Wednesday of the 12th Week in Ordinary Time

Abram stands in the night, empty-handed and ageing. He has left behind all that was familiar. He has followed a voice into a land he does not yet understand. And now, he waits.

Then God says, gently, as if to a friend: “Look up. Count the stars, if you can. So shall your descendants be.”

And Abram, against all odds, believes. This moment is the birth of a covenant—not a contract, not a deal—but a relationship grounded in trust. God promises him not only countless descendants but also the land itself. God seals this promise with a powerful sign—a smoking fire pot and a flaming torch passing between the divided animals, signifying His unwavering commitment.

We know this terrain, don’t we?

In our own vocation—as Jesuits, as brothers, as men who have left something behind to follow Someone greater—there are many nights like this. Seasons of not-knowing. Of interior poverty. Of waiting for fruit we cannot yet see.

There are promises we cling to. A mission entrusted to us. But sometimes, like Abram, we look around and see barrenness where we longed for abundance. We labour in communities where hope is stretched thin. We work for justice while injustice wears a thousand disguises. We accompany others while carrying our own questions.

But the Psalm today reminds us: “Remember his covenant forever, the word that he commanded, for a thousand generations” (Psalm 105:8). God does not forget. Not His people. Not His promises. Not His friends. This remembering is not passive. It’s not God keeping a list in heaven. It’s God keeping us in His heart, and the Psalm calls us to actively remember His deeds and wonders.

And so we pray to remember too. To remember that we are loved, sent, and accompanied. That we have chosen this way of life not because we knew where it would lead—but because we trust the One who leads us.

But trust also asks for discernment. Because, as the Gospel reminds us, not every voice that speaks with authority speaks with truth. “By their fruits you will know them,” Jesus says. We must be especially vigilant against voices that may seem appealing but ultimately lead us away from Christ. The Spirit is recognized in fruit—fruit that aligns with the Fruits of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

We have heard many voices. Some within the Church, some within ourselves. Not all are from the Spirit. Some promise safety, control, or certainty. Some offer nostalgia in place of discernment. Some voices resist the path of mercy that Pope Francis modelled so faithfully—mercy that walks with the wounded, that chooses the margins. Others now hesitate before Pope Leo XIV’s call to rebuild communion—to be artisans of peace, not architects of division. But the voice of the Shepherd is always recognised by its fruit.

These are the fruits we are called to bear—within ourselves first. As men who live in community. As brothers, not only in title but in truth. As companions in a mission that is not ours, but Christ’s.

So perhaps this Gospel is less a warning and more a quiet invitation: Pay attention. Stay awake. Remain rooted. Not in self-reliance, but in Christ. In the daily examen. In the slow unfolding of grace. In the choice, each morning, to trust the God of the promise.

The promise may not always feel visible. But it is there—like stars, often hidden by clouds, yet always shining.

And so I leave you, brothers, with three questions to carry into your prayer this week:

• Where am I being invited, like Abram, to trust God again—even in what feels barren?
• What fruit is growing in my own life and community—and what kind of nourishment am I offering those I live and work with?
• What voices am I listening to most closely—and how do they help (or hinder) my availability to the mission of Christ?

May the God who led Abram into the night and who remembers His covenant forever continue to lead us—and form us—into the men He has promised to make us.

Amen.

In preparing this homily, I consulted various resources to deepen my understanding of today’s readings, including using Magisterium AI for assistance. The final content remains the responsibility of the author.