A generous God and a welcoming parish

 

Twenty-Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time 

A generous God and a welcoming parish 

The Same Work, but Different Reasons 

Most of us know that the same job can mean very different things to different people. Imagine three street cleaners having a cup of tea at the end of the day. Someone asks them, ‘Why do you do this work?’ 

The first says, ‘It pays the bills and gives me enough to enjoy life. I am saving for a surfing trip to Bali.’ The second says, ‘I do it for my family. I want food on the table and a good education for my children.’ The third says, ‘I want our town to be a good place to live. I like meeting the people along the way, hearing their stories, and helping our streets feel cared for.’ 

All three are doing the same work. All three are doing something worthwhile. But each one sees the work through a different window. 

God’s Generosity Is Greater Than Our Measure 

That is close to what Jesus places before us in today’s Gospel. Workers are called into the vineyard at different hours. Some arrive early and carry the burden of the day. Others come much later. At the end, the landowner gives each one the same wage. We can understand why those who started early grumble. We might have felt the same. ‘Surely, after all these hours, we deserve more.’ 

But Jesus is not giving us a lesson in payroll. He is showing us the heart of God. The vineyard belongs to God, the invitation comes from God, and the reward is God’s gift. No one earns a larger share of God’s love by having arrived first. 

The Parish Is God’s Vineyard 

That speaks directly to us as a parish, especially as we celebrate fifty years of parish life. Some people here remember their early days. You helped establish the community, organize the first gatherings, teach children faith, care for the grounds, prepare the liturgy, visit the sick, raise funds, and make sure there was always a cup of tea and someone to welcome a newcomer. Much of that faithful work was quiet and unseen, but it laid good foundations. 

Others have joined the parish more recently. Some have moved into the area. Some have returned to Mass after many years. Some may still be wondering whether this is truly home. I have arrived rather late in the parish story, perhaps at the eleventh hour. Yet the Gospel says that every one of us is called into the same vineyard and welcomed by the same generous God. 

Holding the Gate Open for Others 

So, our jubilee is not only a time to look back with gratitude. It is also time to ask what kind of parish we are becoming. Are we a community where the long-standing parishioner and the person at Mass for the first time can stand beside one another? Are we ready to make room for the family that arrives late, the person who does not know when to sit or stand, the child who makes a little noise, the grieving person, the lonely person, or the person who is simply trying to find their way back to God? 

Sometimes in parish life we can begin to think, ‘I have been here longer. I have done more. I know how things are done.’ Experience is a gift, and faithful service deserves our gratitude. But experience becomes even more beautiful when it helps another person find a place. The best way to honour those who built our parish is not to close the gate behind them. It is to hold the gate open for the next person whom God is inviting in. 

Making Christ Visible in Our Parish 

Saint Paul gives us another simple measure. He says, ‘For me to live is Christ,’ and he asks that our everyday lives be worthy of the Gospel. In parish terms, that means Christ should be visible not only at the altar, but also at the church door, in the car park, in our meetings, at morning tea, in the parish office, in our care for the sick, and in the way we speak about one another when we disagree. 

The Ordinary Work of the Kingdom 

The work of the vineyard is often very ordinary. It is learning someone’s name. It is noticing who is standing alone. It is making a phone call. It is bringing a meal. It is forgiving an old hurt. It is inviting a young family to become involved. It is thanking the person who quietly does the same task week after week. These small acts may not look dramatic, but they make the Kingdom of God visible among us. 

The prophet Isaiah reminds us to seek the Lord while he is still near and to return to the God who is rich in forgiving. Perhaps today the Lord is near to us in the person sitting a few seats away. Perhaps the invitation to return is meant for someone who has felt on the edge of parish life. Perhaps God is asking each of us to put aside comparison and rediscover gratitude. 

A Parish with the Generous Heart of God 

As we celebrate the years behind us and look towards the years ahead, let us remember this: the parish is not ours to possess. It is God’s vineyard, and we are blessed to work in it together. Some began early. Some came later. Others are still on the road. But the Lord continues to go out, hour after hour, calling people in. 

May we become a parish with the same generous heart as God, grateful for those who have laboured faithfully, ready to welcome those who arrive at the eleventh hour, and willing to use our hearts, our heads and our hands so that every person may discover a home here and encounter the love of Christ. 

 

Forgiveness and the Love That Protects

A Question from the Heart

Peter comes to Jesus today with a question many of us have asked in one form or another: “How often must I forgive?” Perhaps behind his question is a real hurt, a difficult relationship, or someone who keeps doing the same thing. Peter wants a number. He wants to know when he has done enough.

He suggests seven times. That sounds generous. But Jesus answers, “Not seven times, but seventy-seven times.” In other words, forgiveness is not something we keep in a little account book. God does not count out mercy to us, and Jesus asks us not to live with a calculator in our hearts.

That is beautiful, but it is not easy. When the hurt is deep, forgiveness can take a long time. It may begin not with warm feelings, but with a small prayer: “Lord, I do not know how to forgive this. Please begin the work in me.” Sometimes that is all we can honestly pray, and God can work with honesty.

Love Protects

Today is also Safeguarding Sunday, and the theme is simple: “Love Protects.” Those two words belong together. If we love someone, we want them to be safe. We listen. We notice. We take concerns seriously. We do not look away because the truth is awkward or painful.

This is especially important when we speak about forgiveness. Today’s Gospel must never be used to tell someone who has been harmed, “You just have to forgive and move on.” Jesus is not asking victims to pretend that nothing happened. Forgiveness is not forgetting. It is not silence. It does not remove the need for truth, justice, accountability, or appropriate consequences.

Mercy That Reaches the Heart

The servant in Jesus’ parable is forgiven an enormous debt, but he refuses even a little mercy to another. The tragedy is that the mercy he received never reached his heart. He walked out of the master’s presence unchanged.

Jesus is inviting us to let God’s mercy travel from our heads to our hearts. We all stand before God with empty hands. Everything is gift: our life, our faith, every new beginning, every chance to start again. When we remember how patiently God deals with us, we can become more patient with one another.

But God’s mercy is never careless. The Lord sees the wound as well as the sin. He draws close to the person who is hurting. He protects the vulnerable and calls wrongdoing by its name. Mercy and justice are not enemies; they belong together in the healing work of God.

What Protective Love Looks Like

So, what does “love protects” look like in an ordinary parish? It may look very simple. It is learning the names of our children and making sure they know the trusted adults around them. It is listening carefully when a child or vulnerable person says that something does not feel right. It is following our safeguarding practices, even when they feel inconvenient, because love does not leave safety to chance.

It also means noticing the older parishioner who has not been at Mass for a few weeks, the person living alone, the family under pressure, or the person quietly struggling with mental health. Safeguarding is not merely paperwork. It is the daily habit of seeing people, listening to them, and making room for their voice.

And when someone raises a concern, love does not rush to defend a reputation. Love first asks, “Are you safe? How can we help?” A healthy parish is not one where no one ever speaks about difficult things. It is a parish where people know they can speak, where they will be heard, and where concerns will be handled properly.

Saint Paul tells us that love is patient and kind, and that love always protects. Protective love is not suspicious or fearful. It is simply awake. It has its eyes open. It is gentle enough to listen and courageous enough to act.

One Small Step

Perhaps there is someone we need to forgive. Perhaps there is a relationship in which we need clearer boundaries. Perhaps there is someone vulnerable whom we have not noticed. Today the Lord may be inviting each of us to take one small step: to pray, to listen, to speak, to seek help, or to offer compassion.

We do not do this alone. The same God who is “slow to anger and rich in compassion” walks with us. The Lord does not rush the work of healing. He stays close, patiently restoring what has been wounded and teaching us how to love with wisdom.

May our parish be a home where mercy is real, truth is welcomed, and every person—especially every child, young person, older person, and vulnerable person—knows that they are seen, heard, valued, and safe.

Because this is what the love of Christ looks like among us: a love that forgives, a love that heals, and a love that protects.

Amen.

Building on good foundations

 

Foundations of Faith

What are the foundations on which we build our faith? Today’s readings gently bring us back to the heart of the Christian life: our care for one another. In Ezekiel, God is not inviting us to stand over others in judgement, but to love them enough to be concerned for their life, their choices, and their journey with God. Faith is never just private. It draws us into responsibility, tenderness, and courage.

When we hear this reading, we can hear the Lord asking us to become companions for one another in faith, hope, and love. This is the kind of community God is forming among us: not a community quick to criticise, but one ready to heal; not a community that gives up on people, but one that keeps believing that grace can still do beautiful things in every human heart.

Of course, we can only become a reconciling community when we remember our own need for mercy. Each of us stands before God as someone loved, forgiven, and still being healed. That is why the sacrament of reconciliation is not simply about naming our faults. It is about opening our lives to the mercy of God and then becoming people through whom that same mercy can reach others.

Listening with Open Hearts

The psalm gives us a simple but searching prayer: “If today you hear God’s voice, harden not your hearts.” We know how easily the heart can become hardened — through disappointment, weariness, resentment, or fear. Sometimes we grumble. Sometimes we lose hope. Sometimes we let the faults of others become louder than the voice of God.

But the Lord never stops calling us to good pasture. He calls us to a place of nourishment, rest, honesty, and renewal. When we listen to his voice, our hearts become softer. We begin to see others with more patience. We begin to see ourselves with more humility. And little by little, grace teaches us how to love again.

The Debt of Mutual Love

St Paul gives us a beautiful way of thinking about Christian life. He says that the only debt we should carry is the debt of mutual love. Love is not a burden that weighs us down; it is the holy obligation that keeps us human, keeps us connected, and keeps us close to the heart of Christ.

This love seeks the good of the other. It does not ask, “What can I get?” but “How can I help this person come closer to life, goodness, and peace?” In a parish, in a family, in any community, this kind of love builds trust. It creates space for respect, compassion, and forgiveness. And it begins with allowing God to love us first, so that his love may flow through us to those around us.

Christ Present in Difficult Conversations

In the Gospel, Jesus gives us a promise full of comfort: “Where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.” He does not promise to be present only when everything is easy or when everyone agrees. He promises to be with us even in the difficult conversations, the awkward moments, and the painful work of reconciliation.

That is a deeply pastoral word for us. Sometimes love means having the courage to speak, not to shame or condemn, but to help someone find their way back. True correction, in the Christian sense, is never about winning an argument. It is about saving a relationship, restoring dignity, and opening a path toward conversion and healing.

St Paul reminds us that love does no harm to a neighbour. So perhaps the question for us today is this: how do we love one another when someone is struggling, drifting, or losing direction? We do it by walking with them, by listening with them, and by trusting that Christ is already present wherever two or three gather in his name.

Today, let us ask the Lord for hearts that are not hardened but open: open to his voice, open to his mercy, and open to one another. May we become a community where people are not written off but gently called back to life; a community where love speaks the truth with tenderness; a community where Christ is recognised in our midst, guiding us home to the Father.