Vicariate of San Antonio de Padua - Diocese of Paranaque

27/06/2026

Hospitality: Welcoming Christ in Others
13th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year A

In the Rule of St. Benedict, Chapter 53, the great saint writes: “All guests who present themselves are to be welcomed as Christ, for he himself will say: ‘I was a stranger and you welcomed me’” (Mt 25:35). Although these words were originally addressed to monks, they speak to every Christian. Our homes, workplaces, and communities should become places where others encounter Christ through our kindness and hospitality.

Hospitality is the central theme of today's readings. In the first reading, we meet the wealthy woman of Shunem, who prepares a small room for the prophet Elisha whenever he passes through her town. Her generosity is quiet and sincere. She does not seek attention or burden the prophet with her personal struggles. Instead, she simply recognizes him as "a holy man of God" and offers him a place of rest.

The room she prepares overlooks the Plain of Esdraelon and Mount Carmel, an ideal setting for prayer and reflection. Deeply touched by her kindness, Elisha promises that she will bear a son. This blessing reminds us that God never forgets genuine acts of charity. The woman and her husband had abandoned pagan worship and remained faithful to the one true God, echoing the message preached by the prophets Elijah and Elisha.

For Christians, this story points to an even greater gift. Through Baptism, we leave behind the idols of sin and selfishness and receive new life in Christ. As Saint Paul teaches, we are buried with Christ in His death and rise with Him to a new life. Baptism is not merely a ritual but our entrance into God's own life, making us children of the Father and heirs of eternal life.

Sharing in Christ's death and resurrection is not simply a doctrine to believe but a life to be lived. We are called each day to grow in love of God and neighbor. One of the simplest ways of expressing that love is through hospitality. Whether in our homes, at work, in school, in the marketplace, or in our everyday encounters, Christians are called to welcome others with generosity and compassion.

In today's Gospel, Jesus reminds us that our love must begin with God. He teaches that anyone who loves father or mother more than Him is not worthy of Him. He is not asking us to love our families less, but to love God first. When God occupies the first place in our hearts, every other relationship finds its proper order and becomes more faithful and selfless.

Jesus also teaches that every disciple must take up the cross. Following Him involves sacrifice, perseverance, and sometimes suffering. Yet these crosses are not meaningless burdens. They unite us with Christ and lead us to true life. Through faithful participation in the Church and the Sacraments, we gradually discover what Saint Paul means when he speaks of living "in Christ."

The Gospel concludes by returning to the theme of welcome. Jesus says that whoever receives His disciples receives Him, and even offering a cup of cold water to one of His little ones will not go unrewarded. Hospitality, therefore, is more than good manners. It is recognizing the dignity of every person as someone loved by God and welcoming Christ Himself in those we meet.

Every Christian is called to live in such a way that others can recognize the presence of God in them. Holiness is not about attracting admiration but about serving others with humility, following the example of Christ, who came not to be served but to serve.

Theologians often describe our present life as the "already but not yet." Christ has already won our redemption, yet its fullness will only be revealed at the end of time. Like a flower that has begun to bloom but has not yet fully opened, God's grace is already transforming us even as we continue to struggle with sin and suffering. Our homes, therefore, will always be places of both joy and sorrow, laughter and tears, but they can also become places where God's redeeming love continues to blossom.

Like the woman of Shunem, who recognized Elisha as "a holy man of God," may others recognize in us men and women who bear the presence of Christ. Through our faith, our generosity, and our hospitality, may we become living witnesses of the Gospel and instruments of God's peace wherever we go.

26/06/2026

13/05/2026

From the CBCP: A Statement

03/04/2026

AT THE FOOT OF THE CROSS
Good Friday of the Lord's Passion

Last night, we entered into the quiet intimacy of the Last Supper, where Jesus gave not only bread and wine, but himself. In the simple yet profound gesture of washing his disciples’ feet, he revealed the heart of his commandment: “Love one another as I have loved you.” And before they could fully understand, he transformed the Passover into something eternal—the gift of the Eucharist, a love that would remain, abiding through time.

Today, we come to the cross—not to explain it, but to stand before it. Here, words begin to fall silent. We are drawn into the depth of a love that is almost too much to comprehend: a Father who gives his Son, a Son who pours himself out completely. And yet, as we gaze upon Christ crucified, we cannot help but see reflected in him the suffering of our own world. The wounded of our time—the victims of war, especially in the troubled lands of the Middle East; the silenced and forgotten dead of extrajudicial killings; the poor, the displaced, the unseen—somehow gather beneath this same cross. It is no longer only his suffering we behold, but theirs… and perhaps, even our own.

And still, we profess that this is love. Not a love that explains suffering away, nor one that glorifies it, but a love that enters into it. In Christ, God does not remain distant from human pain—he chooses to dwell within it. As Saint Paul writes, Jesus “emptied himself… becoming obedient to death, even death on a cross.” There is a quietness in this self-emptying, a surrender that does not resist, does not retaliate, does not turn away. It is a love that absorbs violence without returning it, that bears injustice without surrendering to it.

On the cross, we see both the frailty and the mystery of Christ. He who could have acted with power chose instead to remain. He does not argue, does not defend himself, does not come down. Before human judgment—before Herod, before Pontius Pilate—he stands in silence. And in that silence, something deeper is spoken: that love does not always conquer by force, but often by enduring.

The cross stretches before us as a meeting place—of heaven and earth, of divine mercy and human brokenness. It reaches into the realities we know all too well: where dignity is denied, where truth is obscured, where violence is justified. And somehow, in ways we cannot fully grasp, Christ is there. Not distant, not indifferent—but present, suffering within his people. Yet even here, there is a quiet hope: that suffering and injustice do not have the final word.

We often speak of finding God in the human experience. But the cross reminds us that this experience includes even the darkest moments. And it is precisely here that grace is at work—hidden, perhaps, but real. For Jesus does not lose his life; he gives it. And in giving it, he transforms even death into a passage toward life. “No one takes it from me,” he says, “but I lay it down on my own.”

Perhaps this is why the world struggles to understand such love. It asks something of us. It unsettles us. It calls us to let go of our certainties, our need for control, our quiet complicity in the ways of violence and indifference. And yet, it also draws us—gently, persistently—into something deeper.

So we remain here, at the foot of the cross. Not with answers, but with presence. Not with certainty, but with trust. We listen again to his words: “When I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw everyone to myself.” And we begin to sense that this drawing is happening even now—in our longing, in our questions, in our desire for something more.

If we turn away, we may remain where we are—safe, perhaps, but unchanged. But if we allow ourselves to stay, to be drawn, to be loved in this way, then something within us begins to shift. Slowly, quietly, the cross shapes us—teaching us to love a little more like Christ: with patience, with mercy, with a willingness to remain.
And so we do not rush away from this moment. We linger. We behold. We pray.

We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you, because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.

24/12/2025

This Christmas, we thank you, our parish lay leaders, for lives shaped by generous service.
In Christ, God’s grace is freely given—and your faithful service is our loving response.
May the joy of the Child born for us renew your strength and deepen your commitment to serve.

A Blessed Christmas to all!