Reflection for July 13, 2025

Fifteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Deuteronomy 30:10-14 | Psalm 19:8, 9, 10, 11 | Colossians 1:15-20 | Luke 10:25-37

​This weekend’s readings remind us that God feels close whenever we follow his ways. Since we were made through Jesus and for him, he’s really meant to be the center of our lives—and the more we live that out, the closer we get to him. But that’s not all. We’re also called to show the same kind of compassion he has, and to help anyone who needs it.

​Young Edward was playing quietly in the yard when, without warning, his father’s voice thundered from the porch: “Edward! Obey me—now! Drop to your stomach!” Without hesitation, without a single question, the boy dropped flat on the ground. “Crawl to me—fast!” came the next command. Again, Edward obeyed without a word, moving swiftly across the grass. “Now stand! Run to me!” The boy sprang to his feet and bolted into his father’s outstretched arms. Only then did Edward dare to look back. Hanging from the low branch of the tree where he had just been playing… was a massive, venomous snake, coiled and ready to strike. Had he paused. Had he questioned. Had he delayed even for a second—he might not have survived. It was his immediate, unquestioning obedience that spared his life. He didn’t need to understand the reason. He didn’t demand explanation. He simply trusted and obeyed his father. And that made all the difference.

God’s will is not distant or mysterious—it is near, written in our hearts, and spoken through His Word. Like a loving Father, He commands not to burden us, but to lead us to life, blessing, and peace. In this Sunday’s reading, Moses reminds the people: obedience is within reach. It does not require searching the heavens or crossing the seas. It only requires a heart that listens and a spirit that trusts. When we question God’s commands or delay in obeying, we risk wandering away from the very path meant to bless us. Like a child who trusts his father’s urgent voice, we are called to obey—not later, not when it’s convenient—but now. For in doing so, we don’t just avoid danger—we run straight into the arms of life. Obedience to the Father is not mere duty; it is the doorway to His delight.

Richard signed up for a photography class, feeling artsy and ambitious. For one assignment, he chose his adorable 6-year-old daughter Rachel as his subject. He placed her on a peaceful hillside, ready to capture that “proud dad” moment. But just beside her stood a glorious mango tree in full bloom—majestic, tropical, practically begging for attention. Richard couldn’t resist. He framed the tree so beautifully, you’d think it was auditioning for a fruit commercial. When he submitted the photo, his instructor squinted and said, “Well… nice mango. But what happened to your daughter?” The tree completely stole the spotlight. “Choose your subject,” the instructor advised. “You can’t have everything in focus. Something has to take center stage.”

Life is like a photograph—what you focus on defines the picture. Paul reminds us that Christ is the image of the invisible God, the One through whom all things were created and by whom everything holds together. He’s not just part of the frame—He is the frame. Yet we often let blooming mango trees—our hobbies, careers, social media feeds—steal the spotlight. We say Jesus is the center, but our focus drifts. Truth bomb? When Christ isn’t at the center, the picture of our life loses its meaning. Everything unravels. But when we zoom in on Him—truly, precisely, unwaveringly—everything else finds its rightful place. He holds our lives, our hopes, and our future together. So crop the clutter. Blur the background. And keep Jesus in sharp focus. Because in Him, all things not only exist—but thrive.

Leonides warned his son Joel: “If you come home late again, you’ll sleep outside—with nothing but bread and water for supper.” But Joel didn’t listen. After school, he lingered with friends at the shops and crept in past midnight. True to his word, Leonides sent him to sleep in the backyard. But inside the house, Leonides couldn’t eat. His heart ached. His son’s disobedience deserved correction—but his love was relentless. His wife, Herminia, reminded him: “You must keep your word. If you bring him in now, he’ll lose respect for you. He must learn.” Leonides nodded slowly. “I won’t bring him in. But he’s out there… alone.” So, Leonides did the unthinkable. He took bread and water, stepped into the cold night, and sat beside his son. And when Joel finally drifted off on the hard concrete, it was his father’s arm that cradled his head. God, too, is like this. He gives us laws to follow—but when we fall, He meets us where we are, never letting go.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus isn’t just teaching law—He’s turning it inside out. When the scholar asks how to inherit eternal life, Jesus points him back to what he already knows: Love God with all… and love your neighbor as yourself. But then comes the deeper challenge: Who is my neighbor? Jesus answers with a Samaritan—an outsider, a “rule-breaker”—who crosses boundaries, interrupts his plans, risks his safety, and gives generously to help a wounded stranger. Why? Because he was moved with compassion. That’s the difference. The priest and the Levite knew the rules but walked on. The Samaritan’s heart couldn’t let him. True holiness isn’t tidy. It’s messy, inconvenient, even scandalous. It rewrites the rules of self-interest and safety with mercy and self-giving love. God Himself broke every rule of divine distance. He came down, bled, and served because He was moved with compassion for us. He now calls us to do the same—love without limits, serve without delay, and cross the road when others won’t.

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