Reflections

Homily on John 2:13–22 – The Cleansing of the Temple

Every time I go to confession in Belfast, I visit the church attached to the monastery. The church is old, with stone walls that have held centuries of prayers, and the air is filled with the quiet reverence of generations who have prayed before me. As I step inside, I often find groups of tourists talking loudly, leaving litter on the pews, and treating this sacred space like a casual stop on their journey. My heart sinks. I feel a mix of sadness and indignation that this house of God is being treated without respect.

It is a small glimpse of what Jesus must have felt when He entered the great Temple of Jerusalem. Our Gospel today tells us that this Temple, a meeting place of God and His people, had become a marketplace.

Merchants and moneychangers filled the temple, and the sacred space meant for prayer had been reduced to noise and business transactions. Jesus, moved by righteous anger, drove them out: “Take these things away; do not make my Father’s house a house of trade!”

In that moment, His zeal for the honor of God’s house shone brightly. He reminded the people—and us—that our relationship with God is not about buying, selling, or appearances, but about love, reverence, and true worship. The sacred is meant to draw us into God’s presence, not to be used for personal gain.

Should we be surprised that Jesus got angry? No, we shouldn’t, because Jesus has the same emotions as any of us. After all, He was fully human as well as divine, being the Son of God. Like us, there were times Jesus was joyful — for instance, at the wedding in Cana — and times He was sad, such as at the death of His friend Lazarus. This is what draws us to Jesus: His understanding of our humanity, for He is there with us in our happiest moments and our darkest times.

When questioned, Jesus said something mysterious: “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” He was speaking of the temple of His Body, pointing to His death and Resurrection. He Himself is the new Temple—the place where heaven meets earth, where humanity encounters God face to face. No longer confined to stone walls, the dwelling of God is found in Christ, and through Him, in the hearts of every believer.

This Gospel is also an invitation to look inward. Each of us is a living temple of the Holy Spirit. Just as Jesus cleansed the Temple in Jerusalem, He calls us to cleanse the temples of our own hearts. Pride, selfishness, and sin can clutter our inner sanctuary, leaving little room for grace. Moments like Lent are invitations to clear away the mess, to make space for prayer, mercy, and love.

As we reflect on this passage, let us ask Christ to walk into the temple of our hearts today. Let Him overturn whatever does not belong to God and fill us with His presence. Then, like that quiet village church restored to reverence, let our lives once again reflect the holiness of God to the world.

Amen.

Sermon on Matthew 5:1–12 – The Beatitudes and the Way of Blessing

In the 1960s, in his “I Have a Dream” speech, Martin Luther King Jr. called for an end to racism and discrimination, expressing his dream of a future where his children would be judged by their character, not the color of their skin. He spoke of transforming the nation into a place of freedom and justice. Martin Luther believed that this was essential for building a true and united nation.

When we are young, we also have dreams about our future lives and where happiness may be found. We think it might be in a good job, a big house, a fast car, money in the bank, or in meeting the right person, having children, and living happily ever after.

Today’s Gospel reflects on the profound words of Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount. Matthew writes that our Lord presents the Beatitudes — a vision of true happiness that turns this world’s values upside down.

First, we see that Christ calls blessed those whom the world often overlooks. “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” True blessings are not found in wealth, status, or comfort, but in humility and dependence on God. Those who recognize their need for Him receive the riches of His kingdom.

Second, the Beatitudes reveal that the path of discipleship is often marked by suffering and sacrifice. “Blessed are those who mourn… blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake.” Jesus does not promise a life free from hardship, but He assures us that God is close to the broken-hearted, and that eternal joy awaits those who remain faithful.

Finally, these verses guide us in living as people of the kingdom. We are called to be merciful, pure in heart, and peacemakers, reflecting God’s love in all we do. The Beatitudes are not abstract ideals; they are a map for Christian life — showing us how to walk with Christ in a world that often walks away.

Let us pray that, like Martin Luther King Jr., who dreamt of a transformed nation, we too may dream of living lives filled with God’s grace. This grace helps us to live the Beatitudes daily. For it is only in trusting the Lord that we can become like the saints—trusting in His blessing resting upon us, as we seek His kingdom above all else.

May we be living signs of His mercy — the same mercy that was sometimes shown to the saints in the early days of their lives as they learned of God’s love and peace. Through their example, we too can change the lives of others and draw them, like ourselves, to the joy of the Gospel.

God bless.

“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” These words from today’s second reading from Saint Paul beautifully reflect a life well-lived the life of Saint Carlo Acutis.
Despite dying at just 15 years old, Carlo left a profound legacy—a message for us all. He tells us “Infinity is our homeland. We are always expected in Heaven.” Carlo reminds us that God awaits us, Christ who died on the cross to save us so that we could all follow Him to heaven, to quote Carlo again “The Eucharist is the highway to heaven.”  In Carlos 15 years, he fought the good fight because he never stopped trying to bring people closer to Christ in the Eucharist. Just like St Paul. He run the race to the finish because he never stopped trusting in the Lord, just before his death in hospital he told his mother “I won’t leave this place alive. Be prepared”. He comforted her by saying that from Heaven, he would send her many signs. Indeed Carlo did, he told her in a dream that she would have more children, twins were born exactly one year after Carlos death. 

When I think of Carlo, this young boy who shared such wisdom, I wonder what he might say today. I believe he would echo his own words: “Not me but Christ.” Carlo dedicated his life to bringing others closer to Christ—starting with his family, who admit they were not regular Mass attendees, and extending to people like you and me. He created a website detailing Eucharistic Miracles worldwide, aiming to help us get to know Jesus better. His goal was never to ask us to follow him, but to follow God. Like all saints, Carlo pointed us to God’s message of love.

He focused not on the Christ of the past, but on the Christ present today—the Christ on our altar at each Mass, the Christ we are invited to receive in Holy Communion.

Today, I want to highlight just two of over one hundred and thirty Eucharistic miracles, in the hope that Carlo’s words and the evidence of Christ alive today will inspire us all to deepen our relationship with Him.

The first miracle, dating back to 750 in Lanciano, Italy, involved a priest who doubted the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist. During the Mass, the bread and wine transformed visibly into Flesh and 5 unequal droplets of Blood, which remain to this day. Interestingly each drop of the 5 unequal drops of blood weight the same, also weighed together they have the same weight as each one does separately. Scientific tests in 1970, 1973, and later by the World Health Organization and the United Nations confirmed that the flesh and blood are from the same person—a living person, Middle Eastern, and of blood type AB. Despite extensive medical analysis, experts still cannot explain how this is possible.

The second miracle occurred in Argentina in 1996, when Pope Francis (then Jorge Bergoglio) was Archbishop. While a Priest was celebrating Mass a Host was accidentally dropped. As remains the normal practice the Host was placed in water in the tabernacle to dissolve, to be then returned to God’s earth. However, instead of dissolving, it changed gradually into blood and then into skin. Tests by scientists, unaware of its origin, confirmed that the tissue was from a living heart that had suffered trauma—evidence of a living person.

What all of the Eucharistic miracles have in common is striking: all involve tissue from a heart under stress, from a person with blood type AB, and from someone alive. Friends, these miracles remind us that Christ is truly alive in the Eucharist. When we come to Mass, we are not simply recalling something from long ago—we are participating in the very Last Supper, receiving Jesus, the living Christ.

Today, we have part of Saint Carlo with us in the form of a relic. It’s a privilege, but I urge you: let us not do what Carlo would have hated—bypassing Christ to focus solely on the saint. We should remember, saints have no power except what God grants them. They are instruments of God’s love and examples for us, but their ultimate purpose is to lead us to know Christ and recognize Him.

So, I invite you today to honour Saint Carlo and his legacy. Approach the relic with reverence and receive a blessing. But then, don’t rush out. Return to your seats and spend time in prayer before Christ in the Eucharist, which will be exposed at the end of Mass. After the blessings with the relic, the Eucharist will be reposed following Benediction.

Let your gratitude to Saint Carlo be that he led you here—closer to Christ today and, more importantly, to a greater love for Eucharistic Adoration, which is held weekly in this parish. May his example inspire us all to deepen our devotion and our relationship with Jesus in the Eucharist. Amen

Old friends, when they often meet, share the highs and lows of life—the great moments, the things they have achieved, and sometimes the opportunities missed. In today’s second reading, St Paul does something similar. He looks back over his life and sees it as a sacrifice, fully poured out for Christ. Day by day, he gave his time, his strength, and his love so that others might know the Gospel. Now, as he comes to the end of his journey, he looks back not with regret, but with gratitude and peace. He can truly say: “I have run the race to ,I have fought the good fight, I have kept the faith.” He trusts that in the Lord as a righteous Judge who is just and merciful, and will be faithful to him and bring him to his heavenly kingdom.

In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus invites us to take a similar look at our own lives. He tells the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector—two men who go to the Temple to pray. The Pharisee stands tall, listing all his good deeds, thanking God that he is not like everyone else particularly the tax collector. The tax collector, by contrast, stands at a distance, unable even to lift his eyes to heaven. He simply beats his breast and prays: “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” Jesus tells us that it is the tax collector goes home justified, for “all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted. 

This parable asks us to reflect honestly: what sort of person am I? When we walk through our towns and cities, do I truly see those in need, or do I look past them, blinded by self-importance ? Are our prayers filled with comparison and self-satisfaction, or with the humility of the tax collector? True prayer begins with honesty—acknowledging our weakness, our dependence on God, and our need for His mercy.The Pharisee did good works, but his heart was closed; he relied on his own strength, not on God’s grace. The tax collector opened his heart completely to God’s mercy—and that is where he found forgiveness.

Today’s Gospel is a gentle reminder to us that life is best lived as a daily offering—small acts of love, patience, and service poured out for God and those around us. We may not face Paul’s trials, but in our ordinary lives we can offer kindness, quiet sacrifices, and moments of compassion. These are the gifts that God receives with joy. So let us pray, that when our journey nears its end, we too may echo Paul’s words with peace: saying and a humble heart ,“I have fought the good fight ; I have run the race :I have kept the faith.” So in humble of heart “Lord be merciful to me a sinner. “

God bless.

Amen.

Brothers and sisters,

Todays Gospel of Luke offers us a profound lesson about prayer, faith, and persistence through the parable of the persistent widow and the unjust judge. Jesus tells this story to encourage His disciples – and us – to pray always and not lose heart.

In the parable, a widow comes again and again to a judge, pleading, “Grant me justice against my opponent.” ,At first, the judge refuses. He has no fear of God and no respect for people. Yet her tireless persistence wears him down, and he finally gives her the justice she seeks. Jesus contrasts this unconcerned judge with the loving, attentive God who longs to hear and answer the cries of His people.

This parable speaks to our daily experience. In that sometimes the world feels indifferent to suffering. We see poverty, injustice, and pain – on our streets our country and throughout the world , its in the news, with endless appeals for help. It is easy to feel weary, to switch it off, or to wonder whether our prayers make any difference. Yet Jesus urges us to never to give up. Like the widow everyone is looking for justice Persistent prayer is an act of faith. It declares that we trust in God’s justice, even when the world seems slow to change.

On this Mission Sunday, the message is particularly poignant. We are not expected to pack our bags and leave our lives behind, heading off to the other side of the world on the missions, but we can do our part , we can support the priests, the religious and the laypeople who do take up this role. for like the widow, we are called to speak up for those who cannot defend themselves – the poor, the sick, the hungry, the stranger in our country, and the marginalised. Our prayers and our actions are seeds of hope. Even by the smallest of gestures of compassion, carried out in faith, can bear fruit in God’s time.

Jesus ends the parable with a searching question for us all : “When the Son of Man comes, will He find faith on the earth?” May He find in us a faith that does not grow tired, a hope that perseveres, and a love that moves us to pray and act for justice in the world.

God Bless.

Homily Reflection on the Gospel of Luke 17:5-10

Today’s Gospel presents us with the powerful parable of the mustard seed—a tiny seed that, when cultivated, grows into a large, sheltering tree. Jesus’s message to the disciples is clear: even a small amount of faith, if genuine and nurtured, can grow into something mighty. The disciples, asking Jesus to increase their faith, remind us that faith isn’t about size but about strength and trust in God’s promise.

Many years ago, I was inspired by my grandmother’s story—her journey of faith that beautifully illustrates this teaching. She was a woman from the Shankill Road in Belfast, working in a cigarette factory in the 1920s. Her family was strict Presbyterian, and her father was an Orange Order member—deeply rooted in tradition and often wary of other faiths. Yet, one day, her Catholic friends invited her into their church, and she accepted. Over time, despite lacking formal Catholic education, her faith grew stronger through prayer, reading, and her daily commitment to Mass. She loved her faith deeply, attended Mass regularly, and led a good life rooted in trust and love for Jesus. She chose to become Catholic—her faith, small yet genuine, became a source of strength and hope for her. She was my grandmother, and her faith shaped my own journey.

This story reminds us that faith, like a mustard seed, begins small but can grow into something much greater through nurturing and trust. My parents grew up in the 1930s—an era when literacy was not widespread, but their prayers and participation in Mass showed a deep trust in God. Despite not understanding everything, they knew their faith was real because they listened, prayed, and belonged. Their faith, small yet strong, laid the foundation for my own.

The Gospel also points us to the model of Jesus, the servant—who came not to be served, but to serve. Isaiah describes the Messiah as a righteous servant, and Jesus exemplified this through His acts of healing, feeding the hungry, and washing His disciples’ feet. His life teaches us humility and service as the highest calling.

The diaconate, in particular, is rooted in this example. Deacons serve not for recognition or reward but out of humility—reaching out to the marginalized, caring for the stranger, and humbly acting in love. Like Jesus, they use the small faith entrusted to them to serve others. Service becomes a way of life, a reflection of Christ’s own ministry.

This Gospel carries a threefold message: Faith, Obedience, and Service. When the disciples ask Jesus to increase their faith, He responds with the image of the mustard seed—not about how much faith they have, but about the quality and potential of that faith. Even a small, genuine faith can make a big difference when nurtured.

Reflecting on my own childhood in North Belfast, I realize that many of my parents’ generation had small but sincere faith. Despite limited literacy, they knew their prayers by heart, attended Mass, and trusted in God’s presence. Their faith, though simple, was strong and impactful—passed down through generations, shaping who I am today.

Yesterday, we celebrated the feast of St. Francis—a man who started with just a few followers, yet through humble service and love for the poor, his movement grew exponentially. His life exemplifies how even a small group committed to service can transform the world.

In our own lives, we are called to be like the mustard seed—small in size but mighty in faith when nurtured. Whether we serve in our families, communities, or through our church ministries, our acts of humility and love ripple outward. Deacons, in particular, are called to serve—proclaiming the Gospel, caring for the vulnerable, and humbly acting in the spirit of Christ.

Let us remember: the Lord invites us to nurture the small seeds of faith within us—through prayer, service, and trust—so that they may grow into trees of strength and shelter for others. As Jesus teaches, true greatness lies in humility, in service, and in trusting God’s power working through our small efforts.

God bless.