have seen the direction the boat was taking and deduced their destination accordingly.  The place mighty already have been known as a place the Lord used as a retreat.  The deserted place must not have been very far from Capernaum.  But what are we to make of the fact that the people “arrived at the place before them”?  Certainly this speaks to the people’s need for him, whether to hear the word of God or to be freed of demonic possession or some illness or other condition.  It also highlights a certain recklessness, in that the people did not know for sure that he was going to this or that place, and they might wind up running all over the countryside looking for him.  Now, working people cannot just close up shop and chase up and down a seacoast looking for someone.  Laborers cannot just quit their fields.  That many did just this tells us that Jesus offered them hope for a better life, not merely free from the taxes the Romans or Herod demanded, but a life of spiritual peace and of a heavenly destiny.  

“When Jesus disembarked and saw the vast crowd, his heart was moved with pity for them.”  Here again, we witness the Lord Jesus who looks into the hearts of people.  He sees what is there, that “they were like sheep without a shepherd”, awaiting the One who alone could lead them to safe and abundant pastures.  And, again, he offers his service: “He began to teach them many things.”  

When the Apostles saw the crowds, their hearts must have sunk, because their chance of a needed holiday was gone.  They saw their Master go right back to work as soon as he left the boat.  Maybe it was only years later that they understood what else they had seen: that for the servant of God, there is no real rest on this earth.  The servant of God continuously prays and worships, and is alert for opportunities to spread the Gospel.  This servant is never “off the clock” until the Lord tells him to come on home.  We do not see the Apostles grumbling, nor do we hear the Lord making excuses.  They pick up their burden of ministry and carry on.

Saturday in the Fourth Week of Ordinary Time, February 7, 2026

Mark 6, 30-34

The Apostles gathered together with Jesus and reported all they had done and taught. He said to them, “Come away by yourselves to a deserted place and rest a while.” People were coming and going in great numbers, and they had no opportunity even to eat. So they went off in the boat by themselves to a deserted place. People saw them leaving and many came to know about it. They hastened there on foot from all the towns and arrived at the place before them. When Jesus disembarked and saw the vast crowd, his heart was moved with pity for them, for they were like sheep without a shepherd; and he began to teach them many things.

We are not told how long the Evangelists spent on their mission to the cities of the Jews.  We ought probably to think in terms of weeks and months rather than of days.  We are also not told the names of any of the towns and villages they visited.  While they were about the tasks the Lord had set them, the Lord himself seems to have stayed in the area from which he had sent them forth and to have continued preaching there.  This is indicated by the placing of the story of the death of John the Baptist directly after the Apostles departed.  We can gather from the first verse of today’s Gospel reading that they found success in their work: “The Apostles gathered together with Jesus and reported all they had done and taught.”  It is worth noting that the Apostles reported back to their Master.  They had gone out not of their own accord but for his sake, and they did the things he told them to do.  Having done that, they dutifully returned and reported on the results of their work.  They provide a good example for us, that at the end of some work we do for Christ, or even at the end of each day, we ought to “report” to him in prayer.  He knows all that we have done and experienced, but he wants us to tell him about it anyway.  There is intimacy in the telling and the hearing, and we are reminded in the telling that without him we can do nothing.  

Jesus responds to them by telling them, “Come away by yourselves to a deserted place and rest a while.”  His words must have surprised them, for we find nowhere else in the Gospels that he paused anywhere long enough to rest.  And when he does sleep, it is in the back of a boat that is filling up with storm water.  But now, with an eye to restore his tired envoys, he speaks to them of rest.  As an aside, it would be interesting to know what the Apostles thought on the occasion when the Lord said to the crowd, “Come to me and I will give you rest.”  Certainly, they had gone to him and had worked relentlessly ever since.  

It would seem, though, that speaking to them of rest, he was teaching them a lesson, for he knew that more work lay ahead.  They do go off to a deserted place, but the place is alive with crowds when they arrived there in their boat, for many people “hastened there on foot from all the towns and arrived at the place before them.”  The point Jesus makes in this is that for those who would be his disciples, there is no real rest.  Another man might well have grown bitter at the presence of the crowd when he wanted a well-earned rest, but the Lord saw only the need of the people: “When Jesus disembarked and saw the vast crowd, his heart was moved with pity for them, for they were like sheep without a shepherd.”  They came to him to learn the truth about God and how they should live in such a way as to please him and attain everlasting life.  The Pharisees were not providing this, and John the Baptist was dead.  Their leaders in Jerusalem despised them, saying, “This multitude, that does not know the Law, are accursed” (John 7, 49).  And so the people, desirous of the word of God, flock to Jesus.  As Peter would later say, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life” (John 6, 69). 

“He began to teach them many things.”  It is not only in the Passion that we see the Lord laying down his life for his sheep, but on every page of the Gospels.  The Prophets of old tended to stay in one place, mostly in and around Jerusalem.  The Lord races around almost frantically, preaching and healing, his mind always directed to the salvation of the world.  We ought to think of his desperation to save us, and respond to him in kind.

Friday in the Fourth Week of Ordinary Time, February 7, 2026

Mark 6, 14-29

King Herod heard about Jesus, for his fame had become widespread, and people were saying, “John the Baptist has been raised from the dead; That is why mighty powers are at work in him.” Others were saying, “He is Elijah”; still others, “He is a prophet like any of the prophets.” But when Herod learned of it, he said, “It is John whom I beheaded. He has been raised up.” Herod was the one who had John arrested and bound in prison on account of Herodias, the wife of his brother Philip, whom he had married. John had said to Herod, “It is not lawful for you to have your brother’s wife.” Herodias harbored a grudge against him and wanted to kill him but was unable to do so. Herod feared John, knowing him to be a righteous and holy man, and kept him in custody. When he heard him speak he was very much perplexed, yet he liked to listen to him. Herodias had an opportunity one day when Herod, on his birthday, gave a banquet for his courtiers, his military officers, and the leading men of Galilee. His own daughter came in and performed a dance that delighted Herod and his guests. The king said to the girl, “Ask of me whatever you wish and I will grant it to you.” He even swore many things to her, “I will grant you whatever you ask of me, even to half of my kingdom.” She went out and said to her mother, “What shall I ask for?” Her mother replied, “The head of John the Baptist.” The girl hurried back to the king’s presence and made her request, “I want you to give me at once on a platter the head of John the Baptist.” The king was deeply distressed, but because of his oaths and the guests he did not wish to break his word to her. So he promptly dispatched an executioner with orders to bring back his head. He went off and beheaded him in the prison. He brought in the head on a platter and gave it to the girl. The girl in turn gave it to her mother. When his disciples heard about it, they came and took his body and laid it in a tomb.

The question of the Lord’s identity hangs over the Gospel of St. Mark until its end, when Jesus declares to the high priest that he was indeed the Christ, the Son of the Blessed God, and that he would “see the Son of man sitting on the right hand of the power of God and coming with the clouds of heaven” (Mark 14, 62).  Though the high priest rejects this, a Gentile centurion would later confirm it: “Indeed this man was the Son of God” (Mark 15, 29).  All through his ministry the Lord had made his identity known: at Nazareth, when he read the prophecy of Isaiah and claimed that this was fulfilled in him; when he declared to the Pharisees that he was the Lord of the Sabbath; when he displayed his power over the storm to the Apostles; and on many other occasions, such as when he referred to himself as “the son of man”.  Yet the people, the Jewish leadership, and even the Apostles were slow to understand, and to move from understanding to belief.  Here, we see Herod voicing the opinion that Jesus was John the Baptist, as though the spirit of John had settled on another man.  Others believed this as well.  And, as we see here, another opinion had him as Elijah, come back down from heaven, or that he was a new Prophet, centuries after the death of the last of the Prophets.  It is almost as though people went to great lengths to deny that Jesus was who he said he was while having to admit the evidence of his power in some way.  

The question of the Lord’s identity brings Mark to write about the end of John the Baptist’s life on earth.  That is, by describing it, Mark makes clear that Jesus is in no way John the Baptist.  That Matthew and Luke also tell this story indicates how widespread was the error that Jesus was in some way John the Baptist, so that it needed to be refuted.  All the Evangelists make it abundantly clear that the ministry of the Lord was underway before John died.  It is also pointed out through the lips of the people, “John indeed did no sign” (John 10, 41). 

At the same time, the story of John’s death can be compared to that of the Lord for our benefit.  For instance, both were hated by the Jewish authorities in Jerusalem, yet both were condemned by the civil authorities.  John was executed through the machinations of a fearful woman; Jesus was condemned through the efforts of the fearful Jewish high priests.  Herod showed no inclination to kill John after he imprisoned him; Pontus Pilate desired to set Jesus free, seeing no guilt in him.  Fear of losing face before his guests caused Herod to order John’s death; fear of a riot by the people caused Pilate to order the crucifixion of Jesus.  The disciples of John buried his body; disciples of Jesus buried his Body.

We believe that Jesus is the Son of God, and so we must believe all the promises he has made to us.  Particularly in the midst of confusion and scandal within the Church as well as persecution from unbelievers, it is tempting to give up living publicly as Christians who seek to spread the Faith and to just get along.  But Christ is indeed who he said he was and he will prevail and his Church will prevail, for the gates of hell will not stand against it.  Let us pray for the conversion of the world, and also for our continuing conversion so that we may grow in our belief that the Lord will carry out the promises he has made to us.

Thursday in the Fourth Week of Ordinary Time, February 5, 2026

Mark 6:7-13

Jesus summoned the Twelve and began to send them out two by two and gave them authority over unclean spirits. He instructed them to take nothing for the journey but a walking stick –no food, no sack, no money in their belts. They were, however, to wear sandals but not a second tunic. He said to them, “Wherever you enter a house, stay there until you leave from there. Whatever place does not welcome you or listen to you, leave there and shake the dust off your feet in testimony against them.” So they went off and preached repentance. The Twelve drove out many demons, and they anointed with oil many who were sick and cured them.

In this passage, Jesus does something strikingly vulnerable: he sends the Twelve out without protections. No food. No money. No backup plan. He strips them down to what truly matters — not because he is careless, but because he wants the source of their power to be unmistakable.

They are not sent as religious entrepreneurs or self-sufficient experts. They are sent as witnesses. Their authority does not come from what they carry, but from whom they represent. The walking stick is enough — not as a weapon, but as a sign that they are travelers, pilgrims, dependent on the road and on God.

Jesus also sends them two by two. The mission is never solitary. Faith is not proven by heroic individualism but by communion: encouragement, correction, shared prayer, shared fatigue. Even the apostles are not meant to preach alone.

Their message is simple and demanding: repentance—a turning of the heart, not a performance. And remarkably, their preaching is accompanied by real effects: demons are driven out, the sick are anointed and healed. The outward signs confirm the inward truth. When hearts turn toward God, chains begin to loosen.

But Jesus is also realistic. Some will not listen. Some will not welcome them. And here he gives a command that protects the freedom of both the preacher and the hearer: shake the dust from your feet. Do not linger in resentment. Do not force belief. The Gospel is an offer, not a coercion. The disciples are to move on—lightly, peacefully, without bitterness.

This passage is not only about the Twelve long ago. It is about the Church always. And it is about each Christian life. We are sent with less than we think we need, so that we may discover what is truly sufficient. We are sent to rely not on control, but on trust; not on polish, but on truth; not on self-importance, but on authority received.

When we live the Gospel this way—unencumbered, communal, gentle but clear—something still happens. Hearts are stirred. Wounds are touched. And God, quietly and powerfully, goes ahead of us on the road.

Wednesday in the Fourth Week of Ordinary Time, February 4, 2026

Mark 6, 1-6

Jesus departed from there and came to his native place, accompanied by his disciples. When the sabbath came he began to teach in the synagogue, and many who heard him were astonished. They said, “Where did this man get all this? What kind of wisdom has been given him? What mighty deeds are wrought by his hands! Is he not the carpenter, the son of Mary, and the brother of James and Joseph and Judas and Simon? And are not his sisters here with us?” And they took offense at him. Jesus said to them, “A prophet is not without honor except in his native place and among his own kin and in his own house.” So he was not able to perform any mighty deed there, apart from curing a few sick people by laying his hands on them. He was amazed at their lack of faith.

 Of all the places where Jesus might be rejected, Nazareth is the most painful — and the most revealing. This is not a city of enemies or skeptics. It is home. These are the people who watched him grow, who knew his hands before they healed the sick, who heard his voice before it spoke with authority in the synagogue. They are not scandalized by ignorance, but by familiarity.

At first, everything seems promising. They are astonished. They recognize wisdom. They even acknowledge mighty deeds. And yet astonishment curdles into resistance. Their questions slide from wonder into dismissal: Where did this man get all this? Not, Who has given it to him? but, How dare it come from him? The problem is not what Jesus says or does, but who he is to them. Or rather, who they think he is.

“Is he not the carpenter?” The word is meant to anchor him firmly in place, to pin him to a workbench and a family line. A carpenter does not speak like this. A neighbor’s son does not bear divine authority. Nazareth is willing to be impressed — but not converted. They want amazement without surrender, admiration without obedience.

There is something profoundly human here. We are often most resistant to God when he comes to us through what is ordinary, familiar, or close. We expect revelation to arrive with spectacle, distance, or novelty. But God delights in choosing the known, the local, the unremarkable. Nazareth’s tragedy is not that it lacks evidence, but that it cannot see past its own categories. They know Jesus too well — or think they do.

Mark tells us that “they took offense at him.” Literally, they were scandalized. Jesus becomes a stumbling stone not because he contradicts Scripture, but because he fulfills it too near to home. A Messiah from elsewhere might have been acceptable. A prophet who grew up down the street is intolerable.

Jesus’ response is sober, not angry. He names the pattern: a prophet is without honor among his own. There is no bitterness here — only clarity. And yet the most startling line follows: “He was not able to perform any mighty deed there.” This is not a limitation of power, but a revelation of how God chooses to work. Grace does not force itself. Faith is not a mere prerequisite; it is a place of welcome. Where hearts close, even divine generosity refrains.

Still, the mercy remains. He lays his hands on a few sick people and heals them. Even in rejection, Jesus does not withdraw entirely. He gives what can be received. But the abundance that might have been — the transformation of a town, the flowering of faith — never comes to pass. Nazareth is left not with nothing, but with less than it was offered.

The final note is haunting: He was amazed at their lack of faith. In the Gospels, Jesus is amazed only twice — once by extraordinary faith, and once by its absence. That absence is not ignorance; it is refusal. It is the quiet decision to remain unchanged.

This passage invites us to ask uncomfortable questions. Have we grown too familiar with Jesus? Do we reduce him to what we already know, to what fits neatly within our experience? Do we prefer a Christ who inspires but does not unsettle, who teaches but does not demand?

Nazareth reminds us that proximity to holiness is no guarantee of openness to grace. The carpenter still speaks with divine authority. The hands that once shaped wood still shape souls. The question is not whether Jesus is capable of mighty deeds—but whether we are willing to let them happen in us.