今天，我们偕同普世的教会，共同庆祝圣嘉禄·安加及同伴殉道的纪念日。按照圣人传记所载：安加（Lwanga）是巴干达部落（Baganda tribe）的族人，出生于布干达王国（Kingdom of Buganda），曾担任过巴干达国王，姆万加二世（Mwanga II）的皇家侍从，后来他被晋升为少校。1885年11月15日，由佩雷·吉罗（Pere Giraud）领受洗礼。由于担心基督徒的世界观会使他失去对自己臣民的专权，姆万加二世坚持要求所有皈依基督的人放弃他们的信仰，并于1885年至1887年处决了许多圣公会信徒和天主教徒，其中也包括圣嘉禄·安加（St. Charles Lwanga）和其他在宫廷内任职的官员。教宗本笃十五世在1920年宣布圣嘉禄·安加（St. Charles Lwanga）为真福，教宗保禄六世于1964年10月18日，梵蒂冈第二届大公会议期间，将圣嘉禄·安加（St. Charles Lwanga）及其同伴一起列入圣人名册。
今天，我們偕同普世的教會，共同慶祝聖嘉祿·安加及同伴殉道的紀念日。按照聖人傳記所載：安加（Lwanga）是巴幹達部落（Baganda tribe）的族人，出生于布幹達王國（Kingdom of Buganda），曾擔任過巴幹達國王，姆萬加二世（Mwanga II）的皇家侍從，後來他被晉升為少校。1885年11月15日，由佩雷·吉羅（Pere Giraud）領受洗禮。由於擔心基督徒的世界觀會使他失去對自己臣民的專權，姆萬加二世堅持要求所有皈依基督的人放棄他們的信仰，並於1885年至1887年處決了許多聖公會信徒和天主教徒，其中也包括聖嘉祿·安加（St. Charles Lwanga）和其他在宮廷內任職的官員。教宗本篤十五世在1920年宣佈聖嘉祿·安加（St. Charles Lwanga）為真福，教宗保祿六世於1964年10月18日，梵蒂岡第二屆大公會議期間，將聖嘉祿·安加（St. Charles Lwanga）及其同伴一起列入聖人名冊。
June 3, 2026 Saint Charles Lwanga and Companions Gospel: Mark 12:18–27
Today, together with the universal Church, we celebrate the memorial of the martyrdom of Saint Charles Lwanga and his companions. According to his account, Charles Lwanga was a member of the Baganda tribe, born in the Kingdom of Buganda. He served as a royal page to King Mwanga II of Buganda and was later promoted to the rank of chief. On November 15, 1885, he received Baptism from Père Giraud. Fearing that the Christian worldview would undermine his absolute authority over his subjects, King Mwanga II demanded that all converts renounce their faith. Between 1885 and 1887, he ordered the execution of many Anglican and Catholic believers, including Saint Charles Lwanga and other officials serving at the royal court. Pope Benedict XV beatified Saint Charles Lwanga in 1920. Pope Paul VI canonized him, along with his companions, on October 18, 1964, during the Second Vatican Council.
The Gospel passage for today, taken from the Gospel of Mark, recounts a dialogue between Jesus and the Sadducees. I would like to offer some reflections based on this text.
Like the Sadducees, we often view our relationship with God through the lens of this world. In the eyes of the Sadducees, it seemed perfectly natural that if a man died leaving his wife childless, his brother should marry her to raise up offspring for the deceased. They held that since Moses was the servant of God, the law he promulgated must be divine law. Thus, when Moses wrote in Deuteronomy: “If brothers live together and one of them dies without a son, the widow shall not marry outside the family; the husband’s brother shall go to her, take her as his wife, and perform the duty of a brother-in-law. The firstborn son she bears shall carry on the name of the dead brother, so that his name will not be blotted out from Israel” (cf. Deut 25:5–6), they assumed that even after the resurrection from the dead, the marriage bonds formed in this life would still hold.
From Jesus’ response to the Sadducees, we see that He invites them—and us—to recognize that the temporal dimension in which we now live is not the only one. There exists another dimension, no longer subject to death, where we will fully manifest our identity as children of God. Hearing Jesus’ simple yet profound words about life beyond death brings us deep consolation and hope—a hope urgently needed in our own time, an age rich in knowledge of the universe but poor in wisdom concerning eternal life. Life belongs to God. God loves us and cares deeply for us, even uniting His name with ours. Through Baptism and the anointing of the Holy Spirit, we are united to Christ and become children of God. Our minds must then be conformed to the mind of Christ, viewing ourselves and the world according to the worldview and values of God’s kingdom, living in the light and guidance of the Holy Spirit.
O God, who have made the blood of Martyrs the seed of Christians, mercifully grant that the field which is your Church, watered by the blood shed by Saints Charles Lwanga and his companions, may be fertile and always yield you an abundant harvest. Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit, God, for ever and ever.
The mind wants edges. It wants to know where one thing ends and another begins. This is not a failure of the mind; it is its gift. Without the ability to distinguish, we could not survive. But when the mind turns toward God, this same gift becomes a quiet trap. Because God has no edges. And the Trinity is the place where edges dissolve.
The Holy Trinity is not a doctrine to be mastered. It is a gravitational pull to fall into. When I stop trying to understand it and simply let it hold me, something shifts in the marrow. I feel less like a solitary self and more like a note that was always meant to be part of a chord.
The difficulty is that most of us, without knowing it, carry an image of God as a single subject. A solitary I. This image is so natural that it seems unquestionable. After all, I am a single subject. You are a single subject. Why would God not be a single subject, only infinitely larger? But this is where the revelation of Jesus shatters our categories. When he speaks of the Father, and when he speaks of the Spirit whom he will send, he is not speaking in metaphors. He is speaking of relationships that are real. The Father is not the Son. The Son is not the Spirit. And yet there are not three gods. There is one God.
The mind rebels here. And the rebellion is good. It means the mind knows it has met something it cannot digest. The mistake is to force digestion anyway—to explain the Trinity with analogies that collapse under scrutiny or to quietly ignore the feast and treat it as a theological puzzle for experts. But the Trinity is not a puzzle. It is an invitation to stop being the center.
The saints have tried to help us with images. My favorite is that of Saint John Vianney. He spoke of a single flame. A flame has shape, color, and warmth. You cannot separate the shape from the color, nor the color from the warmth. They are three, yet they are one flame. The Trinity is not a mathematical problem. It is a living fire. And I am not asked to dissect the fire. I am asked to warm myself at it.
There is a practice that has helped me more than any theological study. I sit quietly. I breathe. On the inhale, I imagine the Spirit drawing me toward the Son. On the exhale, I imagine the Son presenting me to the Father. Then I stop imagining and just stay there. Nothing happens. Most of the time, nothing at all. But every so often, in a way I cannot produce or repeat, there is a sense of being held from all sides. Not a vision. Not a voice. Just a quiet warmth, like standing near a stove on a cold morning. And I know, without knowing how I know, that the warmth is not coming from me.
On days when I feel fragmented. When I am pulled in many directions. When my own heart feels like a committee that cannot agree. The Trinity offers me a pattern. Three persons, perfectly distinct, perfectly one. Not melted into each other. Not confused with each other. But so completely given to each other that their giving is their being. This pattern lives in me, however faintly. I am not called to erase my distinct self. I am called to give it. To receive. To let the breath move between.
Begin to practice saying In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, slowly. Not as a reflex, but as a meditation. In the name of the Father. Pause. Let yourself be held by the one who has known you before you were formed in the womb. And of the Son. Pause again. Let yourself be seen by the one who looked at Peter after the denial and looked at Mary at the tomb. And of the Holy Spirit. Breathe. I let yourself be moved by the one who prays in you when you cannot pray. Amen. Let it be so. Not as a wish, but as a recognition. It is already so.
This changes nothing and everything. The words are the same. The gesture is the same. But the interior space is different. You are no longer a solitary self reciting a formula. You are a child being named. The Trinity is not a doctrine to be believed. It is a presence to be entered. And the simplest doorway is the one we cross dozens of times a day without noticing. Every time we trace that cross and speak those names, we are saying: I do not pray alone. I do not live alone. I do not die alone. I am held from before the beginning and after the end. And the hands that hold me are three, and they are one. Like the flame that is shape, color, and warmth.
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