Saturday 26th Week, Year II
World Day for Migration and Refugees and Priestly Vocations
Saint Mary’s Seminary
Baltimore, Maryland
October 3 2026
Dear brothers and sisters:
There are families in our community who go to bed afraid and wake up afraid. They think twice before taking their children to school, or even before coming to Mass. And there are children who quietly ask, “Dad, will you be home when I get back?” That uncertainty is real. The Church does not ignore it or hide it. This morning, we bring it here, to the altar of the Lord.
The first reading places Job before us. Job lost everything: his possessions, his health, his children. For a long time, he asks God questions, and God does not answer each one. But in the end, Job says something beautiful: “I knew you only by hearsay, but now my eyes have seen you.” Job did not receive all the explanations. He received something greater: he discovered that God was with him in the midst of the darkness. God did not keep him from the storm, but He never abandoned him in it.
And notice a beautiful detail. When the Lord restores Job’s life, the reading tells us that Job gave his daughters a share of the inheritance, just as he did to their brothers. At that time, daughters did not ordinarily inherit. But in the house restored by God, no one is left out. Those who seemed to have fewer rights are given their place in the family. This is what the Kingdom of God is like.
In the psalm, we pray: “Teach me, Lord, your statutes.” And the psalmist adds: “The explanation of your word gives light and understanding to the simple.” When everything seems dark, the Word of God is light. And that light comes first to the humble, to the simple, to those who have no other security except God.
In the Gospel, the seventy-two disciples return joyful because even the demons were subject to them. Jesus tells them something that I want you to hear with all your heart: “Do not rejoice because the demons are subject to you. Rejoice rather because your names are written in heaven.”
Brothers and sisters: no document, no list, no database has the final word about who you are. Your name is written in heaven. God knows you by name. You are beloved sons and daughters of the Father. No one can take that dignity away from you.
Then Jesus is filled with joy in the Holy Spirit and exclaims: “I give you praise, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, for although you have hidden these things from the wise and the learned, you have revealed them to the childlike!” The simple, the little ones, those who are discarded, those who do not count in the eyes of the world, are the first in the heart of God.
This year, Pope Leo XIV invites us to look precisely toward the littlest ones. The theme of the World Day of Migrants and Refugees is: “Even one of these little ones.” (Mk 9:37) The Pope reminds us that millions of children and adolescents are forced to leave their homeland because of war, poverty, and violence. He also mentions the pain of children separated from their parents through deportation. He tells us something very clear: this is not a matter of numbers or statistics. The Gospel does not do calculations. Even one. Every child has infinite dignity because each one is made in the image of God.
And Jesus said it very clearly: “Whoever receives one child such as this in my name receives me.” (Mk 9:37) When we embrace the child who is afraid, we embrace Christ. When we ignore that child, we ignore Christ.
The Pope also reminds us that, even in the midst of so much darkness, the light of solidarity is not absent. There are families, volunteers, teachers, and faith communities that do not turn away. That light is not our own. It is the light of Christ that shines through us. He said: “I am the light of the world; whoever follows me will not walk in darkness.” (Jn 8:12)
What does this ask of us today, concretely?
To those who live in fear: You are not alone. Our parishes are your home. Christ walks with you, just as He walked with Job, and just as He walked with the Holy Family when they had to flee to Egypt.
To the entire community: The Pope tells us that we cannot leave this task only to institutions. It belongs to all of us. Call your neighbor. Ask about the family that has stopped coming. Accompany the children in catechism classes who arrive quiet and afraid. Let no child in this community feel invisible.
To everyone: Pray. Pray for families who have been separated, for children, and for those who make decisions that affect so many lives. And pray that our hearts never become accustomed to suffering.
Vocations
And I want to tell you one final thing. The seventy-two disciples who return today filled with joy were sent by Jesus with these words: “The harvest is abundant but the laborers are few.” (Lk 10:2) Today, the Church continues to need workers for that harvest.
Your homes are a seedbed. There, where grandmother teaches the Rosary, where a candle is lit before Our Lady of Guadalupe, where children are blessed before leaving the house—there God plants vocations. From families like yours come priests, religious women and men, consecrated persons, and also holy marriages that will become the domestic Church of tomorrow.
Do not be afraid to let your children hear God’s call. Even amid uncertainty—or perhaps precisely in the midst of it—the children who arrive today frightened may tomorrow become the priests, religious women and men, and fathers and mothers who sustain the faith of this country.
The faith you carried with you along the journey is not a burden: it is a seed. Plant it in your children. God will make it bear fruit.
Conclusion
Let us entrust all migrant children and their families to Mary and Saint Joseph, who knew exile with the Child Jesus in their arms. May they teach us how to welcome others, may they make our homes a seedbed of vocations, and may Christ, our light, shine upon us in these uncertain times.
Amen.