Today's Liturgical colour is green  Thursday of the 34th Week in Ordinary Time

Date:  | Season: Ordinary Time after Easter | Year: C
First Reading: Daniel 6:12–28
Responsorial Psalm: Daniel 3:68–74  | Response: Daniel 3:59b
Gospel Acclamation: Luke 21:28
Gospel Reading: Luke 21:20–28
Preached at: The Jesuit Institute in the Archdiocese of Johannesburg, South Africa.

3 min (747 words)

Dear friends in Christ, as we come to the last week of the Church’s year, the Word invites us to look up with steady hope, even when life feels uncertain. These final days of the liturgical calendar always turn our eyes toward endings and beginnings, toward the truth that God is close even when the world feels fragile. The readings today speak to people under pressure, people searching for courage, people trying to trust that God is still at work. They speak to us.

Our first reading brings us into the lion’s den. Imagine Daniel being lowered into that dark place. Feel the rough stone, hear the slow growl of the lions, sense the weight of being trapped by the schemes of jealous officials. Daniel does not blame, protest, or panic. He simply keeps faith with the God he has prayed to all his life. Three times a day he prayed facing Jerusalem, the city he had not seen since his youth. That habit of prayer shaped him so deeply that even the threat of death could not break it.

We know something of that feeling in South Africa today. Many families feel pressed on every side by rising costs, unreliable services, and the heavy strain of unemployment. Young people carry the frustration of limited opportunity. Communities worry about safety and fairness. Like Daniel, many feel backed into corners they did not choose. Yet Daniel’s story tells us that the dark place is not the final truth. God enters the pit with him. And when morning breaks, Daniel rises because God held him through the night.

The psalm from Daniel is a song that helps us look beyond our fears. It calls everything in creation to bless the Lord: sun and moon, frost and flame, mountains and oceans. It reminds us that the world is bigger than our worries, and that praise can lift a tired heart. St Ignatius teaches us to notice God’s gifts each day, to let gratitude soften what is hard and strengthen what is weak. In a country where many feel forgotten or worn down, gratitude can become a quiet act of resistance. It tells the truth that every person has dignity, that every life is worthy of care, that God has not stopped creating goodness even in difficult times.

In the Gospel Jesus speaks of a Jerusalem surrounded by armies, a moment history records in the year 70. He warns his followers to flee, and early Christians did just that, remembering his words and escaping to safety. Jesus is honest about suffering. He does not hide the cost. Yet he gives a promise that stands like a strong tree in the middle of a storm. Lift up your heads, he says, because your redemption is near.

Lift up your heads. The words echo Daniel’s at dawn. They echo the psalm’s rising song. They echo what so many in South Africa long to hear in a time of doubt and division. Jesus does not say pretend things are fine. He says stand up inside yourself, look beyond the fear, trust that God is already working to bring healing and justice. The Son of Man will come with power and glory, not to frighten us but to complete what God has begun: the setting right of all things.

These readings form one simple image: people lifting their heads. Daniel lifts his head in prayer. Creation lifts its voice in praise. Jesus lifts the hearts of his followers in hope. And we, in our own struggles, are invited to lift our heads too. This is our Ignatian path: to see honestly, to discern wisely, to act with courage and compassion. It is the path that reminds us that peace grows when we stand together, when we defend the dignity of the poor, when we choose patience over anger, service over blame.

So let us take this image with us today: heads lifted, not in pride, but in trust. When the world feels heavy, when our communities carry real wounds, when the future feels uncertain, God is still near. God is still working. God is still calling us to hope.

As we move into quiet prayer, I offer three questions for our consideration:

  • Where in my life do I feel surrounded, and what changes when I imagine God standing there with me?
  • What simple grace or gift can I thank God for each day, so that gratitude strengthens my heart?
  • Who needs encouragement or support from me today, and how can I help them lift their head?

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.

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