RADICAL HOSPITALITY AND RADICAL SELF-DENIAL: THIRTEENTH SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME – A

THIRTEENTH SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME – A | JUNE 28, 2026

2 Kings 4:8-11, 14-16a; Psalm 89; Romans 6:3-4, 8-11; Matthew 10:37-42

RADICAL HOSPITALITY AND RADICAL SELF-DENIAL.

Brothers and sisters in Christ!

If we listen closely to today’s Gospel, we might feel a sudden rush of spiritual whiplash. Jesus begins with some of the most challenging, uncompromising demands in the entire New Testament: “Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me... whoever does not take up his cross and follow me is not worthy of me.” These words cut straight to the bone. They demand everything.

But then, just a few moments later, Jesus shifts the focus entirely. He begins to speak of receiving prophets, welcoming righteous people, and concludes with a strikingly tender promise: “And whoever gives only a cup of cold water to one of these little ones to drink because the little one is a disciple; amen, I say to you, he will surely not lose his reward.”

We then feel, inevitably, a profound paradox in the demand of Jesus: We go from the heavy, blood-stained weight of the Cross to the light, refreshing simplicity of a plastic cup of cold water.

How do these two realities fit together? How does a faith that demands our very lives also find its ultimate expression in a gesture that takes less than ten seconds to perform?

The answer lies in a single word that unites all our readings today: Hospitality. Not the polite, superficial hospitality of a dinner party, but the radical, life-altering hospitality of the Kingdom of God. 

Let us look first at the hard sayings. When Jesus says we must not love our parents, our spouses, or our children more than Him, He is not commanding us to be cold, distant, or unloving toward our families. Rather, He is teaching us about the order of love.

There is a human reality we all share: the experience of trying to make someone or something our “everything.” We see this in modern relationships. We demand that our spouses, our children, or our careers give us ultimate meaning, perfect security, and absolute joy. But when we place the weight of our divine longing onto fragile human shoulders, those shoulders eventually buckle under the strain. Husbands and wives disappoint each other; children grow up and make their own choices; careers end.

Jesus is telling us: “Let me be your center. Let me be your primary love.”

When we love Christ first, we actually become capable of loving our families better. Our love for them is no longer possessive or demanding; it becomes free, generous, and resilient because our deepest security is already anchored in God. To take up our cross is to die to the illusion that we are the center of our own universe. It is the ultimate act of letting go so that we can truly receive.

This brings us to our first reading from the Second Book of Kings, which gives us a beautiful, concrete example of what happens when we make room for God.

We meet a wealthy woman from Shunem. She notices the prophet Elisha passing by. She doesn't just wave or offer a polite nod. She recognizes him as a “holy man of God” and does something remarkable: she and her husband build a small room on their roof. They furnish it with a bed, a table, a chair, and a lamp.

They didn't just open their guest room; they altered the architecture of their home to accommodate a stranger. They created a permanent space of rest for the sacred.

How often does our daily routine look like a crowded house with no vacancy? Our schedules are packed, our minds are cluttered with anxieties, and our hearts are filled with the noise of social media, work, and endless errands. Just like the Shunammite woman, whose empty, barren life was miraculously blessed with the gift of a son, when we make space for God, He fills our emptiness with new life.

In the Gospel, Jesus takes this concept of hospitality and makes it incredibly accessible. He speaks of the “cup of cold water.”

In the ancient Near East, water was not a luxury; it was life itself. To offer a traveler a cup of cold water was an act of profound solidarity. It meant stopping what you were doing, drawing from the deep well, and sharing your most precious resource to sustain another person.

We live in a deeply thirsty world. People are thirsty for recognition, thirsty for a kind word, thirsty to be seen and not just looked at.

Dear friends, this is the mystery of the Gospel: Every small act of love we offer to another is an act of love offered to Christ. “Whoever receives you receives me.” When we welcome the lonely, the immigrant, the difficult coworker, or the annoying family member, we are building a room for Jesus.

How do we find the strength to live this way? How do we die to our selfishness so we can be hospitable to others?

St. Paul gives us the blueprint in our second reading from the Letter to the Romans. He reminds us of our Baptism: “We were indeed buried with him through baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead... we too might live in newness of life.”

Baptism is not just a lovely family ritual; it is a spiritual death and resurrection. In the waters of Baptism, the old self, the self that is greedy, fearful, self-protective, and isolated, is drowned. We are raised as new creations, filled with the very life of Christ.

Because we have already “died” to the fear of losing our lives, we are now free to give them away. We don't have to hoard our time, our resources, or our love. We can throw open the doors of our hearts, because our lives are hidden safely in Christ. As Paul says, we must “think of ourselves as dead to sin and living for God in Christ Jesus.”

My brothers and sisters, as we prepare to receive the ultimate hospitality of God at this altar, where Christ does not just offer us a cup of cold water, but His very Body and Blood, let us ask ourselves two concrete questions for the week ahead:

Where do I need to build a “room” for God? Is there a corner of my daily schedule, my home, or my heart that I can clear out and dedicate entirely to Him in prayer?

Who is the “little one” in my life right now who needs a “cup of cold water”? Is it a spouse who is exhausted? A coworker who is stressed? A neighbor who lives alone?

Let us go forth from this Mass not afraid of the Cross, but eager to carry it, knowing that the heaviest cross is made light when we carry it with love, and the smallest act of kindness echoes into eternity.

By B’rata Joe H., Sdb – P’titeLight