Monday, July 6, 2026
Monday of the Fourteenth week in Ordinary Time
Matthew 9:18-26
Listen to the whole reading — MP3
First reading
Hosea 2:16,17-18,21-22
It will be in that day,” says the Lord, “that you will call me ‘my husband,’ and no longer call me ‘my master.’ For I will take away the names of the Baals out of her mouth, and they will no longer be mentioned by name. In that day I will make a covenant for them with the animals of the field, and with the birds of the sky, and with the creeping things of the ground. I will break the bow, the sword, and the battle out of the land, and will make them lie down safely. It will happen in that day, I will respond,” says the Lord, “I will respond to the heavens, and they will respond to the earth; and the earth will respond to the grain, and the new wine, and the oil; and they will respond to Jezreel.
Responsorial psalm
Psalms 145:2-3,4-5,6-7,8-9
Every day I will praise you. I will extol your name forever and ever. Great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised! His greatness is unsearchable. One generation will commend your works to another, and will declare your mighty acts. Of the glorious majesty of your honor, of your wondrous works, I will meditate. Men will speak of the might of your awesome acts. I will declare your greatness. They will utter the memory of your great goodness, and will sing of your righteousness. The Lord is gracious, merciful, slow to anger, and of great loving kindness. The Lord is good to all. His tender mercies are over all his works.
Gospel
Matthew 9:18-26
While he told these things to them, behold, a ruler came and worshiped him, saying, “My daughter has just died, but come and lay your hand on her, and she will live.” Jesus got up and followed him, as did his disciples. Behold, a woman who had an issue of blood for twelve years came behind him, and touched the fringe of his garment; for she said within herself, “If I just touch his garment, I will be made well.” But Jesus, turning around and seeing her, said, “Daughter, cheer up! Your faith has made you well.” And the woman was made well from that hour. When Jesus came into the ruler’s house, and saw the flute players, and the crowd in noisy disorder, he said to them, “Make room, because the girl isn’t dead, but sleeping.” They were ridiculing him. But when the crowd was put out, he entered in, took her by the hand, and the girl arose. The report of this went out into all that land.
Lectio
There is a tenderness running quietly through today's readings, the kind that changes how we understand God Himself. Through Hosea, the Lord refuses to be addressed any longer as "my master." He wants to be called "my husband." This is no small shift. It is the difference between obeying a power that stands above us and being loved by One who has joined Himself to us. The God who breaks the bow and the sword, who makes us lie down in safety, does not want our trembling deference. He wants intimacy. He betroths us to Himself in faithfulness, and from that nearness everything begins to respond — the heavens to the earth, the earth to the grain, the whole creation gently turning toward life again.
That same intimacy is what reaches out in the Gospel. A woman bleeding for twelve years does not approach as a master's subject; she comes close, trusting that a single touch will be enough. And Jesus, feeling that touch among the pressing crowd, turns and calls her "Daughter." It is the same word Hosea hints at — the language of belonging, not transaction. The ruler, too, comes not with bargaining but with a desperate faith that Jesus' hand can restore what death has taken. And in both cases, what the Lord meets is not their worthiness but their nearness, their willingness to reach toward Him in the very middle of their wound.
Perhaps this is the quiet invitation of the day: to stop relating to God as a distant authority to be appeased and to let ourselves be drawn into the kind of closeness where even our bleeding, our grief, our long unhealed years become the place He calls us by name. The Psalm says His tender mercies are over all His works. Not over the deserving — over all.
Where in your life are you still treating God as a "master" to be satisfied rather than a "husband" who longs for your nearness — and what fear keeps you at that careful distance?
Like the woman who suffered quietly for twelve years, what is the long-standing wound you have stopped expecting God to touch, and what would it mean to reach for Him with it today?
Saint of the day
St. Maria Goretti, Virgin and Martyr (1890-1902)
Ora reads this aloud, every morning, free. Ora