There is something profoundly unsettling about today’s Gospel. Not because Jesus overturns the Law—he explicitly denies doing that—but because he deepens it. He takes commandments we thought we understood, commandments we perhaps even prided ourselves on keeping, and shows us their bottomless depths.
“I have not come to annul but to fulfil.”
What does this fulfilment look like? Not a tightening of regulations. Not a more elaborate system of rewards and punishments. No—Jesus fulfils the Law by tracing each commandment back to its origin in the human heart, and then tracing that heart back to its origin in God.
Consider the sixth commandment. We who have never committed adultery breathe easily—until Jesus shows us that adultery begins not in the act but in the look, the fantasy nurtured, the person reduced to an object of consumption. Suddenly, the commandment is no longer a fence around behaviour but a mirror held up to our interior life. And who among us can claim purity here?
This is not moral cruelty. Jesus is not burdening us with impossible standards so that we might despair. Rather, he is revealing the direction of the spiritual life: from the external to the internal, from the letter to the spirit, from the minimum required to the fullness of love.
Notice how each example moves inward. “You have heard… do not kill. But I say… whoever is angry.” “You have heard… do not commit adultery. But I say… whoever looks with lust.” “You have heard… do not break your oath. But I say… let your yes be yes.”
Jesus is not discarding the external commandments. He is showing us where they actually live. The Law was never meant to be merely a code of conduct; it was meant to form a people whose hearts beat in rhythm with God’s own heart. Anger, contempt, lust, deception—these are not violations of separate rules. They are cracks in the very vessel of love that we are called to become.
And here is the most liberating truth: because Jesus traces sin back to its roots in the heart, he also traces holiness back to its roots there. Holiness is not achieved through strenuous acts of self-mutilation—cutting off hands, plucking out eyes. Holiness is received through a transformed heart. And a transformed heart is not our project; it is God’s gift. This is why Jesus can speak so radically about divorce, about oaths, about reconciliation. He is not legislating for a society of sinners; he is describing the life of the Kingdom breaking into our world. In that Kingdom, marriage reflects the faithful covenant of God. Speech needs no reinforcement because trust is complete. Worship flows from hearts already at peace with every brother and sister.
But we live between the times. We are citizens of this Kingdom and yet still residents of a world marked by hardness of heart. The same Jesus who declares God’s original intention for marriage also meets the Samaritan woman at the well, offers living water to one who has had five husbands, and refuses to condemn the woman caught in adultery. The same Jesus who demands truth without oath also receives Peter’s denial with a look of love.
This is the genius of Christian morality. It holds together, without compromise, both the radical demand of the Gospel and the radical mercy of God. The demand reveals our need; the mercy meets us there.
Perhaps this is what it means for Jesus to “fulfil” the Law. He does not merely interpret it correctly; he embodies it. In his own person, he is both the perfect obedience the Law requires and the perfect mercy the Law could never produce. He is the faithful Israelite who never breaks a single commandment, and he is the Good Shepherd who leaves the ninety-nine to find the one who has shattered them all.
And so we approach these difficult words of Jesus not as burdens to carry but as invitations. The invitation to examine our hearts without fear, knowing that the One who searches us is the One who saves us. The invitation to confess that our anger has indeed killed, our looks have indeed objectified, our words have indeed deceived. And the invitation to receive, again and again, the forgiveness that makes possible the new heart we cannot manufacture for ourselves. “Do not think that I have come to annul the Law and the Prophets.”
Keeping the Commandments and Unable to Enter the Kingdom of Heaven Gospel: Matthew 5:17-37
Fr. Jijo Kandamkulathy CMF Claretian Missionaries
In today’s Gospel, Jesus clarifies: “Do not think that I have come to annul the Law and the Prophets. I have not come to annul them but to fulfil them.” If he feels the need to clarify his position, it means that someone has had the impression that his behavior and words are demolishing the beliefs, expectations, and hopes of Israel based on sacred texts. Jesus was respectful of the laws and institutions of his people. However, he interpreted it in an original way. His point of reference was not the letter of the precept but the good of the person. For the love of persons, he did not hesitate to break even the Sabbath. The sayings of Jesus must be understood in this light. The Gospel puts forward four examples today. They are all introduced with the same stereotyped formula: “You have heard that God has said to the ancestors … now I tell you …”
Do not kill! (vv. 21-26) Jesus teaches that the commandment that orders not to kill has so many implications that go well beyond the physical assault. One who uses offensive words, gets angry, harbors sentiments of hatred has already killed one’s brother/sister (v. 22). If there were X-rays capable of detecting the cemetery hidden in our hearts, we would be startled. Among the dead, we would find those whom we have sworn not to speak to, those to whom we have denied forgiveness, those we have continued to accuse of mistakes done, those whose good name we have destroyed by gossips or slanders, those whom we have deprived of love and the joy of living. Murder always starts from the heart. It must be disarmed, or else it demonizes a human being. Before entering the temple, it was necessary for Jews to undergo painstaking purifications. Jesus declares that it is not the body that needs to be pure but the heart. Reconciliation with the brother/sister replaces all rites of purification. After speaking of the commandment not to kill, Jesus goes to the issue of adultery The letter of the Torah seemed to prohibit only adulterous actions. Jesus instead goes to the heart and captures the deepest requirements of this commandment. There are friendships, feelings, relationships that are already adulterous. There are two members of the body that need to be amputated: the right eye and the right hand. In this context, they are the symbols of that which awakens lust (eyes) and dangerous contacts (hand). This is not an instruction for bodily mutilation but gruelling self-control which Paul speaks about: “I punish my body and control it, lest after preaching to others, I myself should be rejected” (1 Cor 9:27). The third case concerns divorce (vv. 31-32). God wanted monogamous and indissoluble marriage. The Bible clearly states from the first pages: “The two form one flesh” (Gen 2:24). Because of the hardness of the human heart, divorce is introduced also in Israel. Going against the custom, traditions, and interpretations of the rabbis, Jesus brings marriage to its original purity and excludes the possibility of separating what God has determined to remain united. The clause “except for marital unfaithfulness,” which seems to leave open a possibility of divorce, actually concerns the illegitimate and irregular unions. We do not remain faithful to the Lord when we conceal the demands of Christian morality in order to help someone in trouble. One should always remember that renunciation, sacrifice, and the heroism of virginity are doors to the kingdom of heaven” (Mt 19:12). The clear words of Jesus, however, did not give any disciple license to judge, to condemn, to humiliate, to marginalize those who have failed in their married life. The fourth case is that of the oath (vv. 33-37). During the exile in Babylon, the Israelites had assimilated among other bad habits that of swearing inappropriately. To avoid pronouncing the name of God they resorted to the less demanding formula: they swore by heaven, by the temple, by the earth, by their parents, by their heads. A sage of the second century B.C. recommended: “Do not get used to swearing, taking the name of the Holy One” (Sir 23:9). Jesus takes a stand against this reckless habit and he does it with his usual radicalism. “Do not swear at all … But let your speech be ‘Yes’ when it is ‘yes,’ ‘No’ when it is ‘no,’ the rest comes from the evil one” (vv. 33-37). It was not so much the desecration of the name of the Lord that worried him. There are other elements that make an oath unacceptable. First of all, it assumes a pagan concept of God who is imagined as an avenger, ready to hurl his thunderbolts against liars and perjurers. Then, it is a symptom of a society that is dominated by mistrust, disloyalty, and mutual suspicion. In the community of the disciples of Jesus, the oath is inconceivable.
Indebted to Fr. Fernando Armellini for textual analysis
CALLED TO THE POTENCY OF THE SALT AND THE COURAGE OF THE FLAME Matthew 5:13-16
Jijo Kandamkulathy CMF Claretian Missionaries
We live in a world that deeply believes in the leverage of power—in networks that move markets, in structures that shape nations, in platforms that amplify ideologies. Influence is often measured by scale: the size of the audience, the magnitude of the budget, the force of the narrative. It is into this world, then, that Jesus speaks a quiet, subversive, and stunning paradox. He gathers a small band of ordinary disciples—fishermen, tax collectors, uncertain followers—and does not tell them to build a movement or seize an institution. Instead, he looks at them, this seemingly insignificant group, and declares: “You are the salt of the earth… You are the light of the world.”
The real change, he insists, will not come from dominating the systems from above, but from transforming the substance of life from within. God’s strategy for renewing the world rests not primarily in the halls of power, but in the hidden, potent faithfulness of his few who live the gospel values. What a revolutionary thought: the future of humanity is seasoned and illumined not by the mighty, but by the modest; not by the overwhelming force of the many, but by the essential quality of love of the committed few.
The Potency of the Little Pinch Consider salt. A dish may contain pounds of ingredients, but it is transformed by a mere teaspoon of salt. That small amount doesn’t dominate; it doesn’t become the soup or the bread. Instead, it disappears into the whole, doing its quiet work from within. It draws out the hidden goodness already present, making the entire meal come alive. This is our Christian calling. We are not called to be the entire meal, to constitute the whole world. We are that necessary pinch. In a family, a workplace, a neighborhood, we are the few who are called to blend in, yet without losing our essence. Our presence—marked by grace, patience, integrity, and hope—is meant to draw out the latent goodness in others, to preserve what is true and beautiful from decay, and to make the experience of life in our community more humane, more “tasteful.” The world can be bland, consumed with haste, anxiety, and self-interest. Our lives, seasoned with the love of Christ, are to add the flavor of peace, deliberate kindness, and enduring meaning.
The Courage of the Single Flame Now consider light. Jesus speaks of a city on a hill, but let’s hold the simpler image: a single lamp in a dark room. When you enter a darkened space, you do not need a blazing stadium light. One small candle, one humble lamp, is enough to push back the darkness. It defines the space, reveals the path, and creates an atmosphere of warmth and safety. But light does more than just push back darkness; it allows us to see things in their proper form and true value. In dim light, a coiled rope on a path might startle us, appearing as a snake. Fear and confusion reign. But when full light falls upon it, we see it for what it is—harmless, a tool, perhaps something to be picked up and used. The light changes everything. It dispels illusion and reveals reality.
This is the deeper purpose of being “the light of the world.” The Gospel we carry is not just a warm glow; it is a clarifying truth. It helps us, and those around us, see the world with right perspective. In its light, we learn to distinguish the eternally valuable from the temporarily glittering. We see people not as tools or obstacles, but as beloved images of God. We see suffering not as mere tragedy, but as a place where grace can enter. We see success not as the pinnacle of life, but as a stewardship. Our lived witness—through our choices, our calm, our priorities—can become that clarifying light for others, helping them see past the world’s illusions to the enduring truth of God’s love and order.
“Nor do they light a lamp and put it under a bushel basket.” To hide a light is a contradiction. Its purpose is to shine. For us, this means our faith is not a private treasure to be hoarded, but a gift to be shared from the lampstand of our daily lives. Our “light” is the gentle glow of good deeds and a life ordered by Gospel values: the patience we extend, the forgiveness we offer, the dignity we affirm. One such light in a room changes everything. It allows others to see clearly, to navigate their own way, and ultimately, to look past the lamp itself to the source of all light and clarity—our Heavenly Father.
Jesus assures us it does. His strategy for transforming the world has always worked from the inside out, through the few for the many. He doesn’t ask us to become the ocean, but to be salt. He doesn’t ask us to become the sun, but to be a faithful, clarifying lamp. Our power lies not in our volume, but in our Christ-given nature.
Do not underestimate the potency of your presence. Where has God placed you as that essential pinch of salt? In what room of your life are you called to be the steady, gentle light that reveals true value? Live your identity with quiet confidence. Blend in with love, but do not lose your savor. Shine from your unique lampstand, and do not hide. For it is through these small, faithful witnesses that the whole world is seasoned, illuminated, and brought into the clarity of God’s loving gaze.
全属于祢 
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