If you’ve been paying attention to social media lately, you might have heard about Victoria Rose. She’s an Instagram influencer—someone who, like a lot of people our age, built her following by posting the highlights of her life: travel, parties, perfect selfies, all filtered to look effortless. But a few months ago, Victoria took things way too far. Over a weekend, she posted a series of frantic stories claiming she’d been kidnapped. There were shaky videos, teary updates, and desperate pleas for help. Her followers freaked out. Even the police got involved.

Thank you for taking the time to read this homily for the 22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time (August 31, 2025). Your support means a great deal to me, and I’m deeply grateful for the many who share these messages with their friends, families and social media followers. 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.  Sincerely in Christ -Father Ji

But after a while, people started noticing things that didn’t add up. The locations were off. Her story kept changing. Eventually, Victoria admitted she’d made the whole thing up—she hadn’t left her apartment. When people called her out, she just kind of shrugged and said she “wanted to have a little fun.”

It blew up in her face—lost sponsorships, angry fans, a reputation that’s probably never coming back. And for what? A few days at the top of everyone’s feed. A rush of attention. That feeling of finally being “somebody.”

It’s easy to roll our eyes and say, “I’d never do that.” But honestly, who hasn’t felt the pressure to stand out, especially at the start of something new? Here we are at the start of a new Academic Year – for some of you you’re just starting college – and all of that is exciting, but it’s also a lot.  There’s that temptation to reinvent yourself, to post your best moments and hide your worst, to tweak your story just enough to impress the right people, to chase after the kind of attention that makes you feel like you matter. Social media just makes it louder and faster.

But that’s not just a college thing or an internet thing— it’s a very human thing. And it’s exactly what’s going on in today’s Gospel.

Picture the scene: Jesus is at a dinner party, surrounded by people who were basically the “in crowd” of their town. The religious leaders, the respected citizens, the folks who had made it. As everyone arrives, they’re all eyeing the best seats—closest to the host, most visible to everyone else. In their world, where you sat at a table wasn’t just about comfort; it was about status. The best seats meant you were somebody. The farther you were from the host, the less important you looked.

So people start jockeying for position—some quietly, some not-so-quietly. Maybe trying to slip into a better spot when no one’s watching, maybe dropping hints about their connections or achievements, hoping to get noticed. It looks a little desperate, honestly, but it’s also painfully familiar. Who doesn’t want to be seen, valued, honored?

Jesus sees all of this. And instead of ignoring it, he calls it out. He tells a story: “When you’re invited to a wedding feast, don’t take the place of honor right away. Someone more distinguished than you might have been invited, and the host might come and say, ‘Give this person your seat,’ and you’d be humiliated. Instead, take the lowest place, so your host will come and say, ‘Friend, move up higher!’ Then you’ll be honored in front of everyone.”

This is not just about dinner parties. Jesus is talking about the way we constantly measure ourselves against others, the way we scramble for recognition, the way we’re terrified of being overlooked or left out. He’s not saying there’s anything wrong with wanting to be seen or loved. But he’s warning us: If your whole life is built on chasing approval, you’ll always be anxious, always comparing, always afraid that someone better, cooler, more talented will come along and push you out of the spotlight.

Jesus offers a different way, and it’s the opposite of what everyone expects. He says: Be humble. Take the lower seat. Not because you have to think less of yourself, but because humility is about seeing yourself honestly—your strengths, your weaknesses, your gifts, your limitations. It’s about being secure enough to let go of the scramble for attention, and free enough to serve wherever you’re needed. Humility isn’t about hiding; it’s about knowing you’re already loved, already valuable, already enough, just as you are.

And then, Jesus goes a step further. He tells his host: “When you throw a banquet, don’t just invite your friends, your rich neighbors, the people who can help you climb higher. Invite the people no one else notices. The poor, the crippled, the outcast. Throw your party for people who can’t pay you back. That’s when you’ll be truly blessed.”

Why? Because that’s how God loves us. All are invited, no matter their resume or follower count. God’s table is for everyone—especially the ones who think they belong in the back corner.

So what does this mean as we start a new year? It means you don’t have to fight your way to the front of the line, or fake your way into belonging. You’re already invited. You have nothing to prove. You can settle into who you really are, and find joy in it—even the parts that don’t fit the “highlight reel.”

Think about Mother Teresa—canonized as a saint nine years ago, but remembered long after for her humility and service. She never cared about being famous. She just quietly showed up for people who were forgotten and loved them with everything she had. That’s the kind of greatness that actually lasts.

So as you walk into this “new year” for some a new chapter all together as our newest members of MSU -others a new semester—new classes, new friends, new opportunities—remember that the only table that matters is the one God sets for you. Don’t get caught up in the race for recognition or the anxiety of being overlooked. Don’t let your worth be measured by your grades, your likes, or your popularity. Instead, show up. Serve. Be real. Celebrate the person God already made you to be.

And if you ever catch yourself wanting to do something extreme just to get noticed—remember Victoria Rose. She had everything the world says we should want: followers, fame, attention. But it wasn’t enough. And when it all came crashing down, she was left with the truth: nothing you fake will ever fill you up. But who you are, in God’s eyes, is already more than enough.

Give your desire for recognition back to God. Let him honor you in his time, in his way. When you do, you’ll find the freedom and joy you’re really searching for—the kind that lasts, long after the spotlight fades.