VOICE OF THE LOGOS: REFLECTION/HOMILY FOR TUESDAY OF THE TWENTY-EIGHTH WEEK IN ORDINARY TIME, YEAR 1

Sometimes truth doesn’t comfort first, it cuts. Think about it… When a doctor has to treat an infected wound, he doesn’t start with perfume, he starts by cleaning and pressing where it hurts. The sting comes before the healing. When people tell you the truth about yourself, it hardly sounds sweet. You may even get angry before later admitting that the person was right. That’s how many of us treat God’s word, it pricks first before it purifies. Some stop going to church when the homily touches their lifestyle, forgetting that the Gospel is not designed to entertain but to transform. The same way salt stings a wound before preserving it, God’s truth often hurts before it helps. That is why so many prefer a soft message, one that massages their conscience rather than converts it. But if the Gospel doesn’t offend your comfort, it probably isn’t changing your heart.

In the first reading (Romans 1:16-25), St. Paul boldly declares, “I am not ashamed of the Gospel; it is the power of God for salvation.” He wrote this letter to the Christians in Rome around A.D. 57, a time when faith in Christ was mocked and dangerous. The Roman Empire was a melting pot of religions and philosophies; people worshipped gods of wealth, sex, and pleasure. Paul, writing from Corinth, wanted to strengthen this young Church that faced moral confusion and persecution. His message was clear: the Gospel is not a decoration for your religion, it is dynamite for your soul. The Greek word for “power” used here is “δύναμις” (dýnamis), which means explosive strength, the same root from which we get the word “dynamite.” In other words, the Gospel explodes falsehood before it rebuilds faith. Paul knew that the Gospel must first offend those who live comfortably in sin, because truth exposes the lies we’ve built our lives around. So when he says, “The wrath of God is revealed against all ungodliness,” he isn’t describing an angry deity but a reality where human choices produce their own corruption. People in Rome, though cultured and educated, had replaced God with self-made idols. Their offense wasn’t ignorance but pride, they knew the truth and traded it for pleasure. Isn’t that what happens today when people know what’s right but choose what feels good?

The Responsorial Psalm (Psalm 19) brings a calmer tone, showing the beauty of God’s revelation. It says, “The heavens proclaim the glory of God, and the firmament shows forth the work of his hands.” Before the written word, creation itself was the first Bible, silently preaching the Creator. The Hebrew word for “glory” is “כָּבוֹד” (kābōd), which means weight or heaviness, something that carries importance and substance. God’s glory, then, isn’t a decoration in the sky; it’s His heavy presence pressing upon creation, reminding us of His reality. The Psalmist says, “Day unto day pours out speech,” meaning that creation constantly witnesses to truth. Yet, as Paul says, humans “knew God but did not honour Him.” The same light that shines from the heavens shines into every conscience, but people close their eyes to it. So the Gospel offends not because it is cruel, but because it confronts the blindness we have chosen. God speaks through nature, through conscience, through Scripture, and through the Church, but we often prefer silence over light.

Then in the Gospel (Luke 11:37-41), Jesus accepts a dinner invitation from a Pharisee but intentionally skips the ritual washing before the meal. That small act caused a huge scandal. In Jewish culture, especially among the Pharisees, washing before meals was not about hygiene; it was a symbol of purity and holiness. Luke, writing around A.D. 80-90 for Greek-speaking Christians, wanted to show that Jesus was not against the Law but against the misuse of it. The Pharisees used ritual purity to judge others while hiding corruption inside. So Jesus looked him in the face and said, “You Pharisees clean the outside of the cup and dish, but inside you are full of greed and wickedness.” The Greek word Jesus used for “clean” is “καθαρίζω” (katharízō), meaning to purify, to make free from defilement. But He uses it ironically because they were obsessed with outward katharízō while their souls were filthy. Here again, the Gospel offends before it heals. Jesus could have politely ignored their hypocrisy, but He loved them enough to speak the truth. It was not to humiliate them but to save them. The same way the doctor must cut open a wound to drain infection, Christ had to expose their inner decay to offer healing. He ends with a simple teaching: “Give alms from what is within, and behold, everything will be clean for you.” He means, “Let your charity flow from a sincere heart, not from showmanship.” That is inner cleansing.

In our world today, many want a Gospel that soothes but not one that corrects. We like the Jesus who multiplies bread but not the one who multiplies truth. Like the Romans, we live in a culture that worships pleasure and rejects correction. Like the Pharisee, we may look religious but fail to allow the Word to scrub us from the inside. Sometimes people leave the Church not because of persecution but because truth pinched their comfort. Yet, the same Gospel that offends our pride heals our soul. It offends sin, not sinners. It wounds hypocrisy to restore sincerity. When Paul said he was not ashamed of the Gospel, he knew it could cost him friends, freedom, and even life, but he preferred truth over applause. So the next time God’s Word challenges you, don’t switch it off. Don’t avoid the preacher. Don’t hide behind “nobody is perfect.” Let the Word do its surgery. Remember, even salt hurts before it preserves. The Gospel cuts before it cures. The question is: will you let it offend you enough to heal you?