Once upon a time, there was a terrible storm. One of the parishes in town decided to open the parish hall to stranded travelers. One man arrived soaked, shivering, and carrying a muddy suitcase. A parish volunteer gave him a towel, a hot meal, and a place beside the heater. An hour later, he was warm, dry, and feeling considerably better. Then another family came through the door, shivering and dripping rainwater onto the floor. Their little boy left muddy footprints. The man beside the heater shook his head and said, “Really! Someone should tell these people they cannot just come in here like this.” The elderly volunteer looked at him, then at the towel still around his shoulders and said, “Of course, but remember, that was you an hour ago.” You can imagine the silence that followed. Nothing about the room had changed. Only his position in it.
And that is where today’s first reading finds us: between remembering the mercy we received and deciding how much mercy someone else deserves. To appreciate God’s words in the First Reading from the Book of Exodus, we must remember the story behind those words. Israel’s ancestors had gone to Egypt because of famine. There was hunger in the land and there was no food. It was the search for food that took them to Egypt. In time, their descendants became enslaved people under a ruler who saw their growing numbers as a threat.
God heard their cries and brought them out of Egypt through Moses. Now, at Sinai, God is forming them into a covenant people. God gives them laws to teach them how to live as people who belong to the God who rescued them. They have escaped Pharaoh’s power. They must learn not to imitate Pharaoh’s ways. That is the context for today’s command: “You shall not molest or oppress an alien, for you were once aliens yourselves in the land of Egypt.” Put in language we all understand today, “You shall not molest or oppress an immigrant or a foreigner, for you were once immigrants and foreigners yourselves…” Notice the reason God gives. He appeals to their memory. You know what it feels like to live where someone else holds power. You know the anxiety of being unwanted. You know what happens when people stop seeing faces and start seeing a problem.
Remember, God is teaching them that freedom carries a responsibility: those who have been delivered from oppression must never become comfortable oppressing others. Before God gave them these commands, he had already acted to save them. Their obedience was meant to be a response to his goodness. They were to build a community where the helpless could find protection, because they themselves had discovered that their helplessness did not make them invisible to God. The passage also protects widows, orphans, and the poor. These are people especially vulnerable to exploitation. God identifies himself as the one who hears their cries.
Now let us bring the message quietly into our own lives. Who helped us when we were inexperienced? Who patiently explained what everybody else seemed to understand? Who gave us a chance before we had anything impressive to offer? A parent, a grandparent, someone in an old photograph who left familiar surroundings and depended on a stranger’s welcome. It is worth asking whether the courage we admire in our family stories is something we can still recognize in somebody else’s family.
Time can soften the memory of our own need while sharpening our judgment of another person’s need. We remember how hard we worked. But do we also remember who opened the door? This is an invitation to examine our hearts. Before speaking about someone, learn their name and the meaning of their name. Before repeating a frightening story, establish whether it is true. Before dismissing or making fun of an unfamiliar accent, remember how much courage it takes to speak a second language. It takes one who has not attempted to learn a new language to laugh at a foreign accent. Every person we meet bears a dignity we did not give and cannot remove.
In the Gospel passage, Jesus joins love of God to love of neighbor. A scholar asks which commandment is greatest; Jesus shows that devotion to God and responsibility toward other human beings belong together. The God we praise is the God who hears the stranger’s cry. We cannot ask him to close his ears when that cry becomes inconvenient.
At Mass, the Church helps us remember our own position. Before Communion, the priest and the people say, “Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof.” Nobody says, “Lord, I have been here long enough to deserve you.” We approach because Christ invites us in his mercy and love. His Body and Blood are gifts.
What a dangerous thing it would be to gratefully receive mercy at the altar and then complain when somebody else receives the same mercy. This week, remember one kindness that helped you become who you are today. Thank God for it. Then pass something of that kindness to someone who cannot repay you.
My dearly beloved in Christ, as the Solemnity of All Saints approaches, let us remember: the saints were people who allowed God’s love to change how they treated others. And that invitation belongs to us too. May comfort never erase our compassion. May the welcome we have received become the welcome someone else encounters through us. And when we finally stand before God, may the people we lived with be witnesses to our holiness, not witnesses against it. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.
Homily for 30th Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A 2026
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