The Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time, February 1, 2026

Matthew 5, 1-12

When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain, and after he had sat down, his disciples came to him. He began to teach them, saying: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven. Blessed are they who mourn, for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the land. Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied. Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy. Blessed are the clean of heart, for they will see God. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven. Blessed are you when they insult you and persecute you and utter every kind of evil against you falsely because of me. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward will be great in heaven. Thus they persecuted the prophets who were before you.”

We call these the “Beatitudes”, a word which comes from the Latin beatitudo, which means “happiness”, because the one who lives out these words attains eternal happiness.  

If we take the Beatitudes together we find that the “blessed” are those who espouse what the world considers weakness and lay themselves open to harm.  The “merciful”, for instance, refuse to take vengeance on those who injure them.  The “meek” are those who go about their lives, minding their own business, and so are not setting out traps for others or seeking to climb over them at work or in politics.  The “pure of heart” single-mindedly serve their Master: “Jesus said to him: No man putting his hand to the plow and looking back is fit for the kingdom of God” (Luke 9, 62).  Nor do they look to the side at improper things, or the sorts of things worldly people delight in.  These innocent folks do not conform to the world in order to gain safety at all costs, or position themselves in authority in service to their pride,  nor do they act out of fear or lack of confidence but rather out of strength, out of solidity in their purpose, and out of love for Jesus.  

It is significant that the Beatitudes  come at the head of the Lord’s Sermon on the Mount because all that follows over the next three chapters derives from them.  They are an epitome of the Lord’s teaching.  We can see them acted out in each of his parables, his deeds, and his other teachings.  And it is necessary, if we are to know what they mean, to define their terms as the Lord does.  If we want to see how the Lord defines “mercy”, we can look at the parable of the Good Samaritan, and then at the Lord’s Death on the Cross.  If we want to understand what he means by a “peacemaker”, we look at the father in the parable of the Prodigal Son, and then recollect that our Lord came among us not with lightning bolts and fire, but as an infant lying in a trough.  We follow the definitions of the Lord, not those that the world would impose.

At the end of the Beatitudes we find two that call “blessed” those who are persecuted for justice and for the Lord himself.  The living-out of the Beatitudes puts us at odds with a world that cannot bear criticism or opposition, even something as simple as the word “no”.  The world is a willful two-year old child, ever on the verge of a tantrum.  And so those who pursue the Beatitudes are bound to suffer persecution of one kind or another, either intermittently or continually, all their lives.  The Christian does not shy away from persecution but stands humbly and confidently with Jesus Christ, who came as “a sign that will be contradicted” (Luke 2, 34).  We are “signs” in the “Sign”: signs to the world that there is a different way to live, a way that does not involve the darkness of lies and delusion, a way that is bright with Truth and freedom.  In this way we fulfill our Lord’s commandment to preach the Gospel to all nations.

Let us live out the virtues upheld by the Beatitudes so that we may imitate the One who gives them to us.

Saturday in the Third Week of Ordinary Time, January 30, 2026

Mark 4, 35-41

On that day, as evening drew on, Jesus said to his disciples: “Let us cross to the other side.” Leaving the crowd, they took Jesus with them in the boat just as he was. And other boats were with him. A violent squall came up and waves were breaking over the boat, so that it was already filling up. Jesus was in the stern, asleep on a cushion. They woke him and said to him, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” He woke up, rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, “Quiet! Be still!” The wind ceased and there was great calm. Then he asked them, “Why are you terrified? Do you not yet have faith?” They were filled with great awe and said to one another, “Who then is this whom even wind and sea obey?”

If we go back to the beginning of St. Mark’s Gospel and read straight through it to the end of chapter four, from which part the Gospel reading for today’s Mass comes, we see how the Lord employs his authority.  He is certain, deliberate, and direct.  His teaching is unlike that of the Pharisees, which confined itself seemingly to matters of ritual.  He quotes from the Law and the Prophets but in order to show the truth of his teaching rather than merely to comment on them.  And his miracles are of the same character.  When he heals a person, the person is healed immediately.  Demons object to their exorcism but they do not fail to depart when he orders them to do so. 

We see this impression of him exemplified in the present account. The impression is actually that of St. Peter as relayed by his secretary Mark.  Reading carefully, we can catch something of Peter’s deep emotions on this occasion as he watched and heard our Lord.  It is evident that this event profoundly affected him, and reading further in the Gospel we can see how this led to his confession of faith in Jesus.

“Let us cross to the other side.”  Peter, looking back on this event, must have wondered if the Lord had meant all along to confront the approaching storm.  Certainly, Jesus knew of it but rather than order his disciples to take shelter somewhere, he told them to set out for where they would meet it.  By this means he could teach the Apostles, shortly after they have been chosen by him, to trust him implicitly.  The storm that does blow up, seemingly out of nowhere, signifies both personal suffering and persecution for the sake of the Lord.  Peter, in giving the Lord’s order here reveals the misgivings he felt at the time, for a trip across the sea is risky after dark.  There was also no advantage in making it at that time, for whatever town they landed at would have been locked up for the night.  “They took Jesus with them in the boat just as he was.”  This is a pregnant little phrase, and it’s meaning is not clear.  It does imply that in some way the Lord was ill-equipped for the trip.  This in turn implies urgency on his part.  “A violent squall came up and waves were breaking over the boat, so that it was already filling up.”  The next line tells us that Jesus was already asleep so a little time has passed from when they set out, so they must have been out a ways from the shore when the storm struck.  “Jesus was in the stern, asleep on a cushion.”  This terse sentence, passed from Peter to Mark to us, is all Peter thinks we need to know.  Its very plainness reveals the shock Peter felt, seeing Jesus calmly asleep as the Apostles bale for their lives even as the boat capsizes.  “They woke him and said to him, ‘Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?’ ”  They were appealing to him to help bale.  

“He woke up, rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, ‘Quiet! Be still!’ ”  There is no panic, no desperation.  He wakes up and speaks to the wind and the sea.  “The wind ceased and there was great calm.”  As in his cures, the result is immediate.  All at once, the storm is gone.  It does not subside.  It disappears.  Perhaps later the Apostles remembered God’s words from Job, speaking of his creation of the oceans: “And I said, Hitherto shall you come, but no further: And here shall your proud waves be stayed” (Job 38, 11).  Or from Psalm 46:10: “Be still, and know that I am God. I am exalted among the nations, I am exalted in the earth!”  

“They were filled with great awe and said to one another, “Who then is this whom even wind and sea obey?”  We can hear the wonder that still sounds in Peter’s voice as he recalls this.  He asks the question here.  He gives the only possible answer later when he confesses: “You are the Son of the living God.”

Friday in the Third Week of Ordinary Time, January 30, 2026

Mark 4, 26-34

Jesus said to the crowds: “This is how it is with the Kingdom of God; it is as if a man were to scatter seed on the land and would sleep and rise night and day and the seed would sprout and grow, he knows not how. Of its own accord the land yields fruit, first the blade, then the ear, then the full grain in the ear. And when the grain is ripe, he wields the sickle at once, for the harvest has come.” He said, “To what shall we compare the Kingdom of God, or what parable can we use for it? It is like a mustard seed that, when it is sown in the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds on the earth. But once it is sown, it springs up and becomes the largest of plants and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the sky can dwell in its shade.” With many such parables he spoke the word to them as they were able to understand it. Without parables he did not speak to them, but to his own disciples he explained everything in private.

There is something profoundly consoling about the way Jesus speaks of the Kingdom in this passage. He does not describe it as a project to be managed, a structure to be engineered, or a problem to be solved. Instead, he compares it to seed scattered on the land, growing while the sower sleeps, rising and resting, knowing neither the mechanism nor the timetable of its growth. The Kingdom of God, Jesus says, advances in a way that is at once hidden, patient, and utterly reliable.

The first parable cuts directly against one of our deepest modern anxieties: the need to control outcomes. The man scatters the seed and then does something almost scandalous — he goes to sleep. Night and day pass. Life unfolds beneath the surface. Growth happens “he knows not how.” The Kingdom is not stalled by the limits of human understanding. It is not dependent on constant supervision. God’s work proceeds even when we are unaware, unproductive, or resting.

This does not mean that human effort is irrelevant. The seed must be sown. There is a moment of obedience, of risk, of generosity. But once that act is done, the power that brings forth the harvest does not belong to the sower. The earth produces “of its own accord”—a phrase that quietly affirms the fidelity of creation to the will of its Creator. Grace is not frantic. It is patient. It works through time.

The progression Jesus describes — blade, ear, full grain—is also important. The Kingdom does not arrive all at once. There are stages, and each stage is incomplete in itself. We are often tempted to judge too soon: to dismiss the blade because it is not yet the harvest, or to despair because what we see seems fragile and unimpressive. But Jesus teaches us to recognize that partial growth is real growth, and that God’s purposes mature according to rhythms we do not command.

Then comes the harvest. When the grain is ripe, the sickle is put to use at once. There is no hesitation, no delay. The same Kingdom that grows patiently also comes decisively. God is neither hurried nor hesitant. He is exact. The harvest arrives not when we demand it, but when it is ready.

The second parable — the mustard seed — takes this lesson even further. Jesus chooses an image that borders on the absurd: the smallest of seeds becoming a plant large enough to shelter the birds of the sky. There is an intentional disproportion here. What begins almost invisibly ends up expansive and hospitable. The Kingdom does not simply grow; it outgrows all reasonable expectations.

This parable also redeems smallness. In a world that prizes scale, influence, and immediate results, Jesus points to beginnings that look insignificant. Faithfulness that seems unnoticed. Goodness that appears buried. Prayer that feels dry. The Kingdom often starts there—hidden in the soil, entrusted to time, misunderstood by those who expect something louder or faster.

And yet the final image is one of refuge. The birds come and dwell in its shade. The Kingdom is not merely impressive in size; it is life-giving. It creates space. It shelters others. Growth is not for display but for communion.

St. Mark closes this passage by reminding us that Jesus spoke in parables “as they were able to understand.” This is an act of mercy. God does not overwhelm us with more than we can receive. He invites us gradually, patiently, into deeper understanding. And even then, much remains hidden—not because it is withheld, but because it must be lived before it can be fully grasped.

For us, this Gospel offers both reassurance and challenge. We are called to sow—to speak the word, to act in charity, to live faithfully—but not to panic when results are unseen. We are invited to trust a Kingdom that grows quietly, steadily, and irresistibly. And we are reminded that what looks small in God’s hands may one day become a place where many find rest.

The Kingdom of God is already at work—often beneath the surface, often beyond our calculations. Our task is not to force it, but to remain faithful, patient, and awake to its signs, trusting that in God’s time, the harvest will come.

Thursday in the Third Week of Ordinary Time, January 29, 2026

Mark 4, 21-25

Jesus said to his disciples, “Is a lamp brought in to be placed under a bushel basket or under a bed, and not to be placed on a lampstand? For there is nothing hidden except to be made visible; nothing is secret except to come to light. Anyone who has ears to hear ought to hear.” He also told them, “Take care what you hear. The measure with which you measure will be measured out to you, and still more will be given to you. To the one who has, more will be given; from the one who has not, even what he has will be taken away.”

This short passage from Mark comes immediately after the parable of the sower, and it assumes that something decisive has already taken place: the word has been given. The question now is not whether God speaks, but what becomes of what has been heard.

Jesus begins with an image so ordinary that it almost resists interpretation: a lamp. In the ancient world, a lamp existed for one reason only — to give light. To bring a lamp into a house and then hide it under a basket or a bed would not merely be strange; it would contradict the lamp’s very purpose. The image is not about moralistic at first. It is about purpose: a lamp is for light.

So too the word of God. It is not given as a private possession, nor as a decorative object to be admired, nor as a secret code to be hoarded. It is given to give light. And if it is hidden, that hiding  cannot be its final state: “There is nothing hidden except to be made visible; nothing is secret except to come to light.” This is not a threat although to some it may sound like one. Instead, it is a statement about how reality works. Light presses outward. Truth moves toward being made known. What God reveals does not remain unmoving.

Yet Jesus immediately adds a warning: “Anyone who has ears to hear ought to hear.” Hearing, in the Gospel, is never automatic. Sound may strike the ear, but understanding requires consent. The ear must be attentive, receptive, willing to be changed by what it receives. This is why Jesus does not say, “Take care what you say,” but “Take care what you hear.” The danger lies not only in speaking falsely, but in listening carelessly.

What we allow ourselves to hear shapes us. Words do not simply pass through us; they lodge. They take root. They form habits of thought and expectation. To hear the word of God inattentively is not a neutral act. It dulls the ear. It trains the soul to treat revelation as background noise. And once that habit forms, even what was once clear begins to fade.

That is why Jesus introduces the image of measure: “The measure with which you measure will be measured out to you — and still more will be given to you.” Measure here is not quantity, but disposition. It refers to the interior openness with which one receives what is given. A narrow measure — careless listening, selective obedience, half-attention — receives little, even if much is offered. A generous measure — reverent listening, patient reflection, willingness to act — receives more than it expects.

This is not because God withholds arbitrarily, but because the soul itself expands or contracts according to how it listens. Attention enlarges the heart. Neglect shrinks it.

This explains the hard saying that follows: “To the one who has, more will be given; from the one who has not, even what he has will be taken away.” Jesus is not praising accumulation or condemning poverty. He is describing a spiritual law. What is used grows. What is neglected decays. Faith exercised deepens. Faith ignored thins out. Light welcomed becomes brighter. Light avoided dims.

This is why the Gospel never treats revelation as static. The word of God is alive: “The word of God is living and effectual” (Hebrews 4, 12). At the same time it does not force itself. It waits for a listener who will place the lamp on a stand — not by drawing attention to himself, but by allowing the light to do what light does: make things visible. Often that light first reveals disorder, clutter, or dust. That is uncomfortable. But it is also merciful. Only what is seen can be set right.

Taken together, this passage calls for a very specific posture: responsible hearing. Not curiosity alone. Not emotional reaction. Not admiration from a distance. But a kind of listening that accepts consequences. If I hear, I will be changed. If I hear, I will be entrusted with more. If I refuse to hear, I will slowly lose even the clarity I once had.

In that sense, the lamp is already lit. The only question is whether we are willing to let it stand where it belongs — exposed, illuminating, and quietly doing its work.

Wednesday in the Fourth Week of Ordinary Time, January 28, 2026

Mark 4, 1-20

On another occasion, Jesus began to teach by the sea. A very large crowd gathered around him so that he got into a boat on the sea and sat down. And the whole crowd was beside the sea on land. And he taught them at length in parables, and in the course of his instruction he said to them, “Hear this! A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seed fell on the path, and the birds came and ate it up. Other seed fell on rocky ground where it had little soil. It sprang up at once because the soil was not deep. And when the sun rose, it was scorched and it withered for lack of roots. Some seed fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked it and it produced no grain. And some seed fell on rich soil and produced fruit. It came up and grew and yielded thirty, sixty, and a hundredfold.” He added, “Whoever has ears to hear ought to hear.”  And when he was alone, those present along with the Twelve questioned him about the parables. He answered them, “The mystery of the Kingdom of God has been granted to you. But to those outside everything comes in parables, so that  they may look and see but not perceive, and hear and listen but not understand, in order that they may not be converted and be forgiven.”  Jesus said to them, “Do you not understand this parable? Then how will you understand any of the parables? The sower sows the word. These are the ones on the path where the word is sown. As soon as they hear, Satan comes at once and takes away the word sown in them. And these are the ones sown on rocky ground who, when they hear the word, receive it at once with joy. But they have no roots; they last only for a time. Then when tribulation or persecution comes because of the word, they quickly fall away. Those sown among thorns are another sort. They are the people who hear the word, but worldly anxiety, the lure of riches, and the craving for other things intrude and choke the word, and it bears no fruit. But those sown on rich soil are the ones who hear the word and accept it and bear fruit thirty and sixty and a hundredfold.”

Jesus teaches by the sea, seated in a boat, with the crowd standing on the shore. The image itself already tells us something important: the word of God is being spoken into a mixed and shifting human landscape. Some are close, some farther away; some attentive, some merely curious. And Jesus does not begin with commands or explanations. He begins with a story about seed, soil, and growth.

The parable of the sower is not, at heart, about farming. It is about hearing. Jesus makes this explicit when he says, “Whoever has ears to hear ought to hear.” The real question is not whether the seed is good — it always is. The question is what happens to the word once it reaches the human heart.

The first seed falls on the path. The soil is hard, compacted by traffic. Nothing penetrates. The birds carry the seed away almost immediately. Jesus explains this plainly: the word is heard, but before it can even begin to take root, it is taken away. There is no struggle here, no resistance, no drama. The word simply does not linger long enough to be tested. This is perhaps the most sobering soil of all, because nothing seems wrong. The person has “heard,” but not in a way that allows the word to enter.

The second seed falls on rocky ground. There is enough soil for a quick response, but not enough depth for endurance. It springs up immediately, with joy. This is the hearer who is genuinely moved, genuinely excited, perhaps even deeply touched. But when heat comes — when difficulty, opposition, or suffering arises—the lack of roots becomes clear. The word had been received emotionally, but not integrated. It had not gone down far enough to shape decisions, habits, and loyalties. Joy alone is not the same as depth.

The third seed falls among thorns. This soil receives the word and allows it to grow, but it is already crowded. Other growths are present — worldly anxiety, the lure of riches, the craving for other things. Notice that none of these are described as evil in themselves. Anxiety arises from real concerns. Riches promise security. Other things may even be good things. But together they crowd the interior space of the heart until the word is choked. Nothing dramatic happens here either. The plant simply never bears fruit. Life is too full for the word to mature.

Only the final soil bears fruit: the rich soil. And Jesus is careful in how he describes it. These are the ones who hear the word, accept it, and bear fruit. Hearing is not enough. Acceptance is not mere agreement. It is a receiving that allows the word to claim space, to set roots, to remain when tested. Fruitfulness is the sign that the word has truly been welcomed. And even here, the yield varies—thirty, sixty, a hundredfold. Fruitfulness is real, but not uniform. God does not measure success by comparison, but by life.

What is striking is that Jesus does not tell us to identify which soil we are. He invites us to become rich soil. Soil can change. Paths can be broken up. Rocks can be cleared. Thorns can be pulled out. But this requires patience, humility, and willingness to be worked upon. The parable assumes time, effort, and cooperation.

When the disciples later ask Jesus why he speaks in parables, his answer is unsettling. Not everyone is ready to understand. Some look but do not perceive; some hear but do not understand. This is not because God withholds grace, but because conversion requires readiness. Parables both reveal and conceal. They invite those who are willing to linger, to question, to stay with the word even when it is unclear.

Jesus ends by saying that this parable is foundational: “If you do not understand this parable, how will you understand any of the parables?” In other words, everything depends on how we hear. The Kingdom of God does not fail because the seed is weak. It bears fruit where it is received deeply, patiently, and wholeheartedly.

Each time this Gospel is proclaimed, the sower goes out again. The seed is scattered generously. The question is not whether God is speaking. The question is whether we are making room for the word to stay, to grow, and to change us—slowly, deeply, and fruitfully.

Tuesday in the Third Week of Ordinary Time, January 27, 2026

Mark 3, 31-35

The Mother of Jesus and his brothers arrived at the house. Standing outside, they sent word to Jesus and called him. A crowd seated around him told him, “Your mother and your brothers and your sisters are outside asking for you.” But he said to them in reply, “Who are my mother and my brothers?” And looking around at those seated in the circle he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers. For whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.”

I’m afraid I made a mistake in posting the reflection for Monday, January 25. As a shortcut, I often copy and paste the Gospel reading I had already copied out and formatted and used for an earlier article. I seem to have copied and pasted the reflection from that earlier reflection as well. As a result, the new reflection I had written and which included insights from St. Albert which I had just read did not get posted. I’ll try to be more careful in the future. 

“The Mother of Jesus and his brothers arrived at the house.”   For some people, particularly those opposed to the idea of the Mother of God’s perpetual virginity, this phrase speaks of the Lord Jesus’s biological brothers and sisters.  However, the names of these brothers and sisters, such as “James” turn out to belong to people who are the children of “the other Mary”, a woman who seems to have been the Virgin’s sister-in-law, step-sister, or possibly a cousin: “Mary the mother of James and of Joseph and Salome” (Mark 15, 40).  Perhaps the fact that most destroys the possibility of Mary having other children is that while dying on the Cross, Jesus tells his Apostle John to take care of her.  Had the Lord any brothers, particularly older brothers, the care of his Mother after his Death would not have been such a concern for him on the Cross.  Among these “brothers” mentioned in the present excerpt from the Gospel of St. Mark There could have been any number of uncles, cousins, and neighbors.  The Greek word translated as “brother” has very broad shoulders.

The distance between Nazareth and Capernaum was not great, about twenty miles, but the country was hilly and there may not have been roads between the two towns.  This would still allow one to walk from Nazareth to Capernaum in two days or less, even while avoiding the sun in the middle of the day.  If news had gotten to Nazareth that Jesus was “out of his mind” as Mark’s text earlier had said, his relatives could have gotten there quickly.

Now, Jesus had returned to Peter’s house following his appointment of the Apostles.  It was a fairly large house for the area since it housed, at the least, Peter and his wife, his wife’s mother, and his unmarried brother, Andrew.  Possibly there were servants.  Years later, after Pentecost, this house became a church, one of the very first, and it was used as a church.  Archaeologists have lately excavated the ruins of the ancient Byzantine church built on the site, containing beautiful mosaics, and discovered the original house.  

The crowd at the house was very large: “The multitude came together again, so that they could not so much as eat bread” (Mark 3, 20).  The Lord, ever preferring to feed the souls of others than feeding his own Body, taught them.  He must have taught for a long period of time to account for Mark’s phrasing, and still the people did not leave.  This gives us an idea of how starved the people were for the word of God, and how skilled they found the Lord as a teacher.  “Standing outside, they sent word to Jesus and called him.”  It is a little hard to get into the minds of the Lord’s “brothers”.  Perhaps they feared that he was making such scenes that people gathered to watch him for the sake of the entertainment he provided.  In that case, they would have been filled with shame to let it be known that they were related to him.  It is hard to feel sympathy for them, however; they were of no help at all when the crowd in the synagogue in Nazareth tried to kill Jesus after when he came to teach them.

“Your Mother and your brothers and your sisters are outside asking for you.”  The members of the crowd may have felt curious to meet the Lord’s Mother and brothers, but they made no room for them.  They had Jesus with them.  They had chosen the better part and were not going to give it up.  Rather, they would leave it up to him if he wanted to greet them.  The Lord then said something quite astounding: “Here are my mother and my brothers. For whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.”  He was identifying the people who came to learn from him as his mother, brothers, and sisters.  Here the Lord begins to teach the mystery of his holy Body, that those who are joined to him through baptism more belong to him than to anyone who is not baptized, including family members and relatives.

We might wonder what this means for his holy Mother.  It means that she is more holy for her consent to God ’s will in her conception of his Son than in her physically giving birth to him, as the Fathers teach us.  In his words, the Lord praises his Mother, the Handmaid of the Lord.  She had come to him in Capernaum in her duties as God’s Handmaid to aid her Son and also to protect him from the aggressive behavior of these relatives, whose demeanor she knew very well.  The Lord seems not to have met with these brothers after all.  None of the Evangelists say that he did.  Possibly they saw that that the people in Capernaum held him in high regard, and when he did not come out to them, and the day wore on, they left.  It is hard to think of the Blessed Virgin leaving him there, and we do find her along his women disciples who traveled with him, though in their own group, as according to custom.  This may have been the time when she left Nazareth for good.  But we never hear of her using her eminence in any way or asking for deference from the other women.  She always remained with the servants, ready to help, always eagerly doing the will of God.