From Law to the Heart

 6 Sunday Ordinary Time, Year A

In Matthew 5:17–37, Jesus teaches that he fulfills the law not by adding more rules, but by transforming the human heart, moving from external obedience to interior conversion. In the wake of the Tumbler Ridge tragedy, this Gospel reminds us that healing, reconciliation, and grace begin in the heart. Like the moon reflecting the sun at Lunar New Year, Christians are called to reflect Christ’s light, allowing his grace to renew our hearts and bring hope to a wounded world.

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There are some stereotypes when it comes to being Catholic. One is that Catholics have many commandments and instructions. Another is that Catholics are often burdened with guilt when we do not follow them perfectly. In today’s Gospel, Jesus speaks at length about the commandments, and at first glance it may seem that he is adding even more to our plate.

He tells us, “I have come not to abolish the law but to fulfill it.” He also says, “Unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven.” Those are strong words. What does it mean for our righteousness to exceed that of the Pharisees? What does it mean for Christ to fulfill the law?

In the end, Jesus is drawing our attention to the heart. The commandments matter. They guide us in loving God and loving our neighbour. But Jesus has come not simply to reinforce external observance. He has come to change our hearts.

This Gospel comes to us at a difficult moment in our province. Many are struggling with grief and sorrow after the violence in Tumbler Ridge. There is confusion, anger, pain, and mourning. There is a deep need for healing and reconciliation. Into this reality, Jesus speaks about the heart. He comes not to condemn, but to heal and to give hope. He desires to transform what lies at the root of our actions.

In the Gospel, Jesus repeatedly says, “You have heard that it was said,” and he recalls the commandments. Then he adds, “But I say to you.” It is not only about murder, but about anger. It is not only about adultery, but about lust. It is not only about oath-breaking, but about the integrity of our speech.

Jesus is not multiplying rules in order to make us anxious or scrupulous. He is showing us that everything begins in the heart. Violence in the world, whether physical or verbal, does not appear out of nowhere. It begins with resentment, with hatred, with a failure to see the other person’s dignity. It begins in the heart.

Jesus speaks in strong and even startling language. If your hand causes you to sin, cut it off. Of course, he is speaking in hyperbole. He is underscoring how serious our interior life is. Small seeds, if left unattended, can grow into something destructive. Anger can lead to resentment. Resentment can lead to division. Division can lead to conflict.

Yet Jesus is not trying to lead us into despair. He fulfills the law not by giving us more regulations, but by giving us the grace to live what the law intends. The Sermon on the Mount, including the Beatitudes, is impossible without God’s grace. Our hearts are central, and Christ has come to renew them.

This week, many also celebrate the Lunar New Year. In many cultures it marks a hopeful beginning, a chance to look forward with confidence. Even though we celebrate January 1 according to the solar calendar, we are not strangers to lunar rhythms. The Jewish tradition followed a lunar calendar, and even the dating of Easter depends on the cycle of the moon.

The moon has long been a rich symbol in Christian reflection. The sun produces its own light, but the moon shines by reflecting the light of the sun. At times it appears dark, and at other times it is full and radiant. Its light is borrowed light.

This image can help us understand what Christ does in our hearts. He does not ignore the darkness within us, the grief, the anger, the wounds, or the unforgiveness. But when his grace touches us, our hearts are illuminated. Like the moon that begins as a small sliver and gradually grows brighter, our hearts can grow in light when they reflect Christ.

So we return to that question. How can our righteousness exceed that of the scribes and Pharisees? Not by adding more rules. Not by becoming overly scrupulous. Not by being driven by guilt. Our righteousness exceeds when Christ changes our hearts. From the heart flow all our words and actions.

In this Eucharist, we pray especially for those whose hearts are heavy with grief. We pray for healing and peace in our province. We also pray for ourselves, that we may allow Christ to transform us from within. We fall short each day, but with God’s grace we can walk the path set before us.

May the Lord enter our hearts once again and fill them with his light, so that we may reflect his love and peace to the world.

Salt, Light, and Credibility: What Real Christian Witness Looks Like Today

 5 Sunday OT, Year A

In a world filled with loud public claims of Christianity that are not always compelling, Jesus reminds his followers that true witness is measured not by volume or power, but by credibility. Through the images of salt and light, the Gospel shows that Christians are called to draw out the goodness in others and to reveal what is life-giving, without overpowering or dominating. Authentic Christian witness makes God visible not through force or status, but through a quiet presence that enhances goodness and illuminates the path toward Christ.

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Sometimes people suggest that one of the problems Christians face in the world today is that they need to be quiet about their faith, or that they should not really show it to others. Certainly, in some parts of the world, Christians do face persecution, and it is also true that at times people may feel embarrassed or hesitant about practising their faith openly. But despite these challenges, it is difficult to say that Christianity is always quiet in the public sphere. In fact, there are many very loud expressions of Christianity in the world today.

For example, one could argue that the Super Bowl is one of the days of the year when the most prayers are offered. In many sporting events, athletes quite openly make the sign of the cross, whether at the Olympics or the World Cup. In politics as well, we often hear public figures quoting the Bible or referencing the fact that they are Christians and followers of Jesus. Christianity, it seems, is not always subtle or hidden. And yet, these loud expressions are not always compelling. At times, they even push people away.

What seems to be missing is not volume, but credibility. In fact, simply saying that one is Christian can sometimes act less like an announcement of good news and more like a warning sign. Christianity can acquire a bad reputation, not because of the Gospel itself, but because of the way it is sometimes embodied. This is not new. Throughout history, people with power or wealth have often claimed the Christian name while living lives very far from the Gospel. In the early centuries after Christianity was legalized, many Roman emperors called themselves Christians, yet their lives bore little resemblance to Christ. Later, during the Renaissance, some popes, despite being regarded as the vicars of Christ, lived in ways that were deeply scandalous. The same pattern continues today when those in positions of power claim Christianity while offering an example that contradicts the message of Jesus.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus seems to anticipate this problem. He offers two simple but profound images that show us what credible Christian witness looks like: salt and light. Both images point to a way of being present in the world that is not forceful or domineering, but transformative in a quieter and more authentic way.

Consider first the image of salt. In the time of Jesus, salt was extremely valuable. The word salary itself comes from the fact that Roman soldiers were sometimes paid with salt. Salt was used to preserve food, to disinfect wounds, and, as today, to enhance flavour. It is this last use that is especially helpful. When used properly, salt draws out the goodness of what is already there. But too much salt can ruin a dish.

I remember when I was in elementary school becoming interested in cooking and baking, long before you could look everything up online. I once attempted to make meringue, those baked desserts made from whipped egg whites and sugar. The recipe called for just a small amount of salt, but I misunderstood what that meant and added far too much. The result was inedible and had to be thrown away. Salt, when it overpowers, destroys rather than enhances.

The same can be true of Christian witness. When Christianity becomes overbearing or dominating, it ceases to be attractive. There are forms of Christianity that imply that believers are better than others or that seek to control rather than serve. This is not credible witness. To be salt in the world means helping to draw out the goodness already present in others, helping people recognize the dignity and goodness with which God has created them.

The image of light carries a similar meaning. Today we take light for granted. We simply flip a switch. In the ancient world, light was precious and difficult to come by. Yet light, too, can be misused. I was driving recently on a rainy evening when a car approached from the opposite direction with extremely bright headlights. They were so intense that they actually made it harder to see. Good light, however, does the opposite. It illuminates the path, reveals direction, and allows us to move safely.

Light should never blind. It should reveal. Think of a sunrise. Gradually, what was hidden in darkness becomes visible, and the beauty of creation emerges. When Jesus calls us light, he is inviting us to live in a way that reveals goodness, that helps others see both the path forward and the beauty already present in their lives. Christian witness should illuminate, not overwhelm. It should guide, not dominate.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus invites us to reflect seriously on what kind of witnesses we are. When people think of a Christian, what comes to mind? Someone who claims faith but contradicts it in practice, or someone whose presence brings out goodness, sheds light, and quietly points toward God?

As we continue with this Mass and enter the coming week, perhaps one final question is worth considering. Imagine that someone encounters you this week and knows that you are a Christian. Imagine, in fact, that you are the only Christian they ever meet. What kind of picture of Christ would your life give them?

The Paradox of Blessedness: Finding Fulfilment Through the Beatitudes

 4 Sunday of Ordinary Time, year A

Jesus’ Beatitudes challenge our usual ideas of success by revealing that true blessedness is not found in comfort or status, but in right relationship with God and with one another. Even in poverty, grief, or struggle, a person can experience deep fulfilment through trust in God and a life shaped by self-giving love. Lived out in the Christian community, this paradoxical way of life becomes a powerful witness to the Gospel and a sign of God’s work among us.

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We hear the words of Jesus so often, especially the words we heard in the Gospel today, the Beatitudes, such a familiar and beloved teaching. We can become so accustomed to hearing them that they lose their power to surprise us. And yet, when we listen carefully, the teaching of Jesus, particularly in the Beatitudes, really should shock us. It is strange. It is paradoxical. At first glance, it does not make much sense. Today we are invited to allow ourselves to be surprised once again by the teaching of Christ.

For those who first heard Jesus preach, the Beatitudes would have been deeply unsettling. If we were asked to identify someone who was most blessed in life, we would probably not point to the people Jesus describes. In Jesus’ time, just as in our own, to be blessed meant to be fortunate, fulfilled, and successful. It meant good health, a strong family, financial security, comfort, and perhaps social standing. This is what it meant to live a good life. And yet Jesus turns all of this upside down. He declares blessed the poor, the meek, those who mourn, and those who are persecuted. This is unexpected and unsettling, and it should give us pause.

Jesus is not glorifying suffering for its own sake, nor are Christians meant to seek out hardship. What Jesus teaches in the Beatitudes is that while the good things of life are indeed gifts from God, they are not the final measure of blessedness. Even in the midst of struggle, poverty, grief, or persecution, a person can still be blessed. True beatitude, true fulfilment, comes from living in right relationship with God and in right relationship with one another. When we live in communion with Christ, we can experience blessedness even amid difficulty and struggle.

Jesus often points to children as a model for how we are to relate to God. This truth struck me in a particular way this past Wednesday during our parish PREP program, when we celebrated First Confession for about fifty children, mostly in Grade Two, with some a little older. That evening, I was feeling a bit on edge and distracted, carrying the weight of many concerns. Yet as I listened to these young children make their confessions, something remarkable happened. No matter how heavy my heart may have been, the simple and sincere faith of these children was deeply moving.

In them we see a profound trust in God, a simplicity and directness, and a genuine sense that God is a loving parent who cares for them. This is precisely the relationship Christ invites us into. Each time we pray the Our Father, at Mass and throughout the day, we approach God as children who trust in their Father’s care. When we live with this kind of trust and abandonment to God, we can experience peace, fulfilment, and blessedness even in the midst of life’s struggles.

We also experience this blessedness through right relationship with one another. In the Beatitudes, Jesus gives us a picture of life in the Kingdom of God, a way of living marked by mercy, humility, forgiveness, and generosity. This way of life is sometimes described as the law of the gift, a phrase articulated by figures such as Saint John Paul II. It captures the paradox at the heart of the Beatitudes and of the Christian life itself. At first, this way of living does not seem logical. Yet we discover its truth when we live it. We find our life and our fulfilment precisely when we give our lives as a gift to others, when we serve, forgive, and place the needs of others before our own.

In today’s readings, Saint Paul reminds us that not only the teaching of Jesus but the very life of the Christian community can appear strange to the world. Writing to the Corinthians, Paul explains that God did not choose the powerful or the wise by worldly standards, but those who seemed insignificant. The wisdom of the cross stands in contrast to the wisdom of the world. Historically, many early Christians came from the margins of society, including the poor and the enslaved, people who recognized in the Gospel a message of liberation and hope.

A Roman governor named Pliny, writing around the year 115, described this new movement of Christians to the emperor. He noted that Christians lived within society and contributed to its well being, yet they also lived differently. They shared what they had, refused to deceive or defraud others, and sought to live honest and faithful family lives. Even from the perspective of a pagan observer, their way of life stood out as something unusual and paradoxical.

Today, Jesus once again invites us to be surprised by the strangeness of the Beatitudes. This teaching may appear illogical, but its truth becomes clear when it is lived. As a parish community, we are called to be a place where the Beatitudes are made visible, where this paradoxical blessedness is lived out. May we commit ourselves anew to being people of the Beatitudes, trusting that true joy and fulfilment are found not in the absence of difficulty, but in living in right relationship with God and with one another.