06/07/2026
𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗔𝗬 𝗧𝗔𝗞𝗘𝗔𝗪𝗔𝗬 𝗙𝗥𝗢𝗠 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗚𝗘𝗦𝗨
𝘏𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘺 𝘍𝘳 𝘔𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘵 𝘉 𝘔𝘢𝘯𝘶𝘴 𝘚𝘑 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 14𝘵𝘩 𝘚𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘖𝘳𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘛𝘪𝘮𝘦 (𝘡𝘦𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘩 9:9-10; 𝘙𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘴 8:9, 11-13; 𝘔𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘸 11:25-30)
There are moments in life when the words of the Gospel seem to speak directly into the heart of a community. I believe today is one of those moments. Jesus says to us, “Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest.”
Those words are beautiful because they acknowledge a simple truth: sometimes we are tired—not only physically, but emotionally, spiritually, and even communally. There are burdens that cannot be measured. There are questions without easy answers. There are losses that leave an empty space in our hearts. There are moments when an entire community feels the weight of grief, uncertainty, and the struggle to understand what God is asking of us.
Our world knows these burdens well. We continue to hear about wars that claim innocent lives on a daily basis. We see millions forced to leave their homes in search of safety and dignity. We experience the effects of rising prices and economic uncertainty that place tremendous pressure on families. Here in the Philippines, many continue to wrestle with poverty, corruption, political polarization, and a growing impatience that too often turns into anger and division. Everywhere we look, people seem to carry heavier loads than ever before.
Our own Ateneo community has not been spared. Recent events and painful losses have left many hearts grieving. They have also left questions, conversations, and emotions that are not easily resolved. In moments like these, there is a temptation to withdraw into ourselves, to allow fear, suspicion, or discouragement to shape the way we see one another. We may begin carrying burdens that Christ never intended for us to carry alone.
It is precisely into our present circumstances that Jesus speaks: “Come to me.” Notice that He does not first offer explanations. He simply offers Himself first. “Come to me.” Halika, lumapit ka sa Akin.
The world often tells us that strength means having all the answers, staying in control, or carrying every responsibility by ourselves. But Saint Paul in our second reading offers a different vision. To live according to the Spirit is to recognize that our lives are not sustained by our own strength alone but by the very Spirit who raised Jesus from the dead. The Christian life is not built on relying on the self but on relying on God alone.
Perhaps the heaviest burden that each of us can carry is the illusion that everything depends on us—that we alone must fix every problem, heal every wound, restore every relationship, or carry every sorrow. Eventually, even the strongest person grows weary under such a weight. But Jesus offers another way. “Take my yoke upon you.” A yoke was made for two. Christ never intended for His disciples to walk alone. He places Himself beside us, carrying the greater weight. And because He walks beside us, He also teaches us to walk beside one another. And this, my dearest sisters and brothers, this is where hope begins.
Hope is not pretending that pain does not exist. Rather, hope is believing that pain, suffering and death will not have the final word because the Risen Christ walks with His people. Hope allows us to grieve honestly without surrendering to despair. Hope gives us the courage to continue trusting even when many questions remain unanswered. And hope naturally leads to unity.
Whenever a community experiences suffering, there are at least two possible paths. One path leads toward division—toward blame, suspicion, resentment, and isolation. The other leads toward compassion, patience, listening, forgiveness, and a renewed commitment to care for one another. The first path is easy because it follows our fears. Ang dali-daling mapanghinaan ng loob. The second path is harder because it follows Christ, who says “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you.” Ang hirap nun di po ba?
But Jesus Christ whom we profess to follow, the gentle and humble King foretold by the prophet Zechariah, did not come riding a warhorse to conquer enemies. He came riding a donkey to establish a kingdom of peace. He conquered not through force but through self-giving love. If we truly call ourselves His disciples, then our community must resemble the King we follow. We cannot allow grief to become division, or suffering to diminish our capacity to love. The world already has enough voices that divide. The Church must become a place that heals. And our community forms this very same Church, the Body of Christ.
Perhaps that is why Jesus praises the “little ones.” The little ones are not simply children; they are those humble enough to admit they need God and need one another. They do not pretend to be self-sufficient. They are not ashamed to place their trust in the Father. They also understand that faith is never a solitary journey. We arrive at healing together, supporting one another, praying for one another, and refusing to let anyone carry life’s burdens alone. The older we become, the more accomplished we become, the easier it is to believe that everything depends on us. Jesus gently reminds us that the deepest wisdom is not relying on oneself but relying on God alone. This is also why Jesus praises the “little ones.”
As we gather around this altar today, we bring with us our grief, our questions, our hopes for our nation, and our hopes for our community. We entrust to the Lord those whom we continue to mourn, asking that they rest in His eternal peace. We pray for healing wherever hearts have been wounded. We pray for wisdom for our leaders, integrity in public service, compassion for those who suffer, and the courage to become builders of justice and peace in our own sphere of influence.
Above all, we ask for the grace to hear once more the gentle invitation of Jesus: “Come to me.”
And when we respond to His invitation, may we come not as isolated individuals but as one community. May Christ carry what is too heavy for us. May His Spirit breathe new life into our weary hearts. And may this Eucharist strengthen us to become, for one another, for our country, and for our world, a living sign that even after great sorrow, God’s grace is still at work, hope is still alive, and love is still stronger than fear.
