Daily Gospel Reflection
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August 20, 2026
Jesus again in reply spoke to the chief priests and the elders of the people in parables saying,
“The Kingdom of heaven may be likened to a king
who gave a wedding feast for his son.
He dispatched his servants to summon the invited guests to the feast,
but they refused to come.
A second time he sent other servants, saying,
‘Tell those invited: “Behold, I have prepared my banquet,
my calves and fattened cattle are killed,
and everything is ready; come to the feast.”’
Some ignored the invitation and went away,
one to his farm, another to his business.
The rest laid hold of his servants,
mistreated them, and killed them.
The king was enraged and sent his troops,
destroyed those murderers, and burned their city.
Then the king said to his servants, ‘The feast is ready,
but those who were invited were not worthy to come.
Go out, therefore, into the main roads
and invite to the feast whomever you find.’
The servants went out into the streets
and gathered all they found, bad and good alike,
and the hall was filled with guests.
But when the king came in to meet the guests
he saw a man there not dressed in a wedding garment.
He said to him, ‘My friend, how is it
that you came in here without a wedding garment?’
But he was reduced to silence.
Then the king said to his attendants, ‘Bind his hands and feet,
and cast him into the darkness outside,
where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth.’
Many are invited, but few are chosen.”
Excerpts from the Lectionary for Mass for Use in the Dioceses of the United States of America, second typical edition © 2001, 1998, 1997, 1986, 1970 Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, Inc., Washington, DC. Used with permission. All rights reserved. No portion of this text may be reproduced by any means without permission in writing from the copyright owner. The full readings of the day from the Lectionary are available here.
The servants in today’s gospel have an unenviable task. They are told to go out and summon the invited guests to the wedding feast. At best, they’re ignored; at worst, they’re mocked and even killed.
After these first messengers suffer through the first round of calls, the king pivots. His new mandate seems less awkward but perhaps more confusing: gather all you can from the main roads, “bad and good alike.” To actively invite the bad is a risk, too. More fear of mistreatment; fear of their rejecting the king abounds for the servants.
The servants don’t elicit deference or awe, no matter how great their message. They’re only proxies for the king. And the newly invited guests may well be their peers or beneath them. How could they be adequately prepared to keep serving and inviting? The answer lies in the goodness of the one sending them—their king.
I’m reminded of a high school upperclassman I taught at a Catholic school in Philadelphia. His father taught at the school, too. The son was well-mannered and socially adept but truly excelled in caring for his peers. One day, I asked his father: “Did you do anything special in raising your son for him to be so good to others?”
He responded, “Well, when he was young, I would wake him up each morning with a hug and wrestle with him. And I would tell him: ‘I’ve filled you up with love. Now, go and give that love out to others in your day, especially those who need it.’”
We are the servants. And we are the guests, too. We have a king who invites us to partake in his son’s feast where we, also, are filled up with love. And, as messengers, we are called to invite the bad and good alike, despite the risks.
Like the servants in today’s parable, we may not feel adequately prepared to represent the king. But, thankfully, we have the living church to sustain us, to wrestle with us, for this task of giving of ourselves.
Prayer
Heavenly Father, you have sent prophets, apostles, and your only begotten Son to proclaim the coming of your kingdom. We have often hardened our hearts, refusing to heed your countless invitations. We have mistreated your servants, and, by our sins, we are guilty of nailing your Son to the cross. In your loving mercy, forgive our sins. Give us grace to maintain the purity of our baptism and to faithfully live out our baptismal vocation to a life of holiness so that we may one day share in the banquet of your kingdom, where you live and reign forever and ever. Amen.
Saint of the Day
St. Bernard of Clairvaux had words sweet as honey, and he used them to reinvigorate monasteries where men and women gave their lives to God in prayer.
He was born in 1090 in France and excelled in his education as a child. As a youth, he was well-loved by many—he was witty, attractive, and the depth of his character shone. Gradually, the idea formed in his mind that he was to leave the world for life as a monk. A community of monks had recently formed a monastery nearby and lived a strict life together. Bernard wondered if he might be called to join them.
One day, filled with anxiety about this decision, he went into a church and prayed that God would direct him to discover and follow God’s will. He received the firm resolution to enter the monastery. His many friends tried to dissuade him, but in conversations with him, they suddenly discovered a desire to join him in giving their lives to prayer—even those who had never considered religious life before. Because of his influence, 31 men in all followed him into the monastery. His eloquent appeals were irresistible.
Bernard entered the monastery wanting to disappear and be forgotten so as to only attend to God. After a few years, the abbot, seeing his extraordinary abilities, asked him to found another monastery with a dozen other monks. His holiness and witness encouraged others to join, and soon 130 lived in the monastery in a valley that came to be known as Clairvaux.
Healings and miracles began to be ascribed to him, including the restoration of the power of speech to a converted nobleman who was dying so that he could properly confess his sins. Bernard was sought after for his wisdom—princes and popes asked for his counsel in their affairs, and he struggled to meet the needs of those around him and still maintain a healthy prayer life, which he most desired. He never refused a challenge.
He was known for his preaching, especially his commentary on the Song of Songs. Bernard’s Clairvaux community spawned many more monasteries—nearly 70— ranging as far as Ireland.
Bernard died in 1153 and has been declared a doctor of the Church, a title given to 38 saints who are known for elucidating the faith by their words or example. St. Bernard was given the title Doctor Mellifluus—the “honey-sweet doctor”—for his eloquence. He is the patron saint of beekeepers and candlemakers and is depicted in stained glass in the Dillon Hall chapel (top image). His relics rest in the reliquary chapel in the Basilica.
St. Bernard, the honey-sweet doctor, you convinced 31 of your friends to enter the monastery with you—pray for us!