Daily Gospel Reflection
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May 18, 2026
The disciples said to Jesus,
“Now you are talking plainly, and not in any figure of speech.
Now we realize that you know everything
and that you do not need to have anyone question you.
Because of this we believe that you came from God.”
Jesus answered them, “Do you believe now?
Behold, the hour is coming and has arrived
when each of you will be scattered to his own home
and you will leave me alone.
But I am not alone, because the Father is with me.
I have told you this so that you might have peace in me.
In the world you will have trouble,
but take courage, I have conquered the world.”
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.
When my late husband was going through the worst of his cancer treatments, I despised pithy sayings like, “Have a nice day,” or “Carpe diem!” I’m not having a nice day, and please don’t tell me to seize the day. No, thank you. That is exhausting.
To me, this passage has often seemed like another platitude: “Take courage, for I have conquered the world.” In my most cynical moments, I don’t care that Jesus has conquered the world. What good is that doing me when it’s 9 p.m. and I’m still doing dishes? Or when the third child this week has come down with strep throat, and at 2 a.m., I am setting up another humidifier?
I pray each morning before my kids get up, and when I do, I visualize myself in the story. In today’s gospel, I imagine myself as one of the apostles, having gone through the most consequential moment of my life: watching the person I love most in the world die an agonizing death. The closest I can come is to resurrect the feelings I had when my husband died. I was raw, scared, and deeply lonely.
And then Jesus shows up! WHAT?! And not even with the best of news. He tells them that they will be scattered, that they will have trouble in the world. But also, he tells them there’s no need to worry because ultimately, he has already conquered all of it. They can endure whatever is in front of them.
After my husband’s death, my life, too, has been a mixed bag of difficult blessings. I married a widower, and together, we have five children. Blending a family has been so difficult that, had I known how hard it would be, I might not have done it!
But that deep, raw, unadulterated suffering also bears the fruit of total surrender. If God needs to scatter me, he can scatter me. If I need to have trouble, I can handle it. It’s not that I’m looking forward to those things if they happen, but also, I know the truth: I am not alone.
Prayer
Jesus, Light of the World, you know that there is trouble in the world. But you shed your divine light on us all, and illumine our way to the Father. You know all in love, you see all in hope, and you conquer all in peace. Though we may be scattered, grant us each a courageous heart that rests in you, in the peace that surpasses all understanding. Amen.
Saint of the Day
St. Felix was known for being rigorous in both his austerities and his love for the poor. Many of those who knew him in life referred to him as “the saint.”
He was born in Italy in the 16th century. His parents were faithful people, and as a child, Felix imitated their devotion. As he approached, his boyhood friends would call out, “Here comes Felix the saint!”
He worked herding his parents’ cows in the field, and used the solitude and silence of that work for prayer. When he was 12, he was hired to work for a wealthy landowner. He taught himself meditative prayer that he could sustain even in his manual labor. He reflected often upon the suffering and death of Jesus, and remained ever cheerful and humble; he prayed for those who insulted him.
As he grew, he wondered what God might be calling him to do with his life. One day, as he was plowing a field, something spooked the oxen with which he was working. He tried to hold them back, and fell below them—he was trampled, and the plow passed over his body. Miraculously, he got up without injury. In gratitude for his safety, he immediately entered a Capuchin monastery.
As a monk there, he doubled his penances and mortifications. Though he considered everyone in the monastery more holy than he, they all referred to him as “the saint.” When he was 35, he was sent to Rome, where he spent the rest of his life begging for food and money for the community of monks and for other poor people. It was difficult work, full of discomfort and humiliation, but he went about it with his characteristic prayerfulness.
His superiors trusted him to use the money he collected to support the poor. He visited the sick and dying and cared for them himself. He was a great friend to St. Philip Neri, who enjoyed conversing with the poor saint.
He was severe with himself, believing that pampering the body led to sluggishness in the soul. Whenever he could do so without being noticed, he fasted on bread and water, seeking the crusts that were thrown away by others. He wore clothes that induced pain, and always went about without shoes. Despite all this, he constantly gave thanks to God, saying, “Deo gratias.” In fact, the street children of Rome knew him as Brother Deogratias.
St. Felix died when he was 72 from an illness, and received a vision of Mary on his deathbed. We are told that many miracles were witnessed after his death. Relics of St. Felix rest in the reliquary chapel in the Basilica.
St. Felix of Cantalice, you filled your days with prayer and begging for the poor, pray for us!
Image Credit: Our featured image of St. Felix of Cantalice is in the public domain. Last accessed March 11, 2025 on Wikimedia Commons.
