Homily | May 8, 2026 | When Truth Liberates Instead Of Burdens | (Episode 116)

There's a line in today's first reading that's so simple, but if you understand it, it changes how you see the church forever.

It says, it is the decision of the Holy Spirit and of us.

Not just we decided, not just human agency, strategy, debate, and compromise.

No, the Holy Spirit and us.

That's the mystery of the church.

Fully human, real arguments, real confusion, real personalities, and at the same time guided, sustained, corrected by the Holy Spirit.

And look at the effects of that decision.

They send a letter, they clarify the truth, they remove unnecessary burdens, and what happens?

It says when the people read it, they were delighted.

Delighted.

That word matters because truth, when it is when it is really from God, does not crush the soul.

It liberates.

These people had been disturbed, the text says.

And then the church speaks clearly, authoritively, and the result is not opposition.

It is this sigh of relief.

That's how you know the difference between a burden God never asked for and a command that actually comes from him.

Now, if we go to the gospel, Jesus brings it to a higher point.

He says, This is my commandment, love one another as I have loved you.

And if we're honest, we hear that and we try to soften it immediately.

We turn it into be kind, be patient, be generally a good person.

But that's not what he's saying.

He says, as I have loved you, or as I love you.

So now you have to ask, how does he love?

Well, he says, No one has greater love than this to lay down one's life for one's friends.

That's the standard.

Not convenience, not preference, not when it feels right, sacrifice.

And this is where most of us quietly redraw the line.

We like the idea of love until it costs us something real.

Our time, our pride, our comfort, our plans, our need to be right, our wanting to control every relationship and every context.

Jesus is not offering a vague emotional ideal.

He's defining love in concrete, costly terms.

To love like him, to give yourself away.

And then he says something that should stop us.

I no longer call you slaves, I have called you friends.

That's incredible.

He gives a command, a demanding one, love like I love.

And in the same breath he elevates you, not slaves, friends.

Why?

Well, because a slave obeys with understanding, without understanding.

A friend is brought into the heart of the one who commands.

I have told you everything I have heard from my father, he says.

In other words, Jesus is not asking blind obedience.

He's inviting you into his own relationship with the Father, his own way of loving, his own way of giving himself.

This is not about following rules from a distance.

This is about sharing a life.

But here's the tension we have to face honestly.

That line does not sit comfortably in modern ears.

Why?

Because we want intimacy without obedience.

We want closeness with God without the cost of actually living what he says.

Jesus refuses to separate the two.

Friendship with him is not sentimental, it is a lived reality.

And then almost quietly he reminds you of something that grounds everything.

It was not you who chose me, but I who chose you.

Before you ever responded, before you ever tried, before you ever got anything right or wrong, he chose you.

And he chose you for a purpose.

To go and bear fruit that remain that will remain, he says.

Not temporary impact, not service level influence, something lasting.

So here's the question that we have today.

What does your love actually cost you?

Not what you feel, not what you intend, what does it cost?

Because that is where you will find out if you're living the gospel or just admiring it.

And if you're honest, most of us have room to grow.

But the imitation is real, not to be servants who keep ourselves at a distance, but to become friends who love the way he loves.

And that kind of love, costly, concrete, self giving, is the only kind that actually lasts forever.

Amen.