In a previous post I discussed the development of Ukraine from a nation dependent on foreign military supplies to a nation on the leading edge of an evolving age of battle space engagement with what Brig Gen de Czege called the “Second Precision Revolution.” I noted that Ukraine signed a 10-year agreement with Gulf State countries for joint production of battlefield innovations developed during the war with Russia. That naturally leads to the question of were Saudi Arabia, the UAE, Qatar, and Oman to acquire genuinely Ukraine-like capabilities what would become of the Persian Gulf region?
With Ukrainian technology, innovation, and experience – coupled with Gulf States funding, the Persian Gulf would become one of the world’s most densely observed, electronically contested, and difficult operating environments. Virtually a transparent battlespace.
“Prayer is nothing else but union with God…In this intimate union, God and the soul are fused together like two bits of wax that no one can ever pull apart…Your hearts are small, but prayer stretches them and makes them capable of loving God.”
from the Catechetical Instructions by St. John Vianney, Cure d’Ars
There is an old saying: soldiers win battles, logistics wins wars. A while back I posted about the U.S. Navy’s Task Force 30.8. It was a sea-going “conveyer belt” that connected U.S. industrial might and capacity to the Army-Navy-Marine Corp forces in the Pacific during World War II. The movement of U.S. industry from the depression era to military industrial behemoth is a fascinating story. If you are interested in such things, I can recommend two books: Maruy Klein’s magisterial work,“A Call to Arms: Mobilizing America for World War II” and the much shorter “Freedom’s Forge: How American Business Produced Victory in World War II” by Arthur Herman…. If you are interested in such things. Big picture: the U.S. demonstrated that industrial capacity could decide wars. Detroit, Pittsburgh, and American shipyards became strategic weapons in themselves.
Ukraine is demonstrating something different: innovation capacity, that is, the ability to learn, redesign, manufacture, and field improvements faster than an adversary. In the 21st century that may be just as decisive as industrial capacity. Europe’s growing partnerships with Ukrainian firms suggest that many governments have reached the same conclusion.
In 2022 at the start of the war with Russia, the U.S. and Europe provided critical weapons and aid. Western military assistance focused primarily on helping the country survive Russia’s invasion. Supporting countries supplied thousands of anti-tank weapons such as Javelin and NLAW missiles, Stinger anti-aircraft missiles, artillery systems including the M777 howitzer, ammunition, armored vehicles, counter-battery radars, secure communications equipment, intelligence support, medical supplies, and humanitarian assistance. The character of aid in 2022 was defensive, incremental, and cautious. In time offensive weapons were supplied: advanced air defenses, tanks, long-range strike capabilities, F-16 fighters, HIMARS rocket launchers and various air-defense systems. Ukraine was often required to come “hat in hand” to Western nations for supply and resupply. The images of the U.S. leadership famously berating Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky during a contentious Oval Office (February 28, 2025) are an extreme example of the dynamic. What the White House did not realize was the change was already afoot.
A parishioner recently asked me what I thought of the current war in the Persian Gulf region. It was part question, “What do you think about….” and part answer: “You don’t want Iran to have a nuclear weapon, do you?” coupled with “and besides strategic bombing can probably bring this to an end.” Not exactly an open ended question.
It is always of interest to me to wonder about to whom the question is addressed. Was it for me, the Franciscan priest or former nuclear submariner or perhaps both? Then again, maybe that doesn’t matter. I think the answer will always come from “both.” Some might expect the Franciscan priest to take a position that war is always morally wrong. But Franciscans “think and breathe” with the Catholic Church, a Church that never places war as a first option but also evaluates each war in the light of the Just War tradition expressed by St. Thomas of Aquinas. So what is the “Church” saying?
One of the interesting features of the debate over the U.S. strikes on Iran is that there are respected Catholic scholars on both sides, although I would say that the majority of bishops and moral theologians who have spoken publicly have expressed serious reservations or concluded that the action did not satisfy the just war criteria. (Catholic Review) The limited number of scholars and intellectuals who have argued that the strikes could be morally justified have generally made their case on traditional Thomistic just war grounds, rather than appealing to a newer theory of preventive war (discussed later in this post).
George Weigel is probably the most prominent Catholic intellectual to argue that the strikes were morally justified. He contends that many commentators have misunderstood or misapplied the just war tradition. To that end he proposes three fallacies that people, leaders and scholars apply to Just War Theory:
Fallacy No. 1: There is a “presumption against war” in just war thinking.
Fallacy No. 2: Preemptive military action or striking the first blow is not permissible.
Fallacy No. 3: “Last resort” is the first principle in the just war tradition.
Agree or disagree, but from that analysis, Weigel’s principal arguments for considering the U.S. military action as permissible include:
Just cause: Iran’s decades-long sponsorship of terrorism, repeated attacks through proxies, and pursuit of nuclear weapons constituted a grave and continuing threat, not merely a speculative future danger.
Legitimate authority: The United States acted through its constitutional political leadership in concert with an ally.
Last resort: Diplomatic efforts had been attempted over many years and repeatedly failed.
Proportionality: A limited strike on nuclear infrastructure was, in his view, morally preferable to allowing Iran eventually to acquire nuclear weapons or engaging in a much larger regional war later.
Weigel’s broader complaint is that many modern commentators have turned just war theory into an almost impossible standard that no military action could satisfy.
Edward Feser is interesting because he is a Thomist with deep knowledge of Aquinas. However, he reached the opposite conclusion from Weigel. Feser argued that:
there was no objectively imminent attack on the United States;
Catholic teaching does not permit preventive war simply because another state may become more dangerous later;
the evidence for necessity had not been publicly demonstrated;
therefore the traditional requirement of just cause was not met.
Professor Robert P. George of Princeton has been more cautious. Rather than declaring the war either just or unjust, he has emphasized a classical Thomistic point: outsiders often lack access to the intelligence necessary to make a definitive prudential judgment. The morality of the decision depends partly upon facts known only to those charged with responsibility for the common good. This echoes the Catechism’s statement that evaluating these conditions belongs principally to those responsible for the common good (CCC 2309), while still allowing scholars and bishops to question whether those conditions have actually been met.
Preventative or preemptive, the changing nature of war in the modern age, public demonstration of evidence, the common good – all these considerations. “What do you think about….” is not a conversation for the sidewalk in front of the church. And what about the Church?
I am not aware that the USCCB (US Conference of Catholic Bishops) have made a statement/analysis on whether the war is ad jus bellum (a just war at the beginning). Its statements can be found on the USCCB Iran Resource page. Reading them chronologically shows a remarkably consistent position extending back to 2015. Recurring themes include: support for diplomatic engagement; concern over nuclear proliferation; insistence that military force be truly a last resort; repeated warnings that another Middle East war would carry grave humanitarian consequences. The overall tone has been one of caution, de-escalation, and skepticism about the resort to military force, rather than an explicit declaration that the military action was or was not a “just war.”
But several bishops publicly argued that the criteria were not satisfied. Among them:
Cardinal Robert McElroy argued that the United States was not responding to an objectively verifiable imminent attack and therefore lacked a sufficient just cause. (America Magazine)
Archbishop Timothy Broglio, the Archbishop for the Military Services, expressed serious doubt that the campaign met the traditional just war criteria. (The Guardian)
At this writing there is no definitive statement but certainly, and always, a leaning into a peaceful resolution. Given my interest in World War II, I am drawn back to the comparisons with the Asia-Pacific War (1937-1945). In a previous post in a series about that war I noted that the Church teaches that war can be morally justified under certain conditions, which are rooted in the principles of just cause, legitimate authority, right intention, and proportionality. (Found in paragraphs 2307 to 2317 of the Catechism). The conditions fall into three broad categories: jus ad bellum (before the war), Jus in bello (during the war), and jus post bellum (after the war)
During World War II, Catholic moral theologians generally agreed that Germany’s aggression constituted a just cause for resistance. Likewise, Japan’s aggression in China justified military action. But were there adequate just-war reasons for the U.S. to enter the War prior to Pearl Harbor? While the U.S. was isolated from the war in Europe by the Atlantic Ocean, all throughout 1941 German U-Boats were attacking U.S. flagged merchant vessels as they carried supplies to England. The Pacific Ocean placed Japan thousands of miles from U.S. territories but Japan’s savagery and execution of the war in China, other Japanese actions against SE Asian countries, and more all signaled hostility with the U.S. was looming. The questions being raised in 1939-1941 were:
Was there a grave and certain threat?
Was it imminent?
Has the last resort truly been reached?
Could any U.S. action properly be characterized as defense, or was it a form of preventive war?
For U.S. scholars and bishops the theoretical debate came to a screeching halt on December 7, 1941 with the attack on Pearl Harbor and Oahu. What followed was broad and deep consensus that the U.S. action met the criteria of jus ad belllum. But could there have been military action before a direct attack on the United States occurred?
That comparison raises a profound Thomistic question that has never been fully settled: How should Aquinas’ requirement of “just cause” be applied when a grave threat is developing but has not yet become an immediate military attack? Can a preventative war be a just war?
Preventive War Theory?
If that was a valid line of inquiry 80+ years ago, what should the questions be in the face of the strategic and tactical realities of nuclear weapons, ballistic missiles, terrorism, and cyberwarfare? Is classical Thomistic just war theory suited to an age when the early warning signs of war are no longer months and years in the making but operate in the realm of the current moment. It is in this milieu that some theorists are thinking of new categories of jus ad bellum. To be clear, there is no accepted “new theory of preventive war” within Catholic teaching. Rather, there are several proposals by moral theologians and philosophers that attempt to reinterpret the traditional requirement of just cause. It helps to distinguish three concepts.
Classical Category
Description
Traditional Catholic View
Defensive war
Responding to an actual armed attack
Clearly permitted if other criteria are met
Preemptive war
Striking because an enemy attack is imminent and unavoidable
Generally considered permissible
Preventive war
Striking because an adversary may become dangerous in the future
Traditionally viewed with great skepticism or rejected
Aquinas never discusses “preventive war” as we might understand it. His concern is the restoration of justice after an injury. The assumption is that some wrongful aggression has already occurred or is occurring. This worked reasonably well in the Middle Ages, when armies required months to mobilize. It becomes much harder once weapons can destroy entire cities within minutes.
After 1945 Catholic theologians recognized that waiting until the first missile lands may be morally absurd. Suppose an enemy has fueled nuclear missiles, launch crews are at their stations, and intelligence shows launch orders have been issued. Must one wait until the missiles are airborne? Most Catholic theologians answered no. This led to renewed attention to the older distinction between preemption and prevention.
Although not Catholic, Michael Walzer has probably had the greatest influence on modern just war discussions. In Just and Unjust Wars (1977) he argues that there exists a point at which a threat becomes so imminent that waiting would itself be immoral. He revived what he called the Caroline standard, originating from an 1837 diplomatic exchange between the United States and Britain. There the justification must be “instant, overwhelming, leaving no choice of means, and no moment for deliberation.” Walzer argues that modern technology may require interpreting “imminence” more broadly than simply seeing enemy troops cross a border. Many Catholic scholars have found this persuasive.
John Courtney Murray, SJ died before many of these debates matured but his work anticipated them. He emphasized that governments have a positive obligation to protect the common good. This raised the question: can rulers wait until millions are dead before acting? Murray never endorsed preventive war, but he opened the discussion about prudential judgments in an age of strategic weapons and more rapid response times.
After September 11 and especially during debates over Iraq, George Weigel argued that:
terrorist organizations cannot be deterred in traditional ways;
rogue states seeking weapons of mass destruction create a qualitatively different threat;
therefore “imminence” cannot be defined only by troop movements.
He did not simply endorse preventive war. Instead he argued for a broader understanding of what constitutes an imminent danger. His critics reply that this effectively collapses the distinction between preemption and prevention. The critics include Germain Grisez, David Hollenbach, SJ, and Lisa Cahill. During the run-up to the 2003 Iraq War, both Pope John Paul II and Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger repeatedly questioned whether the conditions for just cause and last resort had been met. Ratzinger remarked in 2003: “There were not sufficient reasons to unleash a war against Iraq.” That statement is significant because it suggests the Vatican continued to interpret the traditional criteria quite strictly.
The debate in the late 20th century focused on nuclear weapons but today’s concerns are artificial intelligence, cyberwarfare, autonomous weapons, and hypersonic missiles. These technologies compress decision time from weeks to minutes or even seconds. Witness the recent AI initiated cyber attack on another AI system that was outside human control or knowledge until the need was done. The compression of decision time not only changes the debate on immanence, but has led some contemporary Thomists to ask whether Aquinas’ concept of injury should be newly understood as not requiring an actual attack, but in the view that an attack that is demonstrably inevitable, or the irreversible acquisition of the capability to inflict catastrophic harm.
Suppose a Catholic moral theologian in the 1930s had known that Germany would invade most of Europe and murder millions, or that Japan would initiate a campaign of atrocities in China and eventually attack Pearl Harbor. Would Aquinas’ criteria have permitted military intervention before those later aggressions occurred? That question sits at the heart of the modern debate. It is not fundamentally about preventive war as a new doctrine. It is about whether just cause should be understood as requiring a completed injury, an imminent injury, or an injury whose occurrence is morally certain.
From the standpoint of Catholic moral theology, what strikes me is what the USCCB did not do. The Conference did not issue a point-by-point application of Catechism §2309:
Was there “lasting, grave and certain damage”?
Had “all other means” been exhausted?
Was there a “serious prospect of success”?
Would the use of arms produce greater evils?
Instead, the bishops consistently emphasized diplomacy, de-escalation, prayer, protection of civilians, regional stability, and the moral presumption against widening the conflict. It has been their consistent approach to the 1991 Gulf War, the 2003 Iraq War, and earlier tensions with Iran, and now the 2026 conflagration. Those are good and true aims but there has to be a presumption of opponents not seeking a zero-sum solution. It seems difficult to think of those aims having the conditions of possibility in the USSR-Ukraine war.
So…what do I think about the current war in the Persian Gulf region. If the question is a “just war” question it’s complicated. The U.S. administration seems to be making a preemptive war argument which is a bit of a stretch even in a generous estimate. When asked in Congressional hearings no member of the administration would answer the question of whether there was a clear and imminent threat to the U.S. Is there a preventative war argument to be made – striking because an adversary may become dangerous in the future?
Iran is the largest supporter and financier of state terrorism as well as an advocate for the destruction of Israel and the United States. Do they have the means to match action with rhetoric? Are they an honest dialogue partner? And in an age when technology and cyber are collapsing the space and time between peace and war, is traditional Catholic just war theory suited to this era. That I will leave to better minds than mine.
What concerns me more is that the reports of the last five months from the Middle East are not good. By any measure, declared or not, we are at war with the nation of Iran. The last formal declaration of war, a power vested in the U.S. Congress, was made on December 8, 1941. In the aftermath of the attack on military installations on the island of Oahu/Pearl Harbor by the Empire of Japan, war was declared with a clear goal in mind: the military defeat and unconditional surrender of Japan. Since then our military has fought in military actions – without formal declarations of war – in Korea, Vietnam, Bosnia/Serbia Kuwait, Gulf War (Desert Shield/Storm), the Balkans, Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria/ISIS, and a range of actions under the umbrella of the global war on terrorism. And now, Iran.
Underneath all of this is the 1973 War Powers Resolution, commonly called the War Powers Act. The Resolution was enacted in 1973 over President Nixon’s veto in response to Vietnam and concerns that presidents had committed U.S. forces to prolonged conflicts without congressional approval. Congress sought to ensure that the President could respond immediately to emergencies, but Congress retained ultimate authority over sustained military operations. The Resolution does not grant the President new authority to wage war. Rather, it attempts to limit and regulate the President’s existing constitutional authority as Commander in Chief while preserving Congress’s constitutional power to declare war. The President may introduce U.S. forces into hostilities only in three circumstances: a declaration of war by Congress; specific statutory authorization by Congress; or a national emergency created by an attack upon the United States, its territories or possessions, or its armed forces. The 9-11 attacks met that political criteria. Does the current conflict?
Ironically, one of the principal criticisms of the Resolution is that, although intended to restrain presidential power, many presidents have interpreted it as implicitly recognizing that they may initiate military operations for up to 60 days without congressional authorization and then having another 30 days to report to Congress. The intent of this additional 30 days was for orderly withdrawal of forces from combat. The current Secretary of Defense reported to Congress as required and asserted that the report “reset the clock” for an additional 60 days of conflict. We are now approaching 6 months of armed conflict with Iran. There seem to be no guardrails.
The War Powers Resolution states that Congress could require the President to withdraw troops by passing a concurrent resolution. A concurrent resolution passes both houses, does not go to the President, and therefore cannot be vetoed. However, after the Supreme Court’s decision in INS v. Chadha invalidated single-chamber legislative vetoes, and the broader joint-resolution mechanism became constitutionally doubtful. If Congress wishes today to compel troop withdrawal, it generally must pass a bill through both houses; present it to the President; and likely overcome a veto with a two-thirds majority if necessary. Ironically, this makes it harder for Congress to force withdrawal than Congress envisioned in 1973.
Justice Byron White dissented vigorously to INS v. Chadha, arguing that legislative vetoes were a practical necessity. White warned that eliminating them would shift enormous power to the Executive Branch. Time has proven his prediction largely proven correct.
Aquinas insists that legitimate authority is one of the three essential conditions for a just war. But Aquinas does not specify how a constitutional system should allocate that authority. The American Constitution divides authority between Congress (declaring war, funding armies) and the President (Commander in Chief). The War Powers Resolution was Congress’s attempt to maintain that constitutional balance.
Recent Supreme Court decisions seem to give increasing leeway to Executive Power and, for me, the question of constitutional balance is at the heart of the moral question. Regarding military action, we as a nation, seem to have reached a point where we are now reliant on the moral compass of a single person, the President of the United States, upon whom there are virtually no constraints.
So…what do I think about the current war in the Persian Gulf region? We have no reliable moral compass that can operate effectively in this constitutional arrangement. As a Church we have a moral voice and a duty to raise it, but I wonder if we have a Just War theory that is suited to the age.
Neil Armstrong became the first person to step foot on the moon…It used to be a given that people remember the day that man first walked on the moon on July 20, 1969, watching black-and-white images on television. But now most Americans don’t know where they were because the 61% of Americans hadn’t been born yet.
There are times when I think groups within the Church offer us a false choice: opposition between liturgy and justice, or between ritual and discipleship. The Church has always taught that both are essential. Today’s readings for Mass pair Micah and Matthew which together have some food for thought about all this so that as the faithful we never mistake external expressions of faith for the whole of faith.
Micah imagines someone sincerely asking: “With what shall I come before the LORD?” (Mi 6:6) The answers become progressively more extravagant. Should I bring burnt offerings? year-old calves? thousands of rams? torrents of oil? Or even my firstborn? Micah is not dismissing sacrifice. Afterall, God himself commanded sacrifice through Moses. Rather, Micah asks: Can external acts of religion substitute for an interior life that reflects God’s own heart? His answer is unforgettable: “You have been told, O man, what is good, and what the LORD requires of you: Only to do the right and to love goodness, and to walk humbly with your God.” (Mi 6:8)
Notice that Micah does not replace worship; he reorders it. The sacrificial system only has meaning when it flows from justice, mercy, and humility.
Jesus faces a similar problem. The scribes and Pharisees ask: “Teacher, we wish to see a sign from you.” (Mt 12:38) At first, this seems reasonable. But Matthew has already recorded numerous miracles: lepers that were healed, storms calmed, sight restored and demons cast out. The issue is not lack of evidence. It is a lack of receptivity. They want another sign because they have not allowed the earlier signs to change them. So Jesus points not to another miracle but to the repentance of Nineveh and the wisdom sought by the Queen of the South. Both responded to far less than what now stands before Israel.
Again, the issue is not external. It is the disposition of the heart.
These readings speak with surprising clarity to the Church where there is a renewed appreciation for reverent liturgy, Gregorian chant, Eucharistic devotion, sacred silence, traditional vestments, kneeling, Latin, beautiful churches, and careful observance of rubrics. Much of this renewal is genuinely good. The Church has always taught that beauty leads us toward God. The danger is not these practices themselves. The danger is thinking that they are sufficient.
Micah would ask: does your reverence at Mass make you more just? Does it make you kinder? More patient? More generous? More truthful? More humble? Jesus might ask if the beautiful liturgies and devotions have led you to repentance? Have they made you more like Christ?
It is a challenge that cuts both ways as the readings speak the faithful no matter where they exist on the spectrum. These same questions can be those who emphasize: social justice, outreach, and inclusion while being less attentive to the beauty of more traditional practices. Are these members rooted and grounded in liturgy, prayer, the Sacraments, adoration, or these more?
I think the readings caution us against confusing signs of holiness with Holiness itself. Someone may kneel beautifully, know every rubric, sing every chant, receive Communion on the tongue, pray in Latin, and still be impatient, unkind, self-righteous, unforgiving, or indifferent to the poor. Conversely, someone whose external devotional life is simpler may quietly embody Micah’s words every day. That is not an argument against reverence. It is an argument for ensuring reverence reaches the heart.
James 2:18, “I will demonstrate my faith to you from my works,” is often cited as a grounding for social justice action and activity. Repurposing James’ comments: “You do well, but even non-believers do these things.” Are they signs of holiness that point to an interior Holiness? Can one authentically emphasize social justice, outreach, and inclusion while neglecting prayer, the sacraments, adoration, or reverent worship?
The Catechism speaks to all this when it says that the liturgy is the “summit toward which the activity of the Church is directed” and the “font from which all her power flows” (CCC 1074). Notice the image. A fountain exists to send water outward. The Eucharist is meant to become Christian life. The Mass should form us into people who “do right, love goodness, and walk humbly with God.”
Micah is not replacing worship with ethics. Nor is Jesus replacing signs with moral effort. Rather, both insist that worship and life belong together. The Mass without charity becomes a hollow ritual. Charity without worship loses its deepest source.
Micah and Jesus are calling the fullness of religion to fulfill its purpose. Beautiful liturgy is a gift. Reverence is a gift. Tradition is a gift. But the measure of every Mass is not only how beautifully it is celebrated. The deeper question is: What kind of people does it send back into the world? If the Eucharist truly forms us, then we should become more just, more merciful, more humble, more forgiving, and more like Christ. For in the end, God is looking not only at how we worship, but at what our worship is making of us.
Image credit: created with Dalle-3 | downloaded Jul-18-2026 | prompt: “Based on Micah 6:8, please prepare a 1200 by 675 px image of walking in the world with Micah”
Today’s readings for Mass again pair Hosea and Matthew. Both are rich with themes and topics, but one that came to mind was the way in which God views the world. When we view the world and all it contains we easily see what is on the surface and perhaps, from time to time, look more deeply into what we see. God sees all the way to the heart of it.
The prophet Hosea is speaking to the northern kingdom of Israel during a time when, outwardly, things looked quite successful. The nation enjoyed prosperity. It had kings, armies, places of worship, and a thriving economy. If you judged only by appearances, you might conclude that everything was going well. But God saw something very different.
The people saw prosperity; God saw spiritual poverty. The people saw impressive altars; God saw hearts that had wandered from him. The people thought they were secure; God saw a nation drifting farther and farther from the covenant. The people were sowing the seeds of their own destruction.
A farmer who scatters seed into a field may not notice anything happening for a while. The field looks the same the next day and even the next week. But eventually the harvest comes. God sees that Israel has been planting seeds of idolatry, injustice, self-reliance, and empty religion. Through Hosea, the Lord says: “They sow the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind.” (Hos 8:7) The harvest they have sown has not yet arrived, but it surely will. God sees what we cannot.
In the Gospel, Matthew tells us that Jesus healed a man who had been unable to speak because he was possessed by a demon. The crowds are amazed even as the Pharisees dismiss the miracle. But Matthew invites us to notice something even more important than the miracle itself. “At the sight of the crowds, his heart was moved with pity for them because they were troubled and abandoned, like sheep without a shepherd.” (Mt 9:36) Again, Jesus sees what others do not.
The crowds simply see people. Jesus sees hearts. He sees burdens that no one else notices. He sees grief hidden behind smiles. He sees fears that are never spoken aloud. He sees loneliness. He sees confusion. He sees people searching for meaning. And what is remarkable is not only what he sees, but how he responds: his heart is moved with compassion. Not irritation. Not condemnation. Compassion.
We spend much of our lives making judgments and assessments based on appearances. We don’t mean to but we do. We assume someone is happy because they are successful. We assume someone is at peace because they smile. We assume someone has no struggles because they appear confident. But we rarely know the whole story.
Only God sees the heart. That realization should make us both humble and compassionate. Humble, because we recognize how limited our own vision is. Compassionate, because we begin to treat people with the same patience that Christ shows us.
There is another comforting truth hidden in these readings. Sometimes we ourselves cannot even see our own hearts clearly. We may not recognize the habits that are slowly pulling us away from God. Or we may fail to see the quiet growth of grace within us. We may think our prayers accomplish nothing. Our small acts of kindness make no difference. Our daily faithfulness goes unnoticed. But God sees all of it.
He sees the seed before it becomes the harvest. He sees the struggle before it becomes holiness. He sees the quiet fidelity that no one else notices. That is why Jesus can say that the harvest is abundant. He already sees what is growing.
In today’s intercessions perhaps we should each ask for one simple grace: “Lord, help me to see as you see.” Help me to look beyond appearances. Help me to recognize the burdens others carry. Help me to notice the quiet work of your grace. And when I cannot clearly see my own path, help me to trust that you do.
In today’s gospel, the people saw a mute man. The Pharisees saw another reason to criticize Jesus. But Jesus saw a human being who was suffering. That is still how Christ looks upon us. He sees beyond our failures, our fears, our confusion, and even our sins. He sees hearts that need a shepherd. And because he sees so deeply, he also loves so completely.
Image credit: Jesus Heals a Mute Possessed Man | James Tissot, c. 1890 | Brooklyn Museum | PD-US
Today’s readings for Mass pair Hosea and Matthew. At first glance, they seem unrelated. The Book of Hosea speaks of God courting Israel like a faithful bridegroom. The Gospel of Matthew recounts two healing miracles: the raising of a synagogue official’s daughter and the healing of the woman with the hemorrhage. But when read together they reveal something wonderful about God – He never stops pursuing the human heart.
The prophet Hosea lived during one of the darkest periods in Israel’s history. The people had turned away from God. They had become unfaithful to the covenant. If anyone had reason to give up on a relationship, it was God. Yet listen to what he says: “I will allure her; I will lead her into the desert and speak to her heart.” (Hos 2:16) God does not say, “I’ll wait until she deserves my love.” Or, “When she finally gets her life together, I’ll take her back.”
Instead, God takes the initiative. He pursues. He invites. He speaks to the heart. God makes one of the most beautiful promises in all of Scripture: “I will espouse you to me forever: I will espouse you in right and in justice, in love and in mercy.” (v.21)
That same divine love appears in the Gospel; not in words this time, but in the actions of Jesus.A synagogue official comes to Jesus carrying every parent’s worst nightmare. His daughter has died. At the same time, a woman who has suffered for twelve years quietly reaches out to touch Jesus’ cloak. According to the Law, her condition made her ritually unclean. For years she had likely lived not only with physical suffering but also with isolation.
Two very different people. One is respected. The other lives on the margins. One approaches Jesus openly. The other comes quietly from behind. Yet Jesus welcomes both. He allows the woman to touch him, and then he says: “Courage, daughter! Your faith has saved you.” (Mt 9:22) Think about the word “Daughter.”
Jesus does not define her by her illness. He does not call her “the sick woman.” He calls her by a relationship: daughter. Then Jesus goes to the house of the official, takes the little girl by the hand, and gives her back to life. What do these two miracles have in common? They reveal the heart of God.
Jesus is always moving toward those who are suffering, those who are grieving, those who feel forgotten, those who have reached the end of their own strength. That is exactly what Hosea proclaimed centuries earlier. That remains true today. God never stops pursuing the human heart; He always makes the first move.
We might think: “I’ll get back to consistent prayer when my life is less busy.” or “I’ll go to confession once I’ve worked things out.” or “I need to be a better person if I want God in my life.” Today’s readings tell a different story. God has already made the first move.
Long before we began searching for him, he was searching for us. Long before we reached out to touch his cloak, he had already stretched out his hand toward us. The spiritual life is not primarily about our search for God. It begins with God’s search for us. Every desire to pray, every stirring of conscience, every longing for peace, every moment we feel drawn back to the Lord is already evidence that he is pursuing our hearts.
Perhaps the best response we can make today is simply to stop running and allow God to speak to our hearts. To trust, like the woman in the Gospel, that even the smallest act of faith is enough for Christ to begin his healing work.
God does not keep his distance. He is the Bridegroom who comes looking for his beloved. He is the Savior who walks toward the sick and the grieving. He is the Lord who never grows tired of seeking those he loves.
So stop running and listen to the God who is already speaking to your heart.
Image credit: The Woman with an Issue of Blood | James Tissot, c.1890 | Brooklyn Museum of Art | PD-US
Today is an ordinary Saturday in the liturgical cycle, but here in the United States it is also the 4th of July more properly known as Independence Day – a remembrance of the point in time when the colonies declared their independence from England. All this led to what is known in the U.S. as the Revolutionary War – or at the time in England as “the rebellion.”
We’ll eventually get to the readings, but this was an interesting week for the Church. Depending on one’s perspective, this week marked a war of independence or rebellion within the Catholic Church. On Wednesday July 1 the leadership and adherents of the Pius X Society (SPXX) were declared as excommunicated and formally in schism. Technically their actions were latae sententiae. That means an automatic excommunication occurred the very moment a person commits a specific, grave offense against canon law, without the need for a church court or bishop to issue a formal judgment. Some would argue that has been true since 1988 when SPXX consecrated bishops without the required papal mandate as did again on July 1st. Pope Leo simply and formally declared that they were schismatic and had separated themselves from the Catholic Church.
A summary of the underlying reasons might be simplified as falling into three areas all stemming from the Second Vatican Council. One might read in other places that the SPXX does not hold that council to be ecumenical or validly called, but such is not the case. During the council, there were approximately 250 bishops who shared Archbishop Marcel Lefebvre’s concerns and voted together as a block. This is as opposed to the approximately 2,200 voting bishops who did not share his concerns. For example, on the topic of Religious Liberty 97% of the bishops voted in favor. In the end, almost all of the “traditionalist” block ultimately chose canonical obedience once the council ended. Because Pope Paul VI promulgated the Council approved documents, the vast majority of the traditionalist block accepted the results under papal authority. After the Council only Bishop Antônio de Castro Mayer, of the Diocese of Campos, Brazil, publicly stood with Lefebvre and was later served as the co-consecrator alongside Lefebvre during the unauthorized ordination of the four SSPX bishops in 1988.
Today and back then, the SPXX agree that the Council was validally called, but they hold that certain documents of the Council contain doctrinal errors and object to specific teaching:
Religious Liberty: Vatican II teaching that individuals possess a right to religious freedom. SPXX argues that contradicts historical church doctrine that “error has no rights” and that states should recognize the Catholic Church as the only true religion.
Ecumenism and Interreligious Dialogue: Church’s efforts to build bridges with other Christian denominations and non-Christian religions (such as Judaism). SPXX holds that this implies all religions are equally valid paths to salvation, which dilutes Catholic identity.
Collegiality: SPXX critiques the shift toward shared governance between the Pope and the bishops’ conferences, which they argue weakens the traditional, centralized authority of the papacy.
The SSPX only celebrates the pre-Vatican II Tridentine Latin Mass – but that is not a point of contention. They do not celebrate in local languages because they consider the Novo Ordo mass as flawed and weakened.
The readings are taken from the Prophet Amos and the Gospel of Matthew and they seem particularly appropriate for today. When Amos says, “On that day I will raise up the fallen hut of David…” (Am 9:11) he is not promising a return to the golden days of David and Solomon. History cannot simply be rewound. Instead, God promises to fulfill his covenant in a way Israel could never have imagined. Likewise, Jesus says: “New wine is poured into fresh wineskins.” (Mt 9:17) Jesus does not reject Israel. Nor does Amos promise to restore the past. Both point toward renewal, not nostalgia.
As people we often long for “the way things used to be.” Older folks might long for the days they lived and remembered. Younger folks might long for the days about which they have only heard stories. Either way, God’s promise is rarely: “I’ll take you backward.” His promise is: “I’ll take you forward.”
The temptation for Israel was to dream of another David. The temptation for us is to dream of another “good old days.” But God consistently surprises his people. The Exodus was greater than anyone expected. The return from the Babylonian exile was different than anyone imagined. The Messiah came not as a conquering king but as a suffering servant. The Kingdom arrived not through military victory but through the Cross and Resurrection. God’s future always exceeds our imagination.
Sometimes we ask God to restore what we have lost. We pray for our health to return, for relationships to be repaired, for our parish to become what it once was, for our families to recover happier days. Those are good prayers. But today’s readings gently remind us that God rarely works by simply turning back the clock. Amos speaks of rebuilding, but Jesus speaks of new wine. God is not simply interested in restoring yesterday. He is preparing tomorrow. The question is not whether God is doing something new. The question is whether we are willing to become new wineskins, ready to receive the surprising future he has prepared.
One of the admonitions of St. Francis to his followers concerned the conviction of one person. Francis taught that if one friar was convinced of the movement of the Holy Spirit within him to take action, that was not a signal or permission for him to take that action. The friar was to take the idea, plan, etc. to the fraternity of brothers through whom the Holy Spirit was also active. The friar was to submit himself to the wisdom of the fraternity which was to submit itself to the movement of the Holy Spirit.
We are called to believe that Christians of good faith and intention will be led forward by the Spirit both in our individual and communal life…and let God surprise us.
Today is the Feast of St. Thomas the Apostles. The readings include the well known account from John 20:24-29 when Thomas, in response to the testimony of the other apostles, says: “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger into the nailmarks and put my hand into his side, I will not believe.” And from that episode these days he is “Doubting Thomas.” The story of Thomas’ initial refusal to believe is, of course, as old as the Gospel of John itself from the late first century. But the nickname “Doubting Thomas” and the idiomatic expression developed much later.
The Church Fathers were much more interested in what Thomas became than in his moment of hesitation. For example, John Chrysostom emphasizes Thomas’s confession, “My Lord and my God.” Augustine says that Thomas “saw one thing and believed another” i.e, he saw Christ’s humanity but confessed his divinity. Gregory the Great wrote: “The disbelief of Thomas has done more for our faith than the faith of the believing disciples” because Thomas’s careful examination became stronger evidence for later believers. None of them reduce Thomas to a permanent label. For them, the climax of the story is not doubt. It is faith.
In the Middle Ages the episode became enormously popular in art, drama, and preaching. It was usually called “The Incredulity of Thomas” (Incredulitas Thomae). This remained the standard title for centuries. The expression “a doubting Thomas” as a common English idiom appeared in the late nineteenth century, with the earliest documented English usage around 1883.
Ironically, the nickname misses John’s point; he is not primarily interested in Thomas’s doubt. The story ends with one of the highest Christological confessions in the New Testament: “My Lord and my God!” (Jn 20:28). Thomas’s story occupies only six verses (20:24–29), while Christian tradition remembers him for a single week of unbelief rather than, according to ancient tradition, decades of faithful missionary work culminating in martyrdom in India.
So, is there a more appropriate moniker? When the apostles tell Thomas that they have seen the Lord (v.25) the Greek is: Heōrakamen ton Kyrion. The verb heōrakamen is in the perfect tense and so does not simply mean “we saw him.” The perfect tense is an ongoing, continuing experience which is best understood as “We have seen him, and that experience continues to shape us.” The apostles are giving testimony.
Thomas’ reply is equally important: “Unless I see… unless I put my finger… unless I put my hand… I will not believe.” The last phrase is literally, “I certainly will not believe.” He does not say: “Jesus cannot have risen.” Nor does he argue that resurrection is impossible. Rather, he is saying: “I will not believe your testimony unless I myself experience what you experienced.”
This becomes even more interesting in the broader context of John’s Gospel. One of John’s major themes is witness (martyria). John the Baptist bears witness. The Scriptures bear witness. The works of Jesus bear witness. The Father bears witness. The Beloved Disciple bears witness. Eventually, the apostles bear witness. Thomas represents the first Christian who is asked to believe through the testimony of others. That sounds remarkably familiar. Because that is precisely the position every Christian after the apostolic generation occupies.
Is Thomas doubting the Resurrection? In one sense, yes. He has not yet come to believe Jesus has risen. But in another sense, the immediate object of his doubt is: Can I trust the testimony of these men? Remember the circumstances. Only a few days earlier these same Apostles had all fled, they were hiding behind locked doors, they were frightened, confused, and emotionally devastated. Now they suddenly claim: “We have seen the Lord.”
Thomas has to wonder if this is wishful thinking, group delusion or something else. What Thomas essentially says is “That is an extraordinary claim. I need more than your word.”
In the gospel account from this point the structure of the story provides that Jesus appears and invites Thomas to touch his wounds, but without touching Jesus, Thomas responds: “My Lord and my God!”
Then Jesus says “Blessed are those who have touched.” … wait, no He does not say that. He says: “Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed.” Jesus is contrasting those who have seen with those who believe without seeing. That final beatitude is addressed directly to later Christians who must rely upon apostolic testimony.
I think St. John intended a gentle irony. At the beginning of the story, Thomas refuses to trust the testimony of the apostles. By the end of the Gospel, the Church will ask every generation to trust the testimony of Thomas himself. Thomas becomes the witness he initially hesitated to trust.
Doubting Thomas? He was struggling to trust the witness of the very people who claimed to have encountered the risen Lord. In that sense, Thomas is the first person asked to believe because of apostolic testimony. And that is exactly where we stand. None of us has physically seen the risen Christ. We believe because the apostles saw him, were transformed by him, and handed on their witness through the Church.
That leads naturally into the first reading from Letter to the Ephesians: “You are… built upon the foundation of the Apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the capstone.” (Eph 2:20)
The pairing of the readings is elegant. Thomas is not only the apostle who comes to faith; he is one of the apostles upon whose witness the Church is built. The Gospel traces his journey from demanding proof to becoming a trustworthy witness himself, while Ephesians reminds us that our own faith rests upon that apostolic foundation. That is a fitting message for the Feast of St. Thomas: we honor not merely a man who overcame doubt, but an apostle whose testimony continues to support the faith of the Church.
Image credit: The Incredulity of Saint Thomas by Caravaggio (Michelangelo Merisi), c. 1602 | Public Domain
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