About Today

 
Christ the Lord was tempted and suffered for us. Come, let us adore him.
Or: O that today you would listen to his voice: harden not your hearts.
Year: A(II). Psalm week: 3. Liturgical Colour: Violet.

Other saints: St John Ogilvie (1579 - 1615)
Scotland
John Ogilvie was born of noble Calvinist parents in 1579 at Drum-na-Keith in Banffshire, Scotland. As a boy he was sent to the continent to further his education. With the help of Father Cornelius van den Steen (‘Cornelius a Lapide’) he was received into the Catholic Church. He entered the Society of Jesus on the 5th November 1599, and was ordained priest at Paris in 1610. He returned to his native country, but his ministry was cut short by his betrayal and capture in Glasgow. After extreme suffering he was hanged on the 10th of March 1615. The principal cause of his martyrdom was his insistence on the primacy of the Pope in spiritual matters, a primacy he affirmed with great constancy to the very end. His last words were “If there be here any hidden Catholics, let them pray for me but the prayers of heretics I will not have.” After he was pushed from the ladder, he threw his hidden Rosary beads out into the crowd. One of his enemies caught them, and he became a devout Catholic for the rest of his life.

Today's gospel reading

Matthew 18:21-35 How often do I forgive my brother? Seven times?

At that time: Peter came up and said to Jesus, ‘Lord, how often will my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? As many as seven times?’ Jesus said to him, ‘I do not say to you seven times, but seventy times seven.

‘Therefore the kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who wished to settle accounts with his servants. When he began to settle, one was brought to him who owed him ten thousand talents. And since he could not pay, his master ordered him to be sold, with his wife and children and all that he had, and payment to be made. So the servant fell on his knees, imploring him, “Have patience with me, and I will pay you everything.” And out of pity for him, the master of that servant released him and forgave him the debt. But when that same servant went out, he found one of his fellow servants who owed him a hundred denarii, and seizing him, he began to choke him, saying, “Pay what you owe.” So his fellow servant fell down and pleaded with him, “Have patience with me, and I will pay you.” He refused and went and put him in prison until he should pay the debt. When his fellow servants saw what had taken place they were greatly distressed, and they went and reported to their master all that had taken place. Then his master summoned him and said to him, “You wicked servant! I forgave you all that debt because you pleaded with me. And should not you have had mercy on your fellow servant, as I had mercy on you?” And in anger his master delivered him to the jailers, until he should pay all his debt. So also my heavenly Father will do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother from your heart.’

Reflection on the painting

It is worth listening carefully to the questions that arise in the Gospels.  They are rarely just trivial; they are our questions too. Today, it is Peter who speaks: “Lord, how often must I forgive?” He dares to suggest an answer, seven times, already generous in the language of Scripture, where the number seven points to fullness. But Jesus stretches the horizon even further: not seven, but seventy-seven times. In other words, forgiveness is not something to be counted, measured, or exhausted. And to make his point, Jesus tells a story of a servant whose debt is unimaginably large (far beyond anything he could ever repay) and yet, when he asks, it is simply cancelled. This is how God forgives: not cautiously, not reluctantly, but freely, abundantly, without calculation. Every time we enter the sacrament of Confession, we stand in that same place: bringing what we cannot repay, and receiving what we do not deserve: mercy.

But the parable does not end there. The one who has been forgiven so much refuses to forgive a small debt owed to him. And suddenly the light shifts. The story becomes sad... but it becomes a mirror. Because the mercy we receive is never meant to remain with us; it must flow through us. Confession does not only reconcile us with God... it calls us to become people of reconciliation. If we close our hearts to others, if we hold on to resentment or refuse forgiveness, we begin to block the very grace for others. Jesus is not being harsh; he is revealing a truth of the heart: that forgiven people must become forgiving people!

In The Confessional (1827) by Sir David Wilkie, we are drawn into a vivid moment of the sacramental life of the Church. A young woman kneels at the confessional, quietly speaking to the priest, while a small crowd gathers closely around, waiting their turn after what appears to have been a penitential procession. The scene is almost theatrical in its intimacy: faces lean in, bodies press forward, and , if you ask me, the figures seem remarkably close, almost a bit too close to the confessional box. This closeness is intentional however. Wilkie is less concerned with strict liturgical accuracy and more with conveying the human drama of repentance: the urgency, curiosity, even tension that surrounds the sacrament. The painting captures confession not as a distant, private ritual, but as something deeply embedded in communal life. The proximity of the onlookers heightens that sense of shared experience: sin and forgiveness are personal, yet never entirely hidden from the community. In The Confessional (1827) by Sir David Wilkie, we are drawn into a vivid moment of the sacramental life of the Church. A young woman kneels at the confessional, quietly speaking to the priest, while a small crowd gathers closely around, waiting their turn after what appears to have been a penitential procession. The scene is almost theatrical in its intimacy: faces lean in, bodies press forward, and , if you ask me, the figures seem remarkably close, almost a bit too close to the confessional box. This closeness is intentional however. Wilkie is less concerned with strict liturgical accuracy and more with conveying the human drama of repentance: the urgency, curiosity, even tension that surrounds the sacrament. The painting captures confession not as a distant, private ritual, but as something deeply embedded in communal life. The proximity of the onlookers heightens that sense of shared experience: sin and forgiveness are personal, yet never entirely hidden from the community.

The Confessional,
Painting by Sir David Wilkie (1785-1841),
Painted in 1827,
Oil on canvas
© National Galleries of Scotland