Dear brothers and sisters in Christ,
As we enter the Fourth Week in Ordinary Time, this Sunday’s Scripture readings invite us to reflect on a truth that is both simple and demanding: true happiness is not found in control, stability, or security, but in trusting God when those things are shaken.
I admit that there are moments when I catch myself measuring life the way the world does—by productivity, success, stability, and predictability. There are days when I feel more at ease when everything is organized, planned, and under control. And yet, when I look back honestly, some of the moments when God felt closest to me were not the moments of control, but the moments when I knew I needed Him.
That tension lies at the very heart of the Beatitudes, which form part of what biblical scholars call the Sermon on the Mount in the Gospel (cf. Matthew 5:1-12a). When Jesus begins His teaching by saying “Blessed,” He is not using a polite or sentimental religious word. In His own language, the word means deeply happy, secure, at peace. And He applies it not to the powerful or successful, but to the poor in spirit, the meek, those who mourn, and those who hunger for justice—people whose lives feel exposed, uncertain, and unfinished.
The prophet Zephaniah, in the first reading, speaks of a humble remnant who take refuge not in themselves, but in the name of the Lord (cf. Zephaniah 2:3; 3:12-13). The Psalm shows us a God who lifts up the bowed down and protects the stranger (cf. Psalm 146). Saint Paul, the second reading, reminds us that God chooses what the world considers weak, so that trust—not boasting—may take root (cf. 1 Corinthians 1:26-31).
This is not abstract theology. It is lived reality, and I see it in our own community.
In recent weeks, parishioners have shared their fear with me because of immigration enforcement in our city. Some avoid public transportation. Others hesitate even to come to church, afraid of being stopped or taken away. These are not abstract concerns, but real anxieties carried by parents and families. Nothing about their situation feels stable. Nothing feels under control.
It is precisely in situations like these that the Beatitudes reveal their deepest meaning. Jesus is not describing an ideal world or offering comfort from a distance. He is naming reality as God sees it. He is telling us where God is already present and whom God is already holding close.
“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” Not will be. Is.
To be poor in spirit is not to be passive or irresponsible. It is to recognize that there are moments when no amount of effort, planning, or strength can guarantee outcomes, and to place our trust not in what can be taken away, but in God alone.
The Beatitudes are not entrance requirements for the Kingdom of God. They are promises spoken to people whose lives feel fragile or uncertain. They tell us not where we must climb to reach God, but where God has already chosen to stand.
Jesus does not avoid fear, grief, or vulnerability. He names them—and then declares that God’s Kingdom is already present there. Not after everything is resolved. Now. This is why the Beatitudes are not sentimental, but courageous. They overturn the world’s definition of happiness and proclaim that fear and uncertainty do not have the final word—God does.
As a community of faith, we are called to live with that same confidence, to stand with those who are afraid, and to measure life not by what can be secured or controlled, but by trust in God.
May these readings help us loosen our grip on what cannot save us and live with the quiet strength of those who know that God’s Kingdom is already near.
With my prayers and affection,
Msgr. “John” Cuong M. Pham