During our priests’ retreats, Eileen George would often tell us:

“Everyone wants the gift of healing, or they want some kind of big ministry, but they don’t know: ministry comes with a cost.”

I have thought about those words many times over the years. There is a great deal of wisdom in them.

It is easy to admire a vocation from the outside. We see the priest at the altar, the missionary preaching the Gospel, the religious giving his or her life to prayer and service, or the layperson carrying out some important apostolate. We see what God accomplishes through them.

What we do not always see is the cost.

The prophet Jeremiah knew that cost very well.

When God called Jeremiah to be a prophet, he could not have understood everything that vocation would entail. A prophet is not someone who decides what he wants to say. He is called by God to speak the Word of God clearly and without compromise.

That means speaking what God gives you—not what you would prefer to say, not what will make you popular, and not necessarily what people want to hear.

And sometimes there is a price to be paid for that fidelity.

Jeremiah experienced rejection, persecution, isolation, and imprisonment. He reached a point where he wanted to stop. He had endured enough. He resolved that he would no longer speak in the name of the Lord.

But he could not remain silent.

The Word of God had become, as Jeremiah described it, like a fire burning within his heart and imprisoned in his bones. He tried to contain it, but he could not.

That fire was his vocation.

God Calls; We Respond

Jeremiah teaches us something essential about every vocation: vocation begins with God, not with us.

We do not initiate the call. God does.

God chooses whom He wills. He calls whom He wills. He sends whom He wills.

That can be difficult for us to understand because we tend to think in terms of qualifications. We look at ourselves and ask: Am I capable? Am I talented enough? Am I strong enough? Do I have what it takes?

But those are not always the most important questions.

When God calls, He supplies what is lacking.

I sometimes think of us as empty vessels standing before an immense reservoir. The vessel does not produce the water. It simply receives it and carries it where it is needed.

So it is with vocation.

We do not produce grace. We receive it.

We do not save souls. God saves souls.

We do not possess within ourselves everything necessary to accomplish the mission entrusted to us. We depend upon God to provide what we lack.

Our task is to remain open—to be available, prayerful, obedient, and faithful.

The Fire of the Priesthood

Jeremiah’s experience resonates particularly with the vocation of the priest.

A priest may sometimes look at himself and wonder, Why did God call me?

Ultimately, that is God’s business.

Priests are ordinary human beings. We come from ordinary families and communities. We have strengths and weaknesses, hopes and fears, gifts and limitations. We become tired. We can become discouraged. We can be misunderstood. We can experience loneliness and rejection.

And sometimes we can be tempted to avoid difficult truths because speaking the truth faithfully can come with a cost.

But the fire must never be allowed to go out.

Through prayer, sacrifice, dedication, and fidelity, the fire God placed within the soul at the moment of vocation can be rekindled again and again.

Sometimes it may seem to have dwindled to a few glowing embers.

But God can breathe upon those embers.

And suddenly the fire comes roaring back.

That fire becomes zeal—zeal for Christ, zeal for His Church, and above all, zeal for souls.

Pray That the Fire Never Goes Out

Eileen George was right.

Ministry comes with a cost.

So does every vocation worth living.

But God never calls us merely to burden us. He calls us because He intends to accomplish something through us. And when He calls, He also gives the grace necessary to persevere.

Pray for your priests.

Pray for religious.

Pray for seminarians and those discerning their vocations.

Pray for every man and woman whom God has called to some ministry or apostolate within His Church.

Pray especially that the fire of the Holy Spirit will continue to burn within them, giving them an ever deeper desire for the salvation of souls.

For ultimately, that is why the Church exists: to bring souls to Jesus Christ and, through Him, to eternal life.

And that is the purpose of every vocation God gives to His Church.

May the fire never go out.

At first hearing, today’s Gospel can sound troubling. Jesus seems unusually harsh toward a suffering woman who comes begging Him to heal her daughter. He initially remains silent. He tells her that He was sent to the lost sheep of Israel. Finally, He says:

“It is not right to take the food of the children and throw it to the dogs.”

But what appears to be a rebuke of a pagan woman may, in reality, become a rebuke of the weak faith of those who should already believe.

A Mother Who Is Suffering

The Gospel begins with Jesus withdrawing into the region of Tyre and Sidon—Gentile territory. There He encounters a Canaanite woman whose daughter is tormented by a demon.

This woman is suffering because her daughter is suffering.

Every parent understands something of this. Parents suffer when their children suffer. Sometimes their deepest suffering comes when their children abandon the Faith, live in ways contrary to the Gospel, or even reject their parents because their parents remain faithful to Christ and the teachings of His Church.

This woman comes to Jesus carrying not only her daughter’s suffering, but also her own.

She cries out:

“Have pity on me, Lord, Son of David!”

Notice what she calls Him: Son of David.

This is a Jewish messianic title. This Gentile woman, living outside the Chosen People, somehow recognizes in Jesus the promised Messiah. She sees something that many of those who witnessed His miracles and heard His teaching failed to recognize.

Yet Jesus does not immediately answer her.

“Lord, Help Me”

Even the disciples become impatient and ask Jesus to send her away. Jesus then says:

“I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.”

There is an order to God’s plan of salvation. Jesus came first to Israel. The Messiah arose from the Chosen People, and from Israel the Gospel would eventually go forth to the entire world.

But this woman does not give up.

She approaches Jesus, does Him homage, and offers one of the simplest prayers imaginable:

“Lord, help me.”

There is something profoundly beautiful in those three words.

She does not even say, “Help my daughter.” Her daughter’s suffering has become her own. She has so completely identified herself with her child that she cries, “Lord, help me.”

That is a prayer every one of us can pray.

When we do not know what else to say, when our problems appear impossible, when someone we love is suffering, when a child has wandered away from the Faith, or when God seems silent, we can pray:

Lord, help me.

What About the Dogs?

Then comes the difficult sentence:

“It is not right to take the food of the children and throw it to the dogs.”

To modern ears, this sounds terribly insulting. But we must understand the language and culture of Our Lord’s time.

The Greek word used here, kynaria, refers to little or household dogs rather than the wild scavenging dogs commonly despised in the ancient world. The image is of a family gathered around its table.

The children are fed first.

That is the point.

Jesus came first to Israel, the Chosen People. But God’s plan was always that salvation would ultimately extend to every nation. After His Resurrection, Jesus would command His Apostles:

“Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations.”

The Gospel goes forth from Israel to the entire world.

Jesus is not ignorant of this woman’s faith, nor is He unwilling to show her mercy. He knows her heart. Through His silence and challenging words, He draws out a faith that will become an example for His disciples and for the entire Church.

“Even the Dogs Eat the Scraps”

The woman could have become angry.

She could have walked away offended.

She could have demanded that Jesus speak differently to her.

Instead, she gives one of the most beautiful and humble responses in all of Scripture:

“Please, Lord, for even the dogs eat the scraps that fall from the table of their masters.”

What extraordinary humility!

She does not argue against the order of God’s plan. She demands nothing and claims nothing as her right. She simply trusts that even a crumb from the Lord’s table will be enough.

She believes that the smallest portion of Christ’s power is greater than the demon tormenting her daughter.

Then Jesus reveals what He has been drawing out of her all along:

“O woman, great is your faith!”

Think about that.

She is a Canaanite. She stands outside the Chosen People. Yet Jesus publicly praises the greatness of her faith.

Throughout the Gospels, many of those who should have recognized Jesus doubt Him, question Him, resist Him, and demand signs from Him.

But this pagan woman trusts.

Perhaps, then, the real rebuke in this Gospel is not ultimately directed toward her. Perhaps it is directed toward those who have received so much from God and yet believe so little.

More Than Scraps

Through Baptism, we have become members of the Chosen People of the New Covenant.

And we have received far more than scraps from the Master’s table.

We have received the Word of God. We have received sanctifying grace. We have received the Sacraments. Above all, from the altar of the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, we receive not merely crumbs from His table, but Jesus Christ Himself—His Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity.

How great, then, should our faith be?

This Canaanite woman teaches us how to approach Jesus: with humility, perseverance, and complete trust.

Sometimes God may seem silent.

Sometimes His answer may not come when we expect it.

Sometimes He may permit our faith to be tested.

But when that happens, remember this woman.

Do not walk away.

Do not give up.

Keep coming back to Him.

When you cannot find any other words, simply pray:

“Lord, help me.”

Ephpheta — Be Opened

11th Sunday After Pentecost — 2026

Today the Church presents us with an extraordinary account of our Lord healing a man who was deaf and had difficulty speaking. It is a story that, for obvious reasons, I can identify with in a particular way.

Jesus Enters Gentile Territory

Our Lord has traveled beyond the predominantly Jewish regions and into Gentile territory. He had gone through the region of Tyre and Sidon and came to the Sea of Galilee through the district of the Decapolis. This was largely a Gentile, Greek-speaking region, strongly influenced by Roman culture.

That detail is important.

Although the Messiah came first to Israel, already we see the Gospel beginning to reach beyond the boundaries of Israel. Christ has come not only for one people, but for the salvation of the whole world.

As St. Paul would later write:

“This is good and pleasing to God our Savior, who wills everyone to be saved and to come to knowledge of the truth.”
— 1 Timothy 2:3–4

The salvation Christ brings is meant for everyone.

They Bring the Man to Jesus

Then they bring a man to Jesus.

The man is deaf. He cannot hear the voice of our Lord. And because he cannot come to Christ through hearing, other people bring him to Jesus.

There is something beautiful in that alone.

Sometimes we have to bring others to Christ because, spiritually speaking, they cannot yet hear His voice for themselves. We bring them through our prayers, our example, our sacrifices, and, when the opportunity presents itself, through our words.

The Gospel also tells us that the man had difficulty speaking. St. Mark uses the Greek word mogilalos—meaning one who speaks only with difficulty.

Here is a man whose ears are closed and whose tongue cannot freely express itself. Those around him beg Jesus to lay His hand upon him.

Jesus Touches Him

What Jesus does next is very physical—so physical, in fact, that it might make our modern, hygiene-conscious culture a little uncomfortable.

Jesus takes the man aside from the crowd. He puts His fingers into the man’s ears. He spits and touches the man’s tongue.

Then, looking up to heaven, He groans and says:

“Ephpheta” — “Be opened.”

Immediately, the man’s ears are opened and his tongue is loosed.

Jesus could have healed this man simply by speaking a word. He had done so on other occasions. But here He chooses to touch him.

God uses the physical to communicate His grace.

For Catholics, that should sound very familiar.

Our Lord continues to use visible, tangible things as instruments of His grace: water in Baptism, oil in Confirmation and the Anointing of the Sick, the laying on of hands in Holy Orders, and bread and wine which, at the words of consecration, become His Body and Blood.

Christianity is not merely a religion of ideas. God took flesh and entered the material world. Through the sacraments, He continues to meet us there.

He Opens Our Ears

Jesus continues to do something very similar for each of us.

He reaches our ears through Sacred Scripture and through the words of the Holy Mass.

The Word made flesh speaks His Word into our ears and says, in effect:

“Be opened.”

Open your ears.

Hear My Word.

Listen to Me.

Follow Me.

But then Jesus does something even more remarkable.

He touches our tongues.

At Holy Communion, the same Jesus who touched the tongue of the man in today’s Gospel places His own Sacred Body upon our tongues.

Think about that.

The fingers of Christ touched the ears of that man. The spittle of Christ touched his tongue.

But in the Holy Eucharist, Christ gives us something infinitely greater:

He gives us Himself.

His Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity.

This is the pattern of spiritual transformation.

First, our ears must be opened so that we can hear Him.

Then we receive Him.

And then our tongues must be loosed so that we can proclaim Him.

Be Opened

The more time we spend with Jesus in prayer—especially before Him in Eucharistic Adoration—and the more deeply we enter into the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, the more He opens our ears and loosens our tongues.

First, we hear.

Then, we receive.

Finally, we proclaim.

And then we go out to those whose hearts and ears may still be closed, just as others brought the deaf man to Jesus.

We bring them to Christ through our prayers, through our words, through our sacrifices, and through the witness of our lives.

And we pray that Jesus will reach out and touch them as He has touched us.

That He will speak again that powerful word:

“Ephpheta.”

“Be opened.”

The Miracle That Points to the Eucharist

Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time — Year A

Today’s Gospel recounts one of the best-known miracles of Jesus: the multiplication of the loaves and fishes. More than five thousand people are fed with only five loaves and two fish. Yet this miracle is about far more than satisfying the physical hunger of a large crowd. Every detail points ahead to an even greater gift—the Holy Eucharist.

Jesus Withdraws to a Deserted Place

The Gospel begins during a sorrowful moment in the life of Jesus. After learning of the death of St. John the Baptist, Our Lord withdraws by boat to a deserted place.

John had prepared the way for the Messiah. He had called the people to repentance, baptized Jesus in the Jordan, and fearlessly proclaimed the truth. Because of his faithfulness, he was imprisoned and ultimately beheaded by King Herod.

When Jesus hears the news, He seeks a place of solitude. Yet the crowds discover where He has gone and follow Him on foot. When Jesus comes ashore and sees them, He does not send them away. Although He had withdrawn in sorrow, His Sacred Heart is moved with pity for the people.

He heals their sick and attends to their needs.

This tells us something important about the heart of Christ. Even in His own sorrow, Jesus sees the suffering of others. He never turns away those who seek Him. His compassion is not merely an emotion; it becomes action. He heals, teaches, nourishes, and saves.

The Traditional Site of the Miracle

Tradition locates the multiplication of the loaves near Tabgha, along the northwestern shore of the Sea of Galilee. Tabgha is only a short distance from Capernaum and the Mount of Beatitudes.

It is a beautiful and peaceful setting. The rolling hills and broad grassy areas help us imagine how such a great crowd could have gathered there to hear Jesus.

A church now stands at the traditional location of the miracle. It was built upon the remains of churches dating to the fourth and fifth centuries, showing that Christians have venerated this place since the early centuries of the Church.

Near the altar is an ancient mosaic depicting two fish and a basket containing four loaves. The Gospel, however, tells us that there were five loaves. The traditional explanation is that the fifth loaf is represented by the bread placed upon the altar—the bread that becomes the Body of Christ in the celebration of the Eucharist.

Whether or not the ancient artist intended that precise interpretation, the mosaic beautifully draws our attention from the multiplication of the loaves to the altar and the Bread of Life.

“Give Them Some Food Yourselves”

As evening approaches, the disciples become concerned about the crowd. They ask Jesus to dismiss the people so that they can go into the surrounding villages and buy something to eat.

Jesus responds with a surprising command:

“Give them some food yourselves.”

The disciples see only what they lack. There are thousands of people, and they possess only five loaves and two fish. From a human perspective, what they have is completely inadequate.

But Jesus tells them:

“Bring them here to me.”

That is the turning point. What seems insufficient in human hands becomes abundant when it is placed in the hands of Christ.

This is also a lesson for us. We sometimes look at our abilities, resources, time, or strength and conclude that we have too little to offer. Yet Jesus does not ask us to accomplish everything by ourselves. He asks us to bring Him what we have. When we place our small gifts into His hands, He can use them in ways we could never accomplish alone.

The Eucharistic Pattern

The details of the miracle are especially important. St. Matthew tells us that Jesus took the five loaves and the two fish, looked up to heaven, said the blessing, broke the loaves, and gave them to His disciples. The disciples then distributed them to the crowds.

Notice the pattern:

Jesus took the bread.

He blessed it.

He broke it.

He gave it to His disciples.

These actions clearly anticipate the Last Supper. In the Upper Room, Jesus would once again take bread, bless it, break it, and give it to His disciples. But there He would reveal the full meaning of these actions:

“Take and eat; this is my body.”

The miracle beside the Sea of Galilee prepares the disciples to understand that Jesus can provide food beyond all human expectation. The One who multiplied bread for thousands would soon give Himself as the true Bread from Heaven.

More Than a Symbol or Memory

The Eucharist is not simply a reminder of the Last Supper. Nor is the Mass merely a symbolic reenactment of something that happened long ago.

At every Mass, the one sacrifice of Jesus Christ upon Calvary is made sacramentally present. Christ does not suffer or die again. His sacrifice was offered once for all. Yet through the mystery of the Eucharist, that one eternal sacrifice becomes present to us upon the altar.

Under the appearances of bread and wine, Jesus gives us His true Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity. The same Lord who fed the multitude beside the Sea of Galilee now feeds His people with Himself.

The multiplication of the loaves satisfied physical hunger for a time. Those who ate that day would become hungry again. The Eucharist, however, nourishes the soul and prepares us for eternal life.

Jesus gives us not merely something, but Himself.

Twelve Baskets Left Over

After everyone had eaten and was satisfied, the disciples gathered twelve baskets filled with the fragments that remained.

The number twelve calls to mind the twelve tribes of Israel and the twelve Apostles. It points toward the whole People of God, gathered and nourished by Christ.

The abundance is also important. Jesus does not provide barely enough. He gives generously. Everyone eats, everyone is satisfied, and there is still food remaining.

God’s grace is never exhausted. The Eucharist has nourished countless generations of Christians, yet Christ is never diminished. Every communicant receives the whole Christ—His Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity.

Food for the Journey

Like the crowd in today’s Gospel, we come to Jesus carrying our needs, weaknesses, sorrows, and hunger. He does not send us away empty. He gathers us, speaks His Word to us, and feeds us at His altar.

The Eucharist has always been part of God’s plan for our salvation. It is the Bread of Life, spiritual nourishment for our earthly pilgrimage, and a foretaste of the heavenly banquet.

The same Jesus who once said to His disciples, “Give them some food yourselves,” continues to feed His Church through the ministry of His priests. The same hands that blessed and broke the loaves beside the Sea of Galilee give us the Bread of Heaven at every Mass.

May we never receive this gift casually or take it for granted. Let us approach the altar with faith, reverence, gratitude, and a deep hunger for Christ.

He alone can satisfy the deepest longing of the human heart.

He is the Bread of Life.

And whoever eats this Bread will live forever.