Homily – SIXTEENTH SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME: THE STORY GOD READS 07-19-26

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Welcome to From the Prison Chapel, a weekly feature from Dismas Ministry.

Each week, we are honored to share a homily by Rev. Fr. Jarek Sniosek of the Diocese of Venice Jail and Prison Ministry. Fr. Jarek has graciously given Dismas Ministry permission to share his homilies with our supporters, volunteers, prison ministers, and friends.

We present each homily in its original form, preserving the message as it was written. Following the homily, you’ll find a brief prayer.

 

📖 Wisdom 12:13, 16–19; Psalm 86; Romans 8:26–27; Matthew 13:24–43.

 

A man who had spent years in prison once rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and looked quietly at the tattoos covering his arms. Some reminded him of the gang he had once believed would never abandon him. Others marked decisions he would give anything to undo. Every image carried a memory. Every memory carried a regret.

Someone asked him gently, “Have you ever thought about having them removed?”

He smiled and answered, “I have. But even if every tattoo disappeared, I would still remember why I got them. My biggest problem isn’t what’s written on my skin. It’s making sure it isn’t still written on my heart.”

Then, after a long silence, he added something he had learned through years of struggle.

“But here’s the good news. God reads hearts much better than He reads tattoos.”

That may be one of the most beautiful ways to understand today’s Gospel. Jesus tells a story about wheat and weeds growing together in the same field. The servants want to pull up the weeds immediately. They want everything cleaned up as quickly as possible. But the owner says, “No. Wait.” Why? Because he knows something they do not. He knows that if they rush to judge the field, they may destroy the wheat that is still growing.

That is exactly how God looks at us.

People usually see the outside first. They see the arrest record, the newspaper headline, the prison sentence, the addiction, the divorce, the failure, the mistake that changed everything. Many people decide who we are by looking at one chapter of our lives.

God never does.

He looks beneath the surface. He sees the tears nobody else has seen. He hears the prayers whispered in the darkness. He notices every sincere effort to change, every apology, every temptation resisted, every act of kindness that no one applauds. While others may still see weeds, God already sees wheat beginning to grow.

And here is the part of the Gospel that can change not only your life but also this entire place. If God can already see the wheat growing in you, then He can also see the wheat growing in the man sleeping in the bunk next to you. That difficult person, the one who gets on your nerves, the one everyone has written off, the one you struggle to forgive—Christ may already be doing His quiet work in his heart as well. Before you decide who someone is, remember how patiently God has decided who you can become.

The Book of Wisdom tells us something remarkable today. Because God is all-powerful, He is also patient. Human beings often think power means acting quickly and punishing immediately. God shows His strength differently. His strength is revealed through mercy. He gives people time to repent, time to heal, time to become the person He created them to be. That means none of us should ever decide that someone—including ourselves—is beyond hope.
Now, I know what some of you may be thinking. “Father, you don’t know what I’ve done.”
You’re right. I don’t.

But God does.

And He still brought you here today.

That tells me something.

Your worst decision did not have the final word. If it had, you wouldn’t be sitting here listening to the Gospel. The fact that you are here means God is still writing your story.
Sometimes we spend so much time wishing we could erase the past that we forget something even more important. God is not asking us to erase yesterday. He is asking us to surrender today. We cannot rewrite yesterday’s pages, but with His grace we can decide what gets written on the next one.

St. Paul gives us another comforting promise. He says that even when we do not know how to pray, the Holy Spirit prays within us. Isn’t that encouraging? There are days when the only prayer we can manage is, “Lord… help me.” There are days when words simply won’t come because shame, fear, loneliness, or regret have stolen them. Yet even then, God understands the language of a broken heart. Before we can even finish our prayer, the Holy Spirit is already carrying it to the Father.

And perhaps that’s why I love that man’s words so much.

“My biggest problem isn’t what’s written on my skin. It’s making sure it isn’t still written on my heart.”

When he first got those tattoos, they told the story of who he thought he was. Years later, they became a reminder not of his past, but of God’s mercy. He discovered that while tattoos may remain on the skin, they do not have to remain on the heart.

The same is true for every one of us.

Maybe everyone outside still remembers your past. Maybe some people will always define you by the worst thing you have ever done. That is their choice.

But it does not have to become yours.

And it does not have to become the way you see the men around you either. Every person in this chapel is more than the worst decision he has ever made. Every man here is still a field where God is patiently at work. Some wheat is easier to see than others, but the Lord never stops cultivating hearts that are willing to let Him in.

Because today Jesus asks a different question. He does not ask, “What did your life look like years ago?” He asks, “What is growing in your heart today?”

If the answer is faith, even a little… if the answer is hope, even when it feels fragile… if the answer is repentance, however imperfect… then the wheat is already growing.

And where Christ sees wheat, He never gives up on the harvest.

Prayer
Lord Jesus, there are moments when I look at my past and wonder whether I can ever become the person You created me to be. Sometimes I remember my failures more easily than I remember Your mercy. Sometimes I believe the labels others have placed on me more than the name You call me by: beloved.

Teach me to see others with the same patient eyes with which You see me. When I am tempted to judge, remind me how gently You have judged my own life. Help me never to forget that every person I meet is someone You are still loving, still healing, and still calling by name.

Today I place my heart into Your hands. Pull out whatever keeps me far from You—not by force, but by the gentle power of Your love. Give me the courage to stop living as the person I used to be and the hope to become the person You already see.

When I grow impatient with myself, remind me that You are patient. When I feel ashamed, remind me that Your mercy is greater than my past. When I cannot find the words to pray, let Your Holy Spirit pray within me.

Help me believe that my story is not finished, that my life is more than my worst mistake, and that with You, even the field where weeds once seemed to flourish can become a harvest of grace. May I leave this chapel today determined not only to let You grow wheat in my own heart, but also to believe that You are quietly growing it in the hearts of my brothers as well.

Amen.

 

 

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Homily – FIFTEENTH SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME: THE CONCRETE AND THE WILDFLOWER

,

Welcome to From the Prison Chapel, a weekly feature from Dismas Ministry.

Each week, we are honored to share a homily by Rev. Fr. Jarek Sniosek of the Diocese of Venice Jail and Prison Ministry. Fr. Jarek has graciously given Dismas Ministry permission to share his homilies with our supporters, volunteers, prison ministers, and friends.

We present each homily in its original form, preserving the message as it was written. Following the homily, you’ll find a brief prayer.

📖 Isaiah 55:10–11; Psalm 65; Romans 8:18–23; Matthew 13:1–23

A few years ago, a photograph spread across the internet that millions of people couldn’t stop looking at. It wasn’t a celebrity or a breathtaking sunset. It was a tiny yellow wildflower growing through a crack in the middle of a city sidewalk.

Think about that for a moment. All around it was hard concrete. Thousands of people walked over that sidewalk every day. Cars rumbled past. The summer sun beat down. By all appearances, that was the last place on earth where anything beautiful should have been able to take root.

Someone commented beneath the picture, “That flower obviously didn’t get the memo that it wasn’t supposed to grow there.”

I smiled when I read that. But then I thought, perhaps that little flower has something to teach every one of us.

Sometimes life feels like concrete. Some of you carry regrets that feel as heavy as stone. Some carry guilt, anger, disappointment, or grief. Some think about children who have grown up while they were away, parents they could not care for, friendships that ended, opportunities that slipped through their hands. There are days when you may wonder whether anything good can still come from your life.
Jesus understands that feeling better than we realize. In today’s Gospel, He tells the story of a farmer scattering seed. What always strikes me is how generous that farmer is. He throws seed everywhere: on the path, among the rocks, into the thorns, and on the good soil. He doesn’t stop and say, “This patch isn’t worth it.” He keeps sowing.

That is exactly how God loves.

Some people imagine God standing at a distance with His arms folded, saying, “You had your chance.” But Jesus paints a very different picture. God keeps sowing. He keeps speaking. He keeps hoping. He never stops believing that a human heart can change.

Isaiah tells us that God’s Word is like the rain. Rain doesn’t ask whether the ground deserves another chance. It simply falls, softening what has become hard and bringing life where everything seemed dry. God’s grace works the same way. He keeps pouring His mercy into places where others see only failure.

My friends, perhaps you cannot choose where you are today, but you can choose what kind of heart you will have today. Prison walls are made of concrete. Your heart never has to be.
Over the years, I have met people outside these walls who were physically free but imprisoned by bitterness, pride, addiction, resentment, or fear. And I have met men and women inside prison whose hearts had become gentler, wiser, and more peaceful than ever before. They discovered something the world often forgets: freedom is not only about where your body is. The deepest freedom is knowing that your heart belongs to God.

Saint Paul understood that. He had been imprisoned himself, beaten, rejected, and misunderstood. Yet today he tells us, “The sufferings of this present time are as nothing compared with the glory to be revealed.” He is not pretending suffering doesn’t hurt. He is reminding us that suffering does not have the final word. God does.

Some of the strongest trees grow because fierce winds forced their roots deeper. Some of the wisest people became wise only after making painful mistakes. Some of the most compassionate hearts belong to those who know what it feels like to need mercy.
One of the greatest lies we tell ourselves is, “If only I could go back.” If only I had made a different decision. If only I had chosen another path. But none of us can rewrite yesterday. The only page God places in our hands is today.

And today the Sower is still walking through the field.

Today the rain is still falling.

Today another seed is landing in your heart.

The real question is not, “What kind of soil have I been?” The question is, “What kind of soil do I want to become?” Every prayer softens the ground a little more. Every act of forgiveness removes another thorn. Every honest confession lifts another stone. Every decision to trust God breaks open another patch of hardened earth. That is how miracles usually happen, not all at once, but one faithful choice at a time.

So let us return to that little flower growing through the crack in the sidewalk. Nobody expected it to bloom there. People probably walked past without even noticing it. Yet it grew anyway.
Perhaps the world has already decided what it thinks about you. Some people may remember only the worst chapter of your life. Some may never expect anything beautiful from you again.
But God has never looked at a single human being and said, “This life cannot bloom.”

He still sees the person He created. He still sees His image within you. He still believes that grace is stronger than failure, mercy stronger than shame, and hope stronger than your past.
So do not let your heart become concrete. Let God’s Word fall like rain. And perhaps one day, someone will look at your life and see what they never expected to see: A flower growing through the concrete. And they will know that only God could have made something so beautiful grow in such an unlikely place.

PRAYER
Lord Jesus,
Sometimes my heart feels like that stretch of concrete, worn down by mistakes, disappointments, regrets, and choices I wish I could undo. There are days when I wonder whether anything good can still grow from the life I have lived. Yet today You remind me that You have never stopped scattering the seeds of Your love. You have never stopped believing in me, even when I struggled to believe in myself.

Thank You for refusing to define me by the worst thing I have ever done. You see not only who I have been, but who, by Your grace, I can still become. Where I see dead ends, You see new beginnings. Where I see cracks, You see places where light can enter. Where I see failure, You see fertile ground waiting for new life.

Soften whatever has become hard within me. Pull out the thorns of resentment, fear, self pity, and despair. Remove the stones that keep me from trusting You completely. Give me the courage to make one good choice today, then another tomorrow, believing that You are quietly transforming my heart one day at a time.

And when I am tempted to think that my story is already finished, remind me of that little flower growing through the concrete. Help me believe that Your grace is always stronger than my past, Your mercy always greater than my failures, and Your love always capable of bringing beauty where no one thought it could ever exist.

Amen.

 

 

 

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