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

You know how easy it is to notice another person’s mistake, but very hard to see your own? Someone lies and you call him a liar, but you tell “half-truths” and think you’re being smart. You see a drunkard and shake your head, but you never see your gluttony at table as the same lack of control. A woman in the parish gossips about others, then goes to confession, complaining that everyone talks too much. Sometimes we condemn in others what secretly lives in us. We judge with our mouths what our hearts still enjoy. That is why many people look holy on the outside but are still slaves inside to the same faults they criticize. It’s like perfume on a dirty shirt: it hides the smell for a while, but the stain remains. Jesus once said, “Why do you look at the speck in your brother’s eye and ignore the log in yours?” (Mt 7:3). We are quick to condemn, slow to confess. Saint Teresa of Ávila understood this deeply. She once said that true prayer always begins with self-knowledge. She realized early in her life that she had been more interested in admiration than in holiness. Her reform began the moment she stopped defending herself and allowed God to expose her heart. Many of us need that same grace, to stop analyzing others and let God’s light shine inside us first.

In the first reading (Romans 2:1–11), Saint Paul is writing to the early Christian community in Rome around 57 A.D., during a time when tension was high between Jewish converts and Gentile converts. The Jews, proud of the Law of Moses, often looked down on Gentiles who had come from pagan backgrounds. Paul, writing from Corinth, reminds them that everyone stands equal before God because everyone sins. His words cut deep: “You, who judge others, are doing the same things.” That single sentence unmasks our hypocrisy. The Greek word for “judge” used here is κρίνω (krínō), which means not just to form an opinion, but to pronounce a sentence, as if one were sitting on God’s throne. Paul is not condemning discernment, but the arrogant spirit that looks at another person’s fall and says, “I would never do that.” He then goes further to reveal that God’s kindness and patience are not signs of weakness, but invitations to repentance. Yet, when people mistake His patience for approval, they pile up condemnation for themselves. It’s the story of every person who condemns another while still cuddling sin in secret. This is why Paul says, “God will repay each one according to his deeds.” It’s not about what we say about others; it’s about what God sees in us.

The Responsorial Psalm (Psalm 62) brings the voice of humility in the middle of this correction. The psalmist says, “In God alone is my soul at rest, for my salvation comes from him.” The Hebrew word for “rest” is דּוּמִיָּה (dumiyyah), meaning silence, stillness, or inner peace. In other words, true peace comes when we stop making noise about others and stand quietly before God in truth. This was Saint Teresa’s secret in prayer. She said the soul must first grow quiet like a child before the Father. The psalmist reminds us that God repays everyone according to their works, echoing Paul’s warning. When you truly trust in God, you stop competing in self-righteousness and start cooperating with grace. The Psalm is a reminder that we can’t fake rest in God while our hearts are full of judgement. When we learn to be still, God shows us what needs cleansing in us before we point to others. It’s in that silence that conversion begins.

Then, the Gospel (Luke 11:42-46) brings the warning to a sharp end. Jesus is invited to dine with the Pharisees and teachers of the Law. These were the religious elites of His day, men who looked holy but whose hearts were far from the God they claimed to serve. Luke, writing around A.D. 80–90 for a largely Greek-speaking community, wanted his readers to understand that faith is not external performance but internal transformation. Jesus doesn’t flatter them; He rebukes them: “Woe to you Pharisees! You tithe mint and rue and herbs of all kinds but neglect justice and the love of God.” The Greek word for “woe” here is οὐαί (ouaí), an expression of both sorrow and shock. It’s not a curse; it’s a cry of grief from God’s heart. He laments that the people who were meant to lead others to holiness had become obstacles. The same word could be used today for Christians who preach purity but harbour gossip, who post Bible verses online but mistreat their spouses at home. Jesus compares them to “unmarked graves,” meaning people who look alive but spread death unknowingly. It’s a serious image: just as touching a grave made a person ritually unclean in Jewish culture, associating with hypocrisy contaminates the heart of faith.

Saint Teresa of Ávila, whose feast we celebrate today, understood this reality very well. In her time, she saw nuns who prayed beautifully but fought over material comforts, religious people who recited prayers but refused to forgive. Teresa didn’t condemn them; she reformed herself first. She allowed God to expose her pride and purify her motives. Only then could her reform of the Carmelite Order bear fruit. Like her, we must learn that reform begins in the mirror, not in the pulpit. The Gospel offends pride before it heals the soul. It asks us to clean inside the cup before shining its surface. Before we speak against another’s fault, let’s ask: could that same fault be hiding in me under a different name? The same anger we condemn in others might appear in us as “holy passion.” The same greed we criticize in others might hide in our craving for praise. God sees through disguises. He wants honesty, not performance. Let us, then, be humble enough to let the Word judge us before we judge anyone else. For in the end, as Paul said, “God shows no partiality,” and as Teresa would remind her sisters, “True humility is walking in truth.”