When we act as if God owes us

THE parable of the wicked tenants (Mt. 21:33-43) is one of Christ's most uncomfortable stories because it exposes a temptation that never grows old: the desire to enjoy God's gifts while getting rid of God himself. 

 The tenants did not plant the vineyard. They did not buy the land. They did not dig the winepress or build the watchtower. Everything had already been prepared for them. Yet when the owner sent his servants to collect what rightly belonged to him, they beat some, killed others, and finally murdered the owner's own son. 

 Outrageous? Certainly. But before condemning those tenants too quickly, we should ask whether modern society has simply become better at doing the same thing more politely. 

 Our age enthusiastically celebrates human rights while becoming increasingly embarrassed by human responsibilities toward the One from whom those rights ultimately come. We applaud freedom but reject any suggestion that freedom has a purpose beyond satisfying personal desires. We praise human dignity while quietly forgetting the God in whose image that dignity is rooted. 

 We have become remarkably skilled at claiming ownership over what has only been entrusted to us. Our intelligence, talents, wealth, influence, health, and even life itself are treated as private property rather than gifts carrying corresponding obligations. 

 We speak endlessly about "my body," "my career," "my money," "my truth," and "my life," as if the repeated use of the possessive pronoun could erase the unmistakable fact that none of these originated with us. 

 The parable shatters this illusion. The vineyard belongs to the owner. Always has. Always will. That truth should profoundly change how we approach our work, our family life, our profession, and our ambitions. We are not owners but stewards. The distinction is everything. Owners answer to no one. Stewards eventually render an account. 

 This is precisely the idea our culture resists. Accountability has become an unwelcome word. We prefer autonomy without limits, authority without responsibility, success without gratitude, and rights without duties. We want the harvest but resent the Landowner. 

 Even religion can fall into this trap. It is possible to fill churches, organize ministries, preach eloquent sermons, and perform charitable works while subtly replacing God's will with our own plans. 

 The vineyard becomes "our project." The apostolate becomes "our achievement." We begin defending institutions more passionately than we defend truth itself. Whenever ego occupies the place reserved for God, we are no longer faithful tenants but ambitious squatters. 

 The Gospel leaves no room for such self-deception. Christ, the rejected Son, remains the cornerstone. Human opinion cannot remove him. Political power cannot silence him. Intellectual fashions cannot replace him. 

 Every generation eventually discovers that building a civilization while excluding its true foundation is an exercise in slow-motion collapse. 

 The remedy begins with recovering humility. Everything we possess is received before it is achieved. Gratitude, therefore, is not good manners but simple honesty. The more we recognize ourselves as beneficiaries rather than proprietors, the more responsibly we use what has been entrusted to us. 

 This humility naturally flowers into love. If creation belongs to God, then every person we encounter deserves reverence, every honest task deserves excellence, and every opportunity becomes a chance to return fruit to the true Owner. Stewardship is not passive preservation but active cooperation with divine providence. 

 The question posed by the parable is therefore deeply personal. When the Lord comes seeking the fruits of justice, charity, fidelity, and holiness, will he find grateful stewards or possessive tenants? 

 The vineyard has never ceased belonging to God. The only issue still awaiting an answer is whether we are willing to remember whose vineyard it is.

The enduring relevance of a spiritual vision

EVERY year on October 2, countless faithful around the world quietly commemorate the foundation of Opus Dei, a spiritual institution that has had a profound influence on the life of the Church and on the understanding of Christian vocation in ordinary life. 

 As it approaches its centennial in 2028, the anniversary provides an opportunity not merely to recall an important historical event but also to assess the continuing relevance of the vision entrusted to it. 

 The institution was born in 1928 during a period of rapid social, political, and cultural change. While circumstances have changed dramatically over the past century, the central insight that inspired its foundation remains remarkably timely: every baptized person is called to holiness, not by escaping the ordinary realities of life but precisely through them. 

 This conviction anticipated what would later become one of the major emphases of the Second Vatican Council. Holiness is not reserved for clergy or members of religious communities. It is the universal vocation of all Christians. 

 Work, family life, professional responsibilities, civic engagement, friendships, and the countless ordinary duties that fill each day are not distractions from the spiritual life. Properly understood, they become the very place where communion with God is cultivated. 

 Such a perspective requires a significant shift in mentality. Modern society often separates faith from daily activity, reducing religion to private devotion or occasional worship. 

 This spiritual vision proposes something more demanding and more comprehensive. It insists that prayer and work, contemplation and action, professional competence and charity are not competing realities but dimensions of one integrated Christian life. 

 This unity has practical consequences. Excellence in one's profession is not pursued merely for personal success or social recognition but as an expression of love for God and service to others. 

 Honest work, careful attention to detail, respect for every person's dignity, and generosity in daily relationships become authentic forms of Christian witness. Sanctity is measured less by extraordinary experiences than by fidelity in ordinary responsibilities carried out with love. 

 Another characteristic of this spirituality is its deep appreciation of human freedom. Rather than prescribing detailed solutions for every temporal question, it encourages individuals to form their conscience responsibly and to exercise personal initiative in political, economic, scientific, and cultural affairs. 

 Such freedom is inseparable from responsibility, since every Christian is called to illuminate society from within while respecting the legitimate diversity of opinions in matters open to prudential judgment. 

 Equally important is its emphasis on spiritual formation. Lasting transformation does not result from occasional enthusiasm but from consistent growth in prayer, sacramental life, doctrinal understanding, and the practice of virtue. 

 Interior renewal naturally overflows into apostolic concern, inspiring ordinary believers to share the Gospel through friendship, professional example, and genuine concern for others rather than through extraordinary programs or public prominence. 

 As Opus Dei prepares to celebrate its first hundred years in 2028, it does so not as the conclusion of a completed project but as the beginning of a new stage. The cultural challenges facing the Church today—including secularization, fragmentation of family life, ethical uncertainty, and rapid technological change—make its foundational message no less relevant than it was in 1928. 

 The centennial therefore is more than an anniversary. It is an invitation to rediscover a timeless truth: that every street, office, classroom, home, hospital, workshop, and field can become a place of encounter with God. When ordinary life is lived with faith, competence, charity, and joyful perseverance, the world itself becomes the setting where holiness quietly transforms both persons and society from within.

Christian discipleship

TO be truly a Christian, we have to aim at nothing less than becoming “another Christ.” But before that fullness of Christian life can be achieved, we need to have an encounter with Christ and learn to follow him, that is, to be his disciple. 

 Encountering Christ should not be a problem, since Christ is always with us. It’s rather us who have to learn to acknowledge his presence and to start dealing with him. We should have the same interest in Christ that those who first met Christ had. 

 From the gospel of St. Matthew (8,18-22), we have this interesting episode of a scribe who approached Christ and said, “Teacher, I will follow you wherever you go.” He must have felt such a serious admiration for Christ that he had to say this intention and his willingness to follow Christ wherever he would go. 

 To which, Christ responded by telling him what to expect by following Christ. “Foxes have dens and birds of the sky have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to rest his head.” In other words, to be Christ’s disciple is no joke. It will entail extreme difficulties and inconveniences. 

 We can get an idea of the kind of difficulties we can expect as a disciple of Christ when someone told him, “Lord, let me go first and bury my father.” But Christ answered him saying, “Follow me, and let the dead bury their dead.” This can only mean that we have to be willing to leave everything behind, even those who are dear to us, just to follow Christ. 

 To be a disciple of Christ, we have to be ready for wherever divine providence would take us. We have to be open to it all the time. Even as we make our plans and pursue them truly as our own, we should not forget that nothing in our life is actually outside the providence of God who can adapt himself to us, even in our worst situations and predicaments, and still lead us to himself. 

 The only thing to remember is that God is always around and is actually intervening and directing our life to him. That is part of his omnipotence which he exercises both from all eternity and in time since our creation and all the way to the end of time. 

 There will be things in our life that will be beyond our human notice, and much less, our human control. We have to trust God’s providence even if things look terrible, impossible, or inhuman when judged simply by human standards. 

 Let us remember the story of Abraham who was asked to offer his only son, Isaac, as sacrifice to God. That trust Abraham had in God’s will won him the privilege of being the father of all nations. God always has a purpose for everything that happens in our life, or can derive good from whatever evil we commit. 

 There are actually many mysteries in our life that can surpass our capacity to comprehend and, much less, to cope with, including extreme evil. But let’s always remember that where sin or evil has abounded, the grace of God has abounded even more. 

 Our Catechism teaches us why God allows evil to happen and how such evil can occasion a lot of good. “He permits evil to take place because he respects the freedom of his creatures and, mysteriously, knows how to derive good from it.” (CCC 311) 

 We should not be afraid to be Christ’s disciples!