Fr. Jo's Reflection for the 23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year A, September 6, 2026

Who would you give the key to your house? Outside your immediate family members, who else can you entrust with your key? The first time my mother gave me the key to our house, she made it seem as if I was being handed the nuclear code. I was to get home that particular day before everyone else, and had to have the keys. I was about ten. She handed them to me as though she was giving me a priceless heirloom. Then came a bunch of instructions that sounded like the Ten Commandments of Key Responsibility. She asked me to hold my two earlobes with my hands, then started: “You must never give it to anyone. You must never remove it from your inner pocket until you get home. You must not play football with the key in your pocket. You must not lose it. Is that clear enough?” I nodded: “Yes Mom!” “Alright, bye and let me not hear any stories about the key,” she concluded. This was just a key or a bunch of keys, you would say, yet, a great deal of responsibility went with it. The point is that to have access to the key implies having unfettered access to the entire house. You could never give the key to your house to a total stranger or someone you do not absolutely trust. But keys mean much more. In biblical language, keys symbolize power and authority. When the first reading of today speaks about the transfer of the key of the House of David from Shebna to Eliakim (Isaiah 22:19-23), you cannot imagine that Isaiah was speaking about the kind of keys that my mother gave me. Would you? Shebna, who was the Prime Minister in the court of King Hezekiah of Judah, 700 years before Christ, was rather dethroned because of corruption while Eliakim was elevated to the office. Keys also signify in biblical language a “perfect fit,” that is, one most suited for the position. Thus God says through Isaiah, “I will fix him like a peg into a firm place” (Isaiah 22:23), again signifying stability. These and much more are the expressions Jesus used in today’s Gospel as He spoke to Peter about keys. He starts off the conversation by asking: “Who do people say the Son of Man is?” A fisherman raised in the religious tradition of the Jews knew that God’s name wasn’t pronounced—out of fear of blasphemy. Yet he dares to say that this enquirer before him was the Son of the Living God . That’s something a pious Jew wouldn’t say. But it appeared like he caught straight into the core of Jesus’ being to reveal both His personality and mission. This person knew Him well, or rather must have got a hint from no other person than God Himself, and was well deserving of trust. He can be entrusted with the keys. And Jesus concurs, “Flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my heavenly father” (Matt 16:17). From here we draw the Church’s teaching on the pope’s infallibility; his knowledge is infused and his teaching carries divine import. What does Jesus do? He changes this man’s name from Simon to Peter , as several biblical figures and personalities with divine mission had their names changed by God—Abram to Abraham (father of many nations), Jacob to Israel (image of God’s people) , Simon to Peter (vicar of Christ, leader of the Universal Church); then, Karol Wojtyla to John Paul II , Joseph Ratzinger to Benedict XVI , Jorge Bergoglio to Francis, and Robert Prevost to Leo XIV. Jesus calls him cepha [rock or pebble], avoiding the use of “Sur” [Rock], reserved for God, and says that He would build His Church upon this rock. He further promises that death (the netherworld) would not be able to bring this rock to an end; meaning that this mission will continue in succession from Peter to Linus to Clement to John Paul to Benedict to Francis to Leo. The superior Keys of the Kingdom carry power and authority to bind and loose heaven’s gate to people. And so, if someone again snarkily cajoles that you worship the pope, remind him or her that Peter is listening and that she might risk being locked out. Okay, don’t do that. Pray for them to come to the knowledge of the truth. Fr. Chukwudi Jo Okonkwo

Who would you give the key to your house? Outside your immediate family members, who else can you entrust with your key? The first time my mother gave me the key to our house, she made it seem as if I was being handed the nuclear code. I was to get home that particular day before everyone else, and had to have the keys. I was about ten. She handed them to me as though she was giving me a priceless heirloom. Then came a bunch of instructions that sounded like the Ten Commandments of Key Responsibility. She asked me to hold my two earlobes with my hands, then started: “You must never give it to anyone. You must never remove it from your inner pocket until you get home. You must not play football with the key in your pocket. You must not lose it. Is that clear enough?” I nodded: “Yes Mom!” “Alright, bye and let me not hear any stories about the key,” she concluded. This was just a key or a bunch of keys, you would say, yet, a great deal of responsibility went with it. The point is that to have access to the key implies having unfettered access to the entire house. You could never give the key to your house to a total stranger or someone you do not absolutely trust. But keys mean much more. In biblical language, keys symbolize power and authority. When the first reading of today speaks about the transfer of the key of the House of David from Shebna to Eliakim (Isaiah 22:19-23), you cannot imagine that Isaiah was speaking about the kind of keys that my mother gave me. Would you? Shebna, who was the Prime Minister in the court of King Hezekiah of Judah, 700 years before Christ, was rather dethroned because of corruption while Eliakim was elevated to the office. Keys also signify in biblical language a “perfect fit,” that is, one most suited for the position. Thus God says through Isaiah, “I will fix him like a peg into a firm place” (Isaiah 22:23), again signifying stability. These and much more are the expressions Jesus used in today’s Gospel as He spoke to Peter about keys. He starts off the conversation by asking: “Who do people say the Son of Man is?” A fisherman raised in the religious tradition of the Jews knew that God’s name wasn’t pronounced—out of fear of blasphemy. Yet he dares to say that this enquirer before him was the Son of the Living God . That’s something a pious Jew wouldn’t say. But it appeared like he caught straight into the core of Jesus’ being to reveal both His personality and mission. This person knew Him well, or rather must have got a hint from no other person than God Himself, and was well deserving of trust. He can be entrusted with the keys. And Jesus concurs, “Flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my heavenly father” (Matt 16:17). From here we draw the Church’s teaching on the pope’s infallibility; his knowledge is infused and his teaching carries divine import. What does Jesus do? He changes this man’s name from Simon to Peter , as several biblical figures and personalities with divine mission had their names changed by God—Abram to Abraham (father of many nations), Jacob to Israel (image of God’s people) , Simon to Peter (vicar of Christ, leader of the Universal Church); then, Karol Wojtyla to John Paul II , Joseph Ratzinger to Benedict XVI , Jorge Bergoglio to Francis, and Robert Prevost to Leo XIV. Jesus calls him cepha [rock or pebble], avoiding the use of “Sur” [Rock], reserved for God, and says that He would build His Church upon this rock. He further promises that death (the netherworld) would not be able to bring this rock to an end; meaning that this mission will continue in succession from Peter to Linus to Clement to John Paul to Benedict to Francis to Leo. The superior Keys of the Kingdom carry power and authority to bind and loose heaven’s gate to people. And so, if someone again snarkily cajoles that you worship the pope, remind him or her that Peter is listening and that she might risk being locked out. Okay, don’t do that. Pray for them to come to the knowledge of the truth. Fr. Chukwudi Jo Okonkwo

If you felt uncomfortable about today’s gospel, you’re not alone. Despite our love for puppies, no one would like to be called a puppy, or would you? And don’t think that when Jews call a foreigner ‘a dog’ they imply an adorable puppy, like your pet dog; they actually mean wild dogs that feed on carcass. Given the chance, we’ll want to do an a posteriori amendment of the words of today’s gospel that appear to give Jesus away as harsh or even racist. Could you imagine our Sweet Jesus refusing to help this woman because of her race—and calling her and her people dogs? Don’t you feel like apologizing for Jesus? Only when considered as a human equal would the words of Jesus in today’s gospel appear callous, indifferent and insulting. But when we consider that He was the first to strip Himself of His truly exalted nature to take an inferior nature as human, we’ll then see Him as one who levels with outcasts, bringing them the exalted gift of faith. While Jews called Gentiles “dogs,” Jesus used the word kynarion , (Greek for household dog or puppy)—regarded as man’s best friend—in His statement: “It is not right to take the food of children and throw it to dogs.” Casting insult aside, the woman heard for the first time that Jews and Gentiles can co-exist in the same house and capitalized on the statement as an invitation into the Household of God. Consider that the pericope that immediately precedes today’s passage (Mtt 15:1-20) has Jesus condemning the Pharisees who were offered gifts of the kingdom—the food of children—but rejected it. Hence, the spiritual insight contained in God’s word is made open to real people of faith who would avail themselves of this food. The woman represents all those of Gentile descent (i.e., all of us) who would not only qualify for the scraps but actually are invited to dine with the children in the Kingdom Table. More than “God’s household dog,” we, by the redemptive act of Christ, are adopted into God’s family. Through this conversation, Jesus gives the first signal that the Gentiles are part of God’s household and included in His plan of salvation. Faith is to become the yardstick, no longer blood; hence, He affirms the great faith of the woman and grants her the food of the children , namely, answer to her prayers. Recall that last Sunday, He, in contrast, called even Peter “a man of little faith” (14:31). The Canaanite woman has much to teach us in this exchange. We often demand things from God, and get angry when we feel God is failing us. Some deny Him existence to prove theirs, and think that hurts Him. But we can’t survive outside His love. By attending to the woman’s need and healing her daughter, Jesus shows that God’s love extends to even those we think He shouldn’t love. We sometimes feel entitled to God’s gifts: maybe because we’re cradle Catholics and God has equipped us with all the necessary means of salvation. That doesn’t imply that God hates the Baptists, the Mormons, the Hindus, the Muslims and Buddhists. No one has exclusive possession of Christ. In our country, you may have heard of so-called Christians who claim Catholics aren’t Christians. They believe that they alone possess the yardstick of inclusion into Christ—yardstick that may include color, language, race, and originating from a given area of the map. For all who think that way, Isaiah has this line from today’s first reading: “God’s house will be a house of prayer for all peoples.” We are invited today to unlock in each of us love, mercy, and compassion; recognizing that each of us is, in ways we can’t imagine, a ‘perfect fit’ of the purpose for which God made us. When we ask God to bless our home, our family, and our country, we shouldn’t forget to add other families, the poor, the immigrant, and those we reject and call names. God bless America…! But also Canada, Mexico, Haiti, Russia, Syria and Iran. Or tell me why you think He shouldn’t bless them? Fr. Chukwudi Jo Okonkwo

You must have heard this story of an American tourist to the Holy Land who wanted to take the customary boat ride across the Sea of Galilee—the sea on which Jesus walked in today’s gospel. When the boatman told him that the fare was $50, he exclaimed, “Fifty dollars? No wonder Jesus walked!” It’s not uncommon for those who see everything from the prism of the almighty dollar to attach monetary value to even a miracle. Today’s gospel is packed with teachings about who Jesus is and what He does for His followers. It teaches also about the Church in her journey through the uncertainties of the world, and the journey of every individual believer through the torrents and tempests of life in this vale of tears. But when we find ourselves caught in the realm of the improbable or of things beyond our human capabilities, it is then that the unction of faith is really tested. Today’s Gospel naturally flowed from last Sunday’s where Jesus multiplied loaves and fish to feed a multitude. By multiplying the loaves last Sunday and walking on the sea today, Jesus shows that He is lord and master of the elements and all forces—natural and supernatural. But watch how the Gospel puts it: “After the miracle of the loaves, He made His disciples get into a boat and precede Him to the other side” (Mtt. 14:22). It’s important to remember that they carried with them the twelves baskets full of fragments of the leftover loaves and fish, for they could not have collected them to throw away. We can only imagine that He’d asked them to go fish out the hungry and continue feeding them with the Word and Bread of Life. (It’s impossible not to see a Eucharistic element in this). Then He goes to the mountain to pray: Mark how He sends them [us] on their [our] way and retires to pray for them [us]. The Boat on the Sea is one of the earliest Christian symbols for the Church in her journey through the world. Tossed about and pounded from all sides by worldly and spiritual forces hostile to the kingdom, the Church eagerly awaits the arrival of her Lord to calm the waves, restore peace and harmony. The Lord does the unthinkable: He comes in a form and manner in which He is mistaken for the enemy. Even well-meaning Christians cry out in fear: “It’s a ghost.” It’s easy to see how the Church’s solutions to the mountain of problems in the world get easily mistaken, provoking outcry by society’s so-called experts. For example, when the Church urges discipline, self-control and abstinence to the promiscuity that has infested society, she is tagged an enemy of women and AIDS victims. When she advocates that immigrants be treated well, she is condemned as promoting illegal immigration. But if we listen carefully, we shall hear through the storms the soft, gentle whisper of the Lord amidst the wind saying, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.” If we believe His word and invite Him on board, the storms will subside and the crisis will be resolved. Would not the one who rode on the very waves that threatened to engulf His disciples not be able to bring us deliverance and solace in our trials? As the Church, like Peter’s boat, sails through the stormy seas of our time, we need to keep our gaze focused on Jesus and His Church to bring us peace. Peter’s request to walk on the water with Him is the ultimate act of faith that the Church makes to her Lord—to do the impossible or improbable and walk on these waves with Him. But we do need to keep our gaze centered on Him, for if He says to us “Come,” He’ll give us the power to arrive. Peter took the command and walked on the water. If we center our gaze on Him, we shall walk on our problems. Notice that while Peter kept his eyes upon the Lord, upon His word and power, he walked on the water well enough; but as soon as he succumbed to fear and took his gaze off Him, focusing rather on the waves and dangers surrounding him, he began to sink; for “We walk by faith, not by sight” (2 Cor 5:7). May the Lord grant us increase in faith to fix our gaze constantly on Him!  Fr. Chukwudi Jo Okonkwo

The miracle of the multiplication of loaves and fish is so central to the Gospel that it appears in all four Gospels. Consider too, that both Matthew and Mark have even two versions of the miracle. The miracle draws a contrast between worldly banquets and heavenly feasts: worldly banquets represented by Herod’s birthday celebration; and heavenly feast represented by God’s compassion on those whose first hunger was for the spiritual nourishment of the Eternal Word of God. Matthew’s account of the miracle, heard in the Gospel, was prefixed by the account of John the Baptist’s decapitation at the hand of Herod—a death that occurred within the context of a worldly banquet. Herod was certainly drunk when he promised a dancing little girl that he would give her anything— anything —she asked for. Who makes such a promise? Suppose she asked for Herod’s torso. Would he give that? Prompted by her adulterous mother who could no longer stand John’s denunciations, the girl asked for the head of the Baptist. Something makes me want to ask: “Why would God allow this injustice?” Worldly parties and banquets are often accompanied by drunken orgies and disastrous outcomes. With loss of mental and emotional balance, the lack of sobriety that follows uncontrolled eating and drinking creates a highly charged persona and environment. Revelers are often at the tipping point of ineptness, needing a tiny trigger to descend into arguments, fights and other dangerous behaviors. As was the case with Herod, human life means so little to a drunk. Such a person can run his car into someone else or hit a pole or a curbside. John the Baptist became Herod’s victim. We know many others. In contrast, those who seek the nourishment of the Word of God, like the five thousand fed by Jesus in today’s Gospel, leave the feast with full baskets of love and affection which they share with others . When we surrender our poverty and insufficiency, our mere five loaves handed to the Lord can multiply into bastions of contentment. Yes, we’ll go home with twelve baskets. But first, we must bring our five loaves. The Eucharistic motif of this miracle is unmistakable. In the Eucharist, we’re constantly challenged to bring both our loving concerns (loaves) and our interminable efforts (fish) to the Lord so He can multiply our love and crown our efforts for the purpose of meeting the needs of a world hungry for true nourishment that only He can bring. The Eucharist is a love feast. But, like the apostles, we’re often stingy with God’s gifts. We fear it would hardly be enough for us. We drift into inaction, urging the hungry to figure out for themselves how they’ll get fed. We conclude that it’s not up to us to take care of these needs. They’re more than we can handle. And so, we do nothing. But according to Fulton Sheen, the word “enough” is not in love’s vocabulary. We fear that by giving, we incur loss. However, the contrary is true: We gain by losing. What remains after the story is told is what we’ve given. Did not Mother Theresa once say, “We have to be ready to do the ridiculous for the Lord to turn it into the miraculous?” She was echoing the words of Jesus in John 12:24 that “a grain of wheat remains no more than a single grain unless it drops to the ground and dies.” The miraculous growth of wheat in farms across the country happens each year because single grains give up their existence and die. The survival of the human race depends on the principle of self-sacrifice. When God said, “increase and multiply,” he meant that mom should give up her freedom for nine months to bring her baby to the world, and that mom and dad spend the next 18 years raising a man. Societies that fear self-sacrifice cease to be. The West will go extinct if it insists on the policies of selfishness, contraception, and abortion. We should not be afraid to share what we have, to give until it hurts. Jesus tells us today: “Give them something to eat, yourselves.” Fr. Chukwudi Jo Okonkwo

Recall that for the past three Sundays, we have been receiving lessons on the Parables of the Kingdom , where Jesus uses several stories drawn from primarily agricultural settings to illustrate the eternal value of the kingdom and the urgency to seek it. The soil enabling the seed to yield fruit denotes radical openness God’s word. The wheat among weeds warns that evil may try to supplant the good, but through persistence, goodness triumphs. The mustard seed and the yeast that leavened the dough urge a cultivation of deep faith and transforming love, which though insignificant in outlook, could change life with an intangible presence. Coming to a crescendo of parabolic teachings, Jesus employs three more parables, namely, treasure hidden in a field, finest pearls, and fish of all kinds to illustrate what great good the kingdom is. The hidden treasure and the finest pearl, especially, make a pitch for the kingdom as the supreme good, [in Latin, “summum bonum”]. Thinking of the summum bonum as the best good there is or that one can have is only passable. The “summum bonum” is that which contains in itself all the other desirable goods. It brings in its train all other goods. This idea may sound abstract but it is quite easy to illustrate with this childhood village experience: One of the chores that kids are often excited to carry out, especially around evening, is to round up a mother hen with her chicks. Because the chickens are cute and small, kids usually start by chasing after them, one after another. As they struggle to catch even one chick, they fall over many times. But it’s not the smart maneuvers of the little chickens that pose the greatest problem for kids trying to catch them, it’s rather the ferocious attack of the mother hen who comes in defense of her brood with beak and claws. Many children, including me, would have nightmares of the attack of the mother hen. Mothers, however, know how best to round up the mother hen with her brood. With a large basket in hand, an experienced mom lures the mother hen with some treat and then covers it with the basket. With the mother hen chucking inside the basket, all the chickens would gather around the basket where their mother is trapped. Once the basket is raised a little, all the chickens would rush into it, to be with their mother (Munachi). The mother hen is like the summum bonum that attracted all the chickens. It’s like Solomon in today’s first reading asking for wisdom (understanding). He knew that wisdom will attract every other good needed and desired, including fame, security, prosperity, long life and happiness. A personal question we must answer is: Among all the things we desire in life, which are the chickens and which is the mother hen? We can trip and fall as we go all out in pursuit of chickens—like financial security, the pleasures of life, career advancement, windfall from court settlements, power, success, etc. But we need some good sense to aim for the mother hen. That mother hen that attracted the chickens is comparable to Jesus’ idea about the kingdom of God, which, when we gain it first, all other things will be added unto us —“Seek first the kingdom of God and His justice; and all these things shall be added to you as well” (Mt 6:33). The kingdom of God is that treasure which when found would precipitate liquidating our past, sacrificing other possessions, in order to carry off by all available means this exclusive investment. When investing in the kingdom, there should be no turning back. Its risk is total should the venture fail; yet, there is a feeling of contentment that comes with knowing that the value has been appraised as priceless by the Lord Himself. Whether we stumbled over this gift as cradle Catholics (aka, the man who found the treasure and hid it again) or sought and found it like an “ OCIA-merchant” [a convert] searching for fine pearls, once found and appraised, we oughtn’t mind as much as throwing caution to the wind, because the supreme treasure of the kingdom eclipses everything else. Fr. Chukwudi Jo Okonkwo

Those familiar with the famous radio talk-show host, Paul Harvey, recall how he told stories of famous people in such a way that listeners couldn’t predict the subject of his story until the very end. Paul Harvey would describe a kid who failed Math class many times, only to reveal that he was speaking about Albert Einstein. Or, a student who found college tough, and eventually dropped out, but turned out to be Bill Gates. Or, an amorous youth who became St. Augustine. Doesn’t that reveal that the good seed might be hiding in the midst of tares? Pope Leo XVI was perhaps few years ago a crying baby in Church whom some couldn’t stand. The parable of the tares among wheats wouldn’t sound strange to anyone who grew up in the farm. Such was Jesus’ audience; they were mostly farmers. As kids in my family farm, we could help with planting seeds but we were not allowed to do the weeding, especially when the maize corn starts to sprout. My mother explained that it is very easy to mistake the maize for a weed called in Igbo, “atta.” They look so much alike that even adults can mistake one for the other, talk-less kids. But as they grow, the maize would start budding its seeds while the atta grows and grows without buds, revealing itself as weed to be uprooted. So, Jesus, like my mother, tells us in this parable: Let the weeds grow along with the wheat; the difference would be clear at harvest time. Here is the practical lesson for the spiritual life: Be patient, do not jump into hasty conclusions about what you see. It takes time for the true nature of things to be revealed. Things and humans don’t always turn out the way they seem at first. It is often impossible to know for sure who is what, since we judge by appearances. The scribes and the Pharisees of Jesus’ day appeared to be more religious than others. Yet, for Jesus, they were masked hypocrites. Nothing is more hazardous than to pass judgment, especially regarding an individual’s relationship with God. Even in cases of fairly obvious wrongdoing, we cannot always know all the circumstances underlying every action or inaction. For example, if St. Joseph were like many of us, he would have reported our Blessed Mother Mary to the authorities when he found that she was pregnant, out of wedlock. Mary would have been stoned to death with her Divine Child. The mystery of the incarnation would have been exposed to ridicule. What seems at first bad might prove the exact opposite, vice versa. But Jesus isn’t urging a negligence of a person’s primary behavior, rather, that the mysteries of the kingdom are often imperceptible; it may be present but not clearly evident . Its start may be unspectacular, like the mustard seed or the yeast that leavened the dough. The tiny mustard shouldn’t be despised. A child need not be from a royal family before it is treated with honor. Jesus was a tiny child born in a manger but turned out the largest bush on which we find sheltered from our enemy—the devil. The leaven mixed with the dough might be relatively insignificant and disappears into the mix; yet, it doesn’t cease to work its magic of transforming the life of the dough with its intangible presence. We’re to sow love, which is like a mustard seed, like the leaven, like the kingdom—not grandiose, but able to change everything. A problem child who frequented the principal’s office for extra admonitions was put with another teacher who moved her close to her desk. Rita reported to her mom, “She smiles at me.” Rita’s new teacher praised her artistic talents, found her dependable and would often send her on errands for her. Rita blossomed, and even helped other kids. The new teacher brought the kingdom of God right into her classroom, and the love multiplied. Rita herself turned out a celebrity teacher tin whose class every child wants to be. She smiles at them and celebrates their accomplishments with high-fives. Like the leaven or mustard seed, once sown, love spreads out to more and more people. Sow love, not hate. Fr. Chukwudi Jo Okonkwo

Some of the best years of my life were spent in the arms of a woman who happens to be someone else’s wife. You may take this to be my public confession; but that woman was my mother, Priscilla [I do not want you to stray too far in thought]. Compared to the soil on which the Sower sowed the seed, Priscilla was not a path on which any wayfarer trod. She was not a rocky ground with little soil that is baked by the sun, nor was she a soil overgrown with thorns and brambles. She was, to the best I can describe her, a rich soil that produced the desired fruit. I’m grateful to her. As Jesus proclaimed the parable of the Sower in today’s gospel, you cannot fail to notice the finesse of a great teacher who seeks to open the thinking ducts of his students with challenging stories and allegories that at times are puzzling and even mysterious. The parable of the Sower is prominent among other parables because it was one of the few that Jesus Himself went ahead to interpret, leaving no doubt about the message He wanted to convey. Jesus implies by this parable that our soul is God’s Garden. He doesn’t assume that every single seed sown would sprout and produce abundant fruit, knowing fully well that the wind will blow some away, the squirrels will feed on some, while some will, for other unknown reasons, not deliver. But the Eternal Gardener continues to sow seeds of the Kingdom through the instrumentality of His prophets and teachers. Our task is to cultivate this garden, manure it and remove unwanted weeds. God offers us tools and implements to cultivate the garden, which are His holy word in scripture and its authoritative interpretation and teachings by His Church, the witness of many courageous men and women—saints and martyrs who have lived the faith, and the living examples of good parents and teachers. Running counter to these are the rock-solid pessimism and skepticism of a decaying culture, the thorn of moral indifference and relativism taught in our schools and orchestrated by the media, the violence and despair, the dullness and laziness that masks itself as recreation and entertainment. We see that it’s hard to cultivate a good soil for the word of God. Many are hungry and starving of spiritual food but are instead provided with junk, mind-altering medication, or mere soothing words. Have these helped? Jesus’ explanation of the parable shows that God’s word is true food for the soul stirring in many cases joy upon its hearers. The word goes on to germinate, in fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy that the word shall not return void (Isaiah 55:11). Hunger for God’s word is persistent; what is lacking is the openness to let the word permeate its hearer. Hence, the “footpath” hearer dismisses it without effort to understand, and the seed is stolen by the devil. The “rocky-ground” hearer has mind and heart hardened by narrow and ideological positions—like those of the politicians and ideologues in the media and entertainment industry to whom modern culture presents a rock-solid stumbling block against the demands of the gospel. The “thorny-soil” hearer would be many of us who place work, anxiety of finances, vacation, and other endeavors before the demands of the Kingdom. The “good-soil” hearer is the one who triumphs over all tribulations, standing firm in her or his convictions. Are you one of those who would love to hear God’s word only insofar as it doesn’t challenge you, expose the evil in your life, or demand that you change your ways? Are you one who wouldn’t want to hear anything that would achieve a groundbreaking, rather prefer to be entertained? Do you just want to be left as you are, even if you’re overgrown with weeds, thorns, and bramble? If you are among the hearts that seek the Lord, say this prayer: “Lord, come and heal the pains in my life, and in our world. Let your word penetrate the rock and thorns in my life. Reveal the good soil in me, that I may bear abundant fruit. Amen!” Fr. Chukwudi Jo Okonkwo

It’s not Palm Sunday, yet. But the first reading today reminds us about the entrance liturgy of Palm Sunday, where we read excerpts from the prophet Zephaniah: “Rejoice heartily, O daughter Zion; shout for joy, O daughter Jerusalem! See, your king shall come to you, a just savior is he, meek, and riding on an ass, on a colt, the foal of an ass” (Zechariah 9:9). When Zephaniah announced the coming of this new king centuries before Christ, the Israelites had spent some 300 years in Babylonian captivity; and even as he spoke, they were under bitter persecution by the Greeks who conquered and imposed Greek faith, customs and rules. A Jew hearing Zephaniah’s prophecy would wonder if the prophet had been out in the sun for far too long to suggest that they should, of all things, ‘rejoice.’ And what kind of king would come riding on an ass—a beast of burden—when other conquerors rode on chariots and horses? But it’s the role of the prophet to see what’s hidden from the so-called wise and learned. In fulfilment of this prophecy, Jesus invites the people (us) to come to Him with their (our) burdens, and He’ll give them (us) rest. Referencing again the beast of burden, He asks them to lay down their yoke and take upon them His own yoke, which He declares is easy; and His burden, which is light. Completely confusing stuff! Isn’t it? I learned that when Fr. Heiring assembled parishioners of Holy Family Tulsa to start work on the church that we now call cathedral, there were no trucks and tractors to dig and hurl dirt and other building materials. Much of the work was done with the aid of an instrument called yoke. What the yoke did was tie two animals together so that their combined strength could pull a wagon filled with dirt or stone or other heavy equipment that humans were incapable of pulling. In the plantations, though, it was the combined strength of slaves that pulled the plow. Hence, the word yoke symbolized and is associated with slavery and servitude. Many times, in scripture, the Jewish law would be referred to as a yoke. Yes, the law—both of the Jews and some of our unreasonable laws—often turn into burdens to be endured. It isn’t really a great sobriquet to call our country “a nation of laws.” I vote for “a nation of love,” with hope there’s still some love left in our toxic public discourse. Jesus asks two things from us—to come to Him and to learn from Him . First is to come to Him: an invitation that reveals our helpless condition as people who labor and are burdened with multiple yokes—the yoke of slavery to sin and death, the crushing yoke of indebtedness to our flesh’s insatiability, the heavy and painful yoke of loneliness of minds wrapped in self-absorption, the pulverizing yoke of searching for relevance in a self-enclosed world with its smug self-satisfaction, and the suffocating yoke of solidarity with worldly cleverness. Second, Jesus asks us to learn from Him to liberate ourselves from these yokes, and not capitulate. He asks us to learn from Him how to develop the full potential of our souls rather than luck ourselves up in a world that cannot truly satisfy our longings. Learning from Him assures that the things that are overwhelming burdens for the so-called learned and clever in the world will become life-building for us, thanks to the action of His Spirit. Finally, Jesus says He’ll partner with us in bearing our burdens. The primary use of the yoke is to join two animals together so that no one animal pulls the plow or the wagon alone. The essence of the incarnation is this partnership between the Son of God and us in bearing our burdens. In this sense, the yoke doesn’t just connect two irrational beasts. A new yoke fashioned by the Lord Himself joins us with Him to pull this wagon ...all the troubles in our life. He made a definite promise at the Last Supper that, as long as we choose to partner with Him, He wouldn’t leave us orphans (Jn 14:18). So, whose yoke do you prefer: the devil’s, the world’s, the one fashioned by your hand ...or the Lord’s? Fr. Chukwudi Jo Okonkwo