As Catholics, we stake our lives on a mystery that stunned Jesus’ first followers: the bread and wine at Mass become His real Body and Blood. Not a symbol, not a memory, but Christ Himself—present as truly as He was 2,000 years ago. John’s Gospel captures the fallout: when Jesus insisted, “Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you,” many walked away (John 6:53, 66). It was too much—too hard to grasp, too radical to accept.

A heartfelt thank you for taking the time to read this homily for the SEVENTH SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME (February 23, 2025). Your support means the world to me, and I’m deeply moved by how this community shares these messages of faith. If you’ve found meaning in these words, I’d be grateful if you’d share them with others who might benefit.

And for those who prefer listening, you can find the audio version on SoundCloud HERE or subscribe to the podcast on iTunes HERE. Your comments, messages, and the way you’ve embraced these homilies continue to inspire me. Together, we’re spreading God’s word, one share at a time. Sincerely in Christ -Father Jim

Today’s Gospel from Luke feels just as jarring: “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you” (Luke 6:27-28). So often when Jesus preaches and teaches using parables that often have some lack of clarity or at least plausible deniability for us as listeners as we try to take it in and apply it to our own lives. But there’s no parables and nothing confusing here.  Just a command that hits like a thunderclap: “do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you.” Loving our enemies? Seriously?

Who comes to mind when you hear that word—“enemies”? Maybe it’s a nameless or faceless figure from the news — someone behind the violence or division we see tearing at our world. Or maybe it’s closer: a former friend who betrayed you, a colleague who undermined you, a family member whose words still sting.   The challenge becomes even more real when we start to put names to these ‘enemies.’ For me, it’s personal. Years ago, the Lord nudged me to pray for my “enemies”—people who’ve hurt me, frustrated me, or just plain gotten under my skin. I’ll admit, it’s embarrassing and humbling for a priest to say there are people I’ve hated. One name on my list is a mentor I once trusted—a man who used his authority to deceive and wound an entire community. The scars of that betrayal linger, and praying for him doesn’t come easy. Another name? A friend who took my vulnerability and turned it against me, leaving anger where trust once stood. “Turn the other cheek”? Lord, I can barely look at them.

You’ve got your list too, don’t you? We all do. And Jesus’ words stir the pot—because loving enemies feels impossible. It’s tempting to twist it, to think He’s asking us to be doormats, to ignore evil, or to fake a smile while enabling harm. But that’s not what He means. The first reading from 1 Samuel shows us why.

We hear about David who at this point in the scriptures had already been anointed by Samuel, at God’s direction, to be the next King of Israel.  Things with  the current King, Saul, had started off alright.  More than alright – David and Saul were almost like a son and a father.  When David had killed Goliath and removed that menacing threat from the people – Saul was happy to have David around. When David assists Saul in leading their armies to important victories, that was incredibly helpful. Well, to be precise, it was more than helpful, David actually was far superior in leading the troops than Saul was.   And that’s when it all started to turn.  Before too long, jealousy, envy take hold in Sauls mind and heart.  Soon Saul became paranoid, and allowed those evil thoughts to consume him to the point that he was trying to kill David – and everyone knew it.  It was unjust.  It was unreasonable.  It was unprovoked.  David hadn’t done anything wrong… in fact that only fueled Saul’s irrationality (which is often the case, when we are in a state of sin, we tend to become more and more illogical as we try to rationalize our twisted logic)

That’s the back story.  So as we pick uptoday’s reading, we can picture David creeping through the night, Saul asleep at his feet. This is the king who’s hunted him, turned on him, driven by envy so fierce it’s warped his soul. David’s friend Abishai whispers, “God has delivered your enemy into your grasp” (1 Sam 26:8). The spear’s right there—temptation glinting in the firelight. Every human instinct screams: End it. He deserves it. But David stops short. Not out of fear—remember, this is the guy who took down Goliath with a stone—but out of something deeper. Call it grace, call it the Holy Spirit whispering a truth Jesus would later shout: Love your enemy. 

David spares Saul, takes the spear as proof, and calls out from a safe distance: “Here’s your weapon—I could’ve used it, but I didn’t” (1 Sam 26:22). Saul’s humbled, at least for a moment, and offers peace. David’s response? A polite, “Thanks, but no thanks.” He doesn’t rush back into Saul’s arms. Love doesn’t mean naiveté. It doesn’t erase the past or ignore the risk of more hurt. It’s not denial—it’s defiance. David refuses to let Saul’s hatred turn him into a killer. He stays true to who God called him to be: “the Lord’s anointed.”

That’s the love Jesus demands—not a love that pretends, but one that transforms. It’s not about forcing reconciliation when trust is shattered. It’s not about forgetting the pain. It’s about refusing to let someone else’s sin define us. David didn’t kill Saul, but he didn’t play the fool either. He chose mercy with his eyes wide open—a mercy that spoke louder than vengeance ever could.  This kind of supernatural love requires supernatural grace—which brings us back to where we started – the Eucharist.

Just as we can’t make bread and wine into Christ’s Body and Blood by our own power, we can’t love our enemies by sheer willpower. It’s God’s work in us. When we receive Him at Mass, we’re not just fed—we’re changed. That same Jesus who said, “This is my body,” says, “Love your enemies.” Both stretch us beyond what’s humanly possible, and both free us to become who we’re meant to be: God’s sons and daughters, anointed at Baptism, sealed in Confirmation.

So where do we start? Maybe with a name on your prayer list—someone you’d rather forget. Don’t force the feelings; just say the words: “Lord, bless them.” Some days, that’s a mountain moved. Other days, you might catch a flicker of compassion you didn’t expect. There’s no finish line here, no perfect score—just a daily choice to lean into grace.    Sometimes this love looks like setting healthy boundaries while still praying for someone’s good. Other times it means acknowledging the hurt while choosing not to seek revenge. Always, it means trusting that God’s way of love, however difficult, leads to freedom.

Jesus doesn’t give us this command to crush us, but to heal us. Praying for those who’ve hurt us doesn’t just break the cycle of hate—it breaks something in us: the bitterness that binds us, the wounds we didn’t know still bled. Like the Eucharist, it’s not about what we achieve—it’s about what God does when we say yes. That’s discipleship: not perfection, but persistence—turning toward love, even when it feels impossible. Because with Him, it isn’t.