A Homily for the 13th Sunday in Ordinary Time
Sunday, May 28, 2026
2 Kings 4:8-11, 14-16a; Psalm 89:2-3, 16-17, 18-19; Romans 6:3-4, 8-11; Matthew 10:37-42
Audio Recording
There are some passages of Scripture that immediately bring us comfort. We hear words like, “The Lord is my shepherd,” or “Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened,” and our hearts are at peace. Today’s Gospel is different. Jesus says, “Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me… Whoever does not take up His cross and follow after me is not worthy of me… Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.” Those words can sound unsettling, even harsh. Yet they contain one of the deepest truths of the Christian life.
At first glance, Jesus almost seems to be asking us to love our families less. But that isn’t what He is saying. He is asking us to love Him first, because only his kingdom will last forever. When Christ is at the center of our lives, we become better husbands and wives, better parents and grandparents, better sons and daughters, better friends and neighbors. Putting Jesus first does not diminish our love for others; it purifies it, strengthens it, and gives it the capacity to endure.
The woman in today’s first reading understood that principle. She recognized something holy in the prophet Elisha and welcomed him into her home. She built a small room for him, not because she expected a reward, but simply because she wanted to honor God by caring for God’s servant. Her generosity required sacrifice. It cost her time, money, and effort.
Yet in giving of herself, she received a blessing she never expected: the gift of a son. God’s blessings often come in ways we never anticipate. When we cling tightly to our lives, our possessions, or our plans, we often find ourselves spiritually empty. But when we open our hands in generosity and trust, when we lay down our lives for others — even in small ways — God fills them with gifts far greater than we imagined.
St. Paul takes us even deeper in the second reading. He reminds us that through Baptism we have already died with Christ. The old self, the person whose life revolved around “me first,” was buried with Him. We have been raised to walk in a newness of life.
This means the Christian life is not simply about trying to become a little nicer or a little more religious. It’s so much more than simply attending Mass every week. It is about allowing Christ to transform us completely, day by day, into His likeness.
That transformation is precisely what Jesus is speaking about when He tells us to take up our cross. When we hear this, we often think immediately of dramatic suffering or martyrdom, but for most Christians, the cross is found in ordinary life. It may be caring for a spouse whose health is declining. It may be living with chronic pain or illness. It may be forgiving someone who has deeply hurt us. It may be resisting temptations that never seem to disappear. It may be accepting disappointments we didn’t choose or carrying responsibilities we never expected. Sometimes it is simply enduring the daily frustrations that no one else even notices.
Of course, none of us naturally welcomes these crosses. Our instinct is to avoid suffering whenever possible. That’s why the Jesus’ teaching is so difficult. As St. Paul wrote, the Cross is “a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles.”
As I’ve often said, everything in our culture tells us that happiness comes from comfort, success, recognition, and getting our own way. But Jesus tells us something completely different. He tells us that the path to life and lasting joy runs through self-sacrifice, that the way to greatness is humble service, and that we truly find ourselves only when we give ourselves away.
Perhaps it helps us understand this difficult spiritual truth if we think of God as the Divine Surgeon. Sometimes a surgeon must perform a painful operation in order to save a patient’s life. No one enjoys the surgery, but we willingly endure it because we trust the surgeon’s wisdom.
This is to say that God sometimes allows difficult experiences to become instruments of healing in our souls. Through disappointments, losses, and crosses, He gently removes our pride, our selfishness, our attachment to passing things, and teaches us to rely more completely on Him. What feels like loss today may well be preparing us for a greater joy tomorrow, as Christ gradually strips away what is fallen within us so that we may become the people he created us to be.
As I look around this church, I know that many of us are carrying crosses that others cannot see. Some are grieving the loss of a loved one. Some are worried about children or grandchildren. Some struggle with declining health or increasing limitations. Others carry loneliness, anxiety, or disappointments known only to God.
Jesus does not ask us to pretend those crosses are easy. He simply asks us to let Him help us carry them. He invites us to unite them with His own Cross, trusting that nothing offered to Him is ever wasted—that He has both the desire and the power to redeem every suffering we entrust to him if we humbly embrace these small deaths.
The Gospel concludes with a promise that might seem almost insignificant. Jesus says that even giving a cup of cold water to one of His disciples will not go unrewarded. This should remind us that holiness is usually found not in extraordinary moments but in ordinary acts of love.
Every quiet kindness, every patient word, every hidden sacrifice, every act of forgiveness, every burden carried with faith becomes part of God’s work of salvation.
In a few moments, the bread and wine will be brought forward. Many Catholics don’t fully understand the symbolism of that procession. The bread and wine are the gifts we bring to this altar, but they are also meant to represent the offering of our own lives to God. So as the bread and wine are brought forward, imagine placing your whole life there with them.
Bring your joys and your blessings in grateful thanksgiving.
Bring your burdens, your worries, your grief, your disappointments, and your suffering as well, allowing all of them to be carried to this altar and united with Christ’s perfect sacrifice.
Then, when those gifts are transformed into the Body and Blood of Christ, ask Him to receive your thanksgiving, to bless your joys, and to redeem your crosses. He may not take those crosses away. But just as He redeemed the Cross itself, He will redeem your crosses as well.
The One who tells us to take up our cross is the same One who carried His own Cross first. The One who asks us to lose our life is the One who freely gave His life for us. And the One who died has risen, promising that all who follow Him faithfully will share not only His Cross but also His Resurrection.
Yes, love Christ first—above every other priority in your life. Then you will discover the liberating truth of His promise to us: “Whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.”
God bless you.