Reflection for July 19, 2026

Sixteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

Wisdom 12:13, 16-19 | Psalm 86:5-6, 9-10, 15-16 | Romans 8:26-27 | ​Matthew 13:24-43

​Today’s readings describe an extremely patient God. The selections suggest that we give the persistence of evil a second look as a sign not of God’s indifference but rather of his mercy. 

​A man was pushing a shopping cart through the supermarket while his baby wailed at full volume. Every few seconds he would calmly whisper, "Easy now, Edgar. Relax, Edgar. Deep breaths, Edgar. You can get through this." A woman watched in amazement. The baby screamed louder. The man stayed perfectly composed. Finally, she walked over and said, "Sir, I just have to commend you. Your patience with little Edgar is incredible. Most parents would have lost it by now!" The man smiled politely and replied, "Oh... the baby's name is Joshua." The woman blinked. "Then... who's Edgar?" The man sighed, looked at his overflowing cart, the crying baby, the long checkout line, and said, "I am Edgar".

The Book of Wisdom beautifully reveals that God's greatness is seen not only in his unlimited power but also in how he chooses to use it. God can do whatever he wills and owes no one an explanation. Yet he never acts recklessly or delights in displaying his power. Instead, he responds with patience, even toward those who oppose him, giving them every opportunity to repent and recognize him as the true God. Many English translations describe this as being "slow to anger." The underlying idea is even richer: it speaks of forbearance—God's willingness to restrain judgment and patiently endure human failure. God's strength is so complete that it does not need to prove itself through force. His greatest display of power is not how quickly he can punish, but how long he chooses to wait in mercy.

Nanette is a widow who is raising six children after her husband Crisanto, who used to be a rubbish picker at the Payatas dump, was mistakenly killed by police in a crackdown on illegal drug use. She was left alone to care for two children from her late husband’s previous marriage and four from their marriage together. Crisanto's unexpected death sent Nanette into a pit of sorrow. Vincentian fathers and brothers began visiting Nanette, but she remained lonely and depressed. "I am no longer able to pray to God," she confided to them, "In fact, I am not certain I believe in God anymore." After an awkward moment of silence, Fr. Daniel, one of the visiting priests responded, "Then we will believe for you. We will pray for you." In the following weeks the clerics met weekly to bring grocery donations and pray with Nanette asking God to help her experience God's presence and healing. Months later, as the priests and brothers gathered again in Nanette's tiny makeshift shack right by the road, Nanette greeted them with a smile. "It is no longer necessary for you to pray for me," she said. "Instead, I would like you to pray with me."

In his Letter to the Romans, St. Paul offers one of Scripture's most comforting truths: God knows our weakness and never expects us to face life alone. He gives us the Holy Spirit to strengthen us and even intercede for us when we cannot find the words to pray (Romans 8:26–27). When we feel inadequate, exhausted, or afraid, we can still come to Jesus honestly and ask for the courage and strength we lack. Our weakness is not a barrier to God but an invitation to rely on him more deeply. The saints were not extraordinary because they were naturally strong; they trusted the Holy Spirit to accomplish what they could not. That same Spirit lives within us today. So whenever we pray, we can take comfort in this truth: we are never praying alone.

After Mass, the parish priest spotted the president of the Novena Society in the parking lot. "Nay," he asked, "I sent you three people last Sunday. How are their applications?" The old lady sighed. "Father, we need better recruits. Juanita is separated from her husband. Rebecca struggles with alcohol and other addictions. Alicia now goes by Alex and is attracted to women. Imagine the gossip if we accept them!" The priest smiled. "So, what kind of members are you looking for?" "Oh, churchy people, Father—regular Mass-goers who won't scandalize anyone." The priest looked around the parking lot. "Nay, we're standing in a parking lot. Does that make us cars?" She laughed. "Of course not!" "Exactly," the priest replied. "And standing inside a church doesn't automatically make someone a saint." The old lady fell silent. Sometimes the Church forgets that it is a hospital for sinners, not a museum for saints.

In our Gospel, Jesus compares the Kingdom to a mustard seed that becomes a tree where birds find shelter, and to leaven that helps the whole dough rise. The Church is called to be just that—a community that nurtures, welcomes, and enriches lives. It is not a place that quickly labels people. I once heard someone refer to those who no longer attend church as the "unchurched," and I have known people who were excluded from parish organizations because they were treated as "weeds." Yet Jesus never gave us the task of uprooting others. St. John Chrysostom even warned Christians against excessive zeal in attacking heretics, lest they harm souls rather than heal them. The Lord commands, "Let both grow together until the harvest" (Matthew 13:30). At the end of the age, Christ will send His angels to separate the righteous from the wicked (Matthew 13:41–43). Until then, our calling is to be patient, merciful, and forbearing with one another, just as God patiently bears with us.

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