Author: A Dose of God Today

  • Corrected with Love

    Corrected with Love

    Wednesday of the 19th Week in Ordinary Time

    Click here for the readings (https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/wednesday-nineteenth-week-ordinary-time)

    One difficult part of living together whether in a family, among friends, at work, or in a Church community is learning how to correct and how to be corrected. We appreciate affirmation, but correction can easily make us defensive.

    We see this when a parent may feel disrespected by a child’s observation. Or when a leader may interpret feedback as an attack. Or when a young person may withdraw when corrected. Yet, relationships where people can no longer speak honestly to one another gradually become unhealthy.

    Our readings today invite us to see correction differently. Because when it is done with love, correction is not meant to destroy a person but to help restore a person and a relationship.

    The first reading from Ezekiel gives us a disturbing image of Jerusalem facing judgment because violence and wickedness had filled the city. The glory of the Lord even departed from the Temple. Behind this strong imagery is an important truth that God does not remain indifferent to evil. Sin has consequences. Injustice cannot simply be tolerated while everyone remains silent.

    This prepares us to understand the Gospel. Jesus knows that wrongdoing will also happen among his disciples. Christian communities are made of imperfect people after all. Families are made of imperfect people too. Even people who sincerely love one another can hurt one another as well.

    What matters, then, is how we respond. Jesus says, “If your brother sins against you, go and tell him his fault between you and him alone.”

    We realize here the gentleness of Jesus’ approach. He does not say, “Tell everybody what that person did.” He does not say, “Post it online and rant all you want.” Neither does he tell us to gather our friends first and make the person the subject of conversation.

    Jesus says, “go to the person.” This is fraternal correction. Its purpose is not humiliation but reconciliation. Jesus even says, “If he listens to you, you have won over your brother.” The goal then, is to win back a brother or sister, and not to win an argument.

    This is where healthy feedback becomes important in our relationships. Sometimes we need people courageous enough to tell us, “What you did hurt me,” “Your words were inappropriate,” or “There is something you need to reconsider.” Such conversations can be uncomfortable, but they can also become moments of grace.

    The problem begins when our pride refuses to listen. We defend ourselves immediately, blame somebody else, attack the person correcting us, or insist that we are always right. When this happens, correction becomes impossible because the heart has already closed itself.

    Yet, we must also examine how we correct others. Not every criticism comes from love. Remember, gossip is not fraternal correction. Public humiliation is not fraternal correction. Gathering people against someone is not fraternal correction. These destroy rather than restore.

    That is why Jesus ends by speaking about prayer, “Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.” This means that a Christian community must learn to speak honestly with Jesus in the midst of the conversation. His presence should shape our words, our intentions, and even the manner in which we disagree.

    Let us also remember that healthy families and communities are not those without conflicts. They are those where people can speak truthfully, listen humbly, admit mistakes, forgive sincerely, and begin again.

    So, here is one simple challenge for us today. The next time someone corrects you, resist the urge to defend yourself immediately. Listen first. And when you need to correct someone, speak to the person and not about the person. Hinaut pa.

  • When Power Serves

    When Power Serves

    Tuesday of the 19th Week in Ordinary Time; Memorial of St. Clare

    Click here for the readings (https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/081126.cfm)

    One thing I have learned from living and working with different people is that humility becomes more difficult when we begin to have something to protect: a position, a title, an achievement, a reputation, even our own opinion.

    When we are given authority, there is always the temptation to prove that we are important. We want to be heard, obeyed and recognized. Yet, some of the strongest people I have encountered are those who do not need to constantly prove their importance. They know who they are, and because of this, they can listen, serve and even bend down for others.

    This is the wisdom behind humility which our readings today try to reveal. In our first reading, God gives Ezekiel a scroll and tells him, “Eat what is before you; eat this scroll, then go, speak to the house of Israel.” The scroll contains lamentation and woe, yet when Ezekiel eats it, it becomes “as sweet as honey” in his mouth.

    There is something important here. Before Ezekiel could speak God’s word, he first had to receive it. Before becoming God’s messenger, he had to become a listener. The prophet could not simply preach his own opinions and demand that people listen because he had authority. God’s word had to enter him first and shape him from within.

    This is also true for anyone entrusted with responsibility. Parents, teachers, priests, government officials, employers, community leaders, and even older siblings exercise some form of authority.

    However, Christian authority begins by allowing ourselves to be taught by God. Before asking others to change, God’s Word must first change something in us.

    This brings us to the Gospel where the disciples ask Jesus, “Who is the greatest in the Kingdom of heaven?” Jesus answers by placing a child in their midst.

    During the time of Jesus, a child possessed little social power. A child depended on others and held no position or influence. Yet, Jesus says, “Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the Kingdom of heaven.”

    Jesus completely changes our understanding of greatness. Greatness in God’s eyes is not about having people beneath us. Rather, it is about having the heart to bend down and receive those whom others easily overlook. This is why Jesus continues by speaking about the little ones and the shepherd who leaves the ninety-nine to search for the one who wandered away.

    This means that true power protects. True authority seeks the lost. And true greatness serves.

    We see something of this in St. Clare of Assisi, whose memorial we celebrate today. Clare came from a wealthy and influential family, yet she willingly left behind privilege and social status to embrace a simple life centered on Christ. Her humility was not weakness. It took courage to choose a life different from what society and her family expected. Her strength came from knowing that Christ was enough.

    This is the kind of humility our families, workplaces, Church and society badly need today. We need parents who can admit mistakes to their children, leaders who can listen to criticism, teachers who remain willing to learn, priests who can listen to their people, and Christians who do not measure another person according to wealth, education, position or usefulness.

    Humility does not mean making ourselves insignificant. Humility means using whatever strength, authority and gifts we have so that others may also stand, grow and flourish.

    So today, let us carry one simple challenge: If you have power over someone, use that power to make that person feel valued rather than small. Listen before speaking. Understand before judging. Serve instead of demanding recognition.

    Because when power learns to bend down in service, it does not become weaker. It becomes more like Jesus. Hinaut pa.

  • A Generosity That Gives Life

    A Generosity That Gives Life

    Feast of Saint Lawrence, Deacon and Martyr

    Click here for the readings (https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/081026.cfm)

    There are people whose generosity we never forget. Not because they gave us something expensive, but because we knew that what they gave came sincerely from the heart. It may have been a meal shared when they themselves had little, a friend who stayed when everybody else had gone, a parent quietly sacrificing for the family, or someone who helped without announcing it to others. There is something different about this kind of generosity. It does not make us feel indebted. It makes us feel seen and loved.

    This is the kind of generosity that our readings invite us to discover today on this Feast of St. Lawrence.

    St. Paul tells the Corinthians, “Whoever sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and whoever sows bountifully will also reap bountifully.” Paul was speaking about generosity, but he immediately touches the heart behind the giving. He says that each person should give, “not sadly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver.”

    This means that Christian generosity is not measured simply by how much we give. We can give much and still be selfish. We can help somebody because we want recognition. We can donate because we want our name displayed. We can serve because we want people to notice us. We can even become generous because later we expect a favor in return.

    But generosity that comes from God does not keep a list of what others owe us.

    This is what we see beautifully in the life of St. Lawrence. Lawrence was a deacon of the Church of Rome entrusted with caring for the poor and administering the Church’s resources. During the persecution of Christians, he was ordered to surrender the treasures of the Church. According to the ancient tradition surrounding his martyrdom, Lawrence gathered the poor, the sick, the widows and those who depended upon the Church’s care and presented them as the Church’s true treasure.

    What a powerful way of looking at people. Lawrence understood that the treasures of the Church were not merely possessions kept safely somewhere. The treasure was found in people, especially those whom society easily ignored. His generosity was not simply about distributing resources. He had given his life to them. Eventually, he would give even his own life in martyrdom.

    This brings us directly to Jesus in the Gospel that reminds us, “Unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat; but if it dies, it produces much fruit.”

    A seed bears fruit because it gives itself away. It does not remain protected forever. It enters the soil, disappears, breaks open, and from that surrender comes new life.

    Jesus is speaking about himself, but he is also describing the life of every disciple. A life centered only on protecting oneself—my money, my comfort, my time, my reputation, my interests—eventually becomes small. But when something of ourselves is lovingly given away, life begins to grow around us.

    And we do not have to possess much to become generous. We can give attention to someone who needs to be heard. We can give patience at home. We can share our knowledge with a struggling student or colleague. We can give encouragement instead of criticism. We can offer time to someone who feels alone. Sometimes the most life-giving generosity is not found in our wallets but in our willingness to be present.

    So today, instead of asking, “What will I gain from this?” let us learn to ask, “What can I give so that someone may have a little more life?” Hinaut pa.

  • Learning to Live What I Believe

    Learning to Live What I Believe

    Reflections of a missionary priest still learning from people, ministry, and everyday encounters

    There are things I learned in theology school that I continue to treasure. Christology taught me how the Church understands our Lord Jesus Christ, in His humanity and divinity. Ecclesiology helped me appreciate what it means to belong to the People of God, the Body of Christ. Moral Theology, Canon Law, Scripture, Liturgy, Missiology—all these helped form the priest and missionary that I am today.

    But after few years of ministry, I have also realized that theology has to leave the classroom. Theology has to acquire a face. Sometimes, it even has to be disturbed by real life, so that, it becomes a way of life.

    I remember waking up one morning to a text message from one of our lay leaders, “Kaburit ninyo magsayo oi, diin man mo?.” In English, “You said you would be early. Where are you?”

    It was six in the morning. I immediately panicked. Did I forget a Mass? Did I oversleep? I checked my schedule. Nothing. My Mass that day was still in the afternoon.

    Then panic turned into irritation. “How dare she!” I thought.

    I felt disrespected. I was the priest. I was the Parish Administrator. At that moment, I could already imagine several ways of replying and none of them would have been pastoral and compassionate.

    So I made coffee. I had roasted the beans myself the night before. The coffee was bitter, but it was good. And somewhere between my irritation and those quiet sips of coffee, I remembered something very basic:

    I am a priest. I am a pastor. I am not an executive. I am not a boss.

    Eventually, I replied simply, “Do we have a schedule today?” Later, I learned that the message was intended for somebody else. I laughed.

    However, the experience stayed with me because it exposed something in me. Theology can teach me about Christ’s humility, but an irritating text message at six in the morning can reveal whether I have actually learned to be humble.

    And I am still learning. This is what I mean when I speak about theologizing as a way of life.

    Theology cannot remain only in what I know about God. It must slowly become the way I look at people, respond to conflict, carry disappointment, exercise authority, celebrate the sacraments, forgive, listen and serve.

    My years as a young Redemptorist priest have made this increasingly concrete for me.

    I have celebrated funerals of people killed by violence. I have stood before grieving families without knowing what words could possibly make sense of their pain. I have ministered in places where peace and justice can sometimes seem distant, especially for families who are poor and powerless. There were moments when, even as the priest expected to preach hope, I found myself quietly asking God the same question many people ask, “When, Lord?”

    That question does not necessarily weaken theology. I believe it makes theology more honest.

    Because if my theology cannot sit beside a grieving mother, listen to the fear of a minority community, wrestle with injustice, or remain with people when there are no easy answers, then something is missing.

    Christology becomes empty when Christ remains in our notes but cannot be recognized in the person before us.

    Ecclesiology becomes abstract when we speak beautifully about the People of God but cannot patiently live among God’s people.

    Missiology becomes another academic paper when mission does not lead us into real encounters.

    Our preaching becomes routine when our homilies are filled with theological ideas but remain detached from the struggles of ordinary people.

    Even Canon Law can lose its pastoral purpose when we become stricter than the law itself and forget that the Church’s discipline must ultimately serve the salvation of souls.

    This has also changed the way I understand prayer. Prayer is not an escape from the world. It should bring me more deeply into it.

    The more I encounter God, the more I should become attentive to people. The more I celebrate the Eucharist, the more I should recognize the hungry. The more I preach mercy, the more patient I should become with difficult people. The more I speak about reconciliation, the more willing I should be to listen to someone different from me.

    Otherwise, spirituality can become another comfortable place where I hide from reality.

    For me, prayer increasingly begins with gratitude. It is recognizing that life, vocation, people, ministry and even difficult experiences are gifts through which God continues to form me.

    Gratitude, indeed, keeps prayer from becoming merely another obligation. It teaches the heart to recognize the Giver in the gifts we receive.

    And this is, I believe, one of the greatest lessons my ministry continues to teach me that “God is a God of history.”

    God is not encountered only in books, sanctuaries or moments when everything feels sacred and comfortable. God enters our actual history and context, there in the beautiful and the messy, our faith and doubts, joys and sadness, successes and failures.

    We learn theology in classrooms, certainly. But we continue theologizing at dining tables, inside parish offices, beside hospital beds, during funerals, in difficult conversations, over coffee after an irritating text message, and among people whose lives challenge what we thought we already knew.

    Theology, then, becomes less about having all the answers and more about learning to recognize God.

    I remain a learner in all of this. In fact, there are still things I need to learn and many things I need to unlearn. Ministry continues to expose my impatience, attachments, comforts and limitations. But perhaps this, too, is grace.

    As a Redemptorist missionary, I am learning that following Christ requires a certain il distacco—a freedom from whatever makes me too comfortable, self-important or attached to my own ways. Not a withdrawal from the world, but a freedom that allows me to enter it more fully and become more available to God and to people.

    After all these years of studying, preaching and serving, perhaps theologizing as a way of life comes down to something surprisingly simple:

    to keep encountering God in real life, and to allow those encounters to change the way I live.

    And perhaps, slowly and patiently, to become more free and life-giving because of them. Hinaut pa.

  • Step Out and Trust

    Step Out and Trust

    Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

    Click here for the readings (https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/080926.cfm)

    There comes a time in every person’s life when God gently asks us to leave what is familiar. It may be in accepting a new responsibility, beginning a new career, moving to a different place, forgiving someone who has deeply hurt us, or opening our hearts again after a painful disappointment.

    We naturally prefer what is safe because it gives us a sense of control. Yet, the most meaningful moments of life often begin when we have the courage to step beyond what is comfortable.

    Looking back at my own journey as a missionary priest, I realize that many of God’s greatest blessings came after I said “yes” to places and people I had never known before. Leaving home, living among indigenous communities when I was a seminarian, serving the people of Balabagan, and now journeying with the Christian community in Marawi—all these began with uncertainty. There were fears, questions, and many moments when I did not know what lay ahead. But it was precisely outside what was familiar that I encountered God in ways I had never imagined.

    This is the common thread that unites our readings today. And so, on this 19th Sunday in Ordinary Time, let us discern the readings and realize God’s invitations for us.

    In the first reading, Elijah had reached his breaking point. Queen Jezebel wanted him dead. Exhausted and discouraged, he hid himself in a cave. He expected God to appear through something extraordinary like a strong wind, an earthquake, or a blazing fire. Yet, the Lord revealed Himself in a tiny whispering sound.

    Meaning, God met Elijah not through noise, but through silence. That quiet encounter gave Elijah the courage to leave his hiding place and continue his mission.

    The Gospel presents another encounter with God, this time in the middle of a storm. The disciples were terrified as their boat was tossed by the waves. For experienced fishermen like Peter, the boat represented security. It was what they knew. It was where they felt safe.

    Yet, Jesus was not inside the boat. He was outside, walking on the water. When Peter recognized the Lord, he did something remarkable. He said, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you.”

    And Jesus answered with one simple word, “Come.” Peter stepped out of the boat. And that single step changed everything.

    Peter became vulnerable. He left behind what gave him security. For a few moments, he walked on water toward Jesus. But when he focused on the strong wind instead of the Lord, fear took over, and he began to sink.

    Notice what Jesus did next. He did not lecture Peter. He did not wait for Peter to rescue himself. Immediately, Jesus reached out His hand.

    Through this encounter, Peter discovered something very important that day. It was not while he stayed safely inside the boat that he experienced the saving hand of Christ. It was when he dared to step out.

    Today, many of us are also standing inside our own “boats.” Some remain inside the boat of fear because they are afraid of failing again. Others stay inside the boat of resentment because forgiving seems too difficult. Some remain in unhealthy relationships simply because they fear being alone. Others refuse to serve because they feel inadequate. Some young people hesitate to pursue the vocation God is placing in their hearts because the future appears uncertain.

    But today, the Lord continues to say, “Come.” This invitation is not simply to leave our comfort zone. It is to move closer to Jesus.

    Saint Paul understood this as well. In the second reading, he speaks with deep sorrow for his own people who had not yet recognized Christ. His words reveal a heart that has gone beyond personal comfort. Paul’s life was no longer centered on himself but on bringing others closer to the Lord. Love had expanded his heart beyond his own concerns.

    This is what happens whenever we truly encounter Christ. We become less concerned about protecting ourselves and more willing to reach out to others.

    The Church also needs this courage today. Our families need it. Our communities need it. And we know what it means to live with uncertainties. However, our mission has never been to hide inside our fears. Our calling is to become a silent but faithful presence of Christ, there in building friendships, extending respect, promoting dialogue, and in sowing peace even where differences exist.

    Like Peter, we are called to keep our eyes fixed on Jesus rather than on the waves. Remember, the storms may remain. The unfamiliar path may still be before us. But the Lord who calls us is also the Lord who reaches out His hand whenever we begin to sink.

    And so, as your takeaway for this Sunday, ask yourself and reflect, “What boat is Jesus inviting me to step out of?”

    Then, take one concrete step toward Him this week. Do not wait until all your fears disappear. Walk while trusting that Christ is already waiting for you beyond what is familiar. Hinaut pa.

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