At two o’clock in the morning, an ancient city is asleep. No radar. No satellites. No emergency alerts buzzing on anyone’s phone. Outside the walls, darkness stretches for miles. But above the city gate, one man is awake. He is the watchman. Then he sees something. Movement in the darkness. Tiny lights approaching from far away. Dust rising behind the lights. An army is approaching. Now comes the terrifying moment. If he sounds the horn and he is wrong, he may look foolish. But if he stays quiet and he is right, people may die. So he lifts the trumpet… and blows with all his might. Doors fly open. Soldiers run toward the walls. The gates close. The city wakes up just in time.
That is the world behind today’s first reading from the Prophet Ezekiel: “You, son of man, I have appointed watchman for the house of Israel.” To be a watchman was both a privilege and a responsibility. The watchman occupied the highest point of the city. He could see what others could not yet see. But he was not placed above everyone else so he could admire the view. He was placed there so everyone else could live. And then God says something frightening. If Ezekiel sees danger and refuses to warn the people, God will hold Ezekiel accountable. We might ask: Is that fair? Look carefully at what God requires. God never tells Ezekiel, “You must make the people change.” He tells him, “You must warn them.” If Ezekiel speaks and they refuse to listen, Ezekiel has fulfilled his responsibility. God holds him accountable for his silence, not for somebody else’s stubbornness. That is divine justice. God does not make you responsible for controlling another person’s choices. He makes you responsible for doing the good that is yours to do.
And then Jesus takes Ezekiel down from the watchtower and places him right inside our homes, friendships, schools, businesses, workplaces and churches: “If your brother sins against you, go and tell him his fault between you and him alone.” Notice where Jesus says to go first: to the person. Not first to Facebook. Not to the family WhatsApp group. Not to six friends who already agree that the person is terrible. Go to the person. Gossip is easier than conversation. Public embarrassment is easier than private courage. Sometimes we call it “venting,” when in reality, we are recruiting a jury before the accused even knows there is a trial.
Jesus gives us another way. First, go privately. Protect the person’s dignity while confronting the wrong. If that fails, take one or two others, not reinforcements for your side, but mature people who can help truth and peace meet in the same room. If that fails, involve the Church. And if the person still refuses to listen, boundaries may become necessary. But notice the goal running through every step: “If he listens to you, you have won over your brother.” “If she listens to you, you have won over your sister.” Not: You have won the argument. Not: You have proved that you were right. Not: You have finally put that person in his/her place. You have won over your brother/sister. That changes everything.
And Saint Paul tells us why: “Owe nothing to anyone, except to love one another.” Love is the reason the watchman blows the trumpet. Love is the reason the Christian confronts privately. Love is the reason we keep the other person’s dignity intact even when addressing their wrongdoing. Because correction without love can become cruelty. But the opposite is also dangerous. If I see you walking toward a cliff and keep quiet because I don’t want to hurt your feelings, I have protected your feelings and endangered your life. That is not love. Sometimes love encourages. Sometimes love comforts. And sometimes love blows the trumpet.
That brings us to something we experience at every Mass, which is what I am doing now: the homily. After the Scriptures are proclaimed, the priest or deacon stands before the community to break open the Word of God. In a certain sense, he stands on Ezekiel’s watchtower. But not because the preacher is holier than everybody sitting in the pews. The preacher himself stands under the same Word he proclaims. The homily is not supposed to be the priest’s opportunity to attack people, settle scores, advertise his opinions, or tell everybody what is wrong with them. The preacher is a watchman entrusted with a trumpet that does not belong to him. The trumpet is the Word of God. His responsibility is to sound it faithfully, with courage, with humility, with compassion, and with love, even when the message may wake us from our sleep.
And that explains today’s responsorial psalm: “If today you hear his voice, harden not your hearts.” Because every act of Christian correction requires two miracles. Somebody must be humble enough to speak. And somebody must be humble enough to listen. Sometimes you are Ezekiel. God is asking you to say something difficult to someone you love. Sometimes you are the city asleep, and God is sending somebody to wake you up. So before leaving Mass today, perhaps we should ask two questions: Lord, is there someone I need to speak to? And perhaps the harder question: Lord, is there something someone has been trying to tell me that I refuse to hear?
My dearly beloved in Christ, the city in our opening story survived because somebody stayed awake. One watchman saw danger approaching and decided that protecting the people was more important than protecting his comfort. This week, God may place somebody on your heart. Go to them, not around them. Speak to them, not about them. Speak privately before publicly, if necessary. Speak to heal, not humiliate. And if this week you are the person who hears the trumpet, do not immediately attack the watchman. Listen. Discern. Pray.
Remember, sometimes the greatest act of love is not allowing someone you care about to sleep peacefully while danger is approaching. Sometimes salvation begins when somebody loves you enough to wake you up.Yes, the voice that disturbs your comfort may be the voice God is using to protect your future.
Homily for 23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A 2026
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