Gospel Reflection on Matthew 9:36-10:8
- Jun 11
- 3 min read
June 14, 2026
At the sight of the crowds, Jesus’ heart was moved with pity for them because they were troubled and abandoned, like sheep without a shepherd. Then he said to his disciples, “The harvest is abundant but the laborers are few; so ask the master of the harvest to send out laborers for his harvest.” Then he summoned his twelve disciples and gave them authority over unclean spirits to drive them out and to cure every disease and every illness. The names of the twelve apostles are these: first, Simon called Peter, and his brother Andrew; James, the son of Zebedee, and his brother John; Philip and Bartholomew, Thomas and Matthew the tax collector; James, the son of Alphaeus, and Thaddeus; Simon from Cana, and Judas Iscariot who betrayed him. Jesus sent out these twelve after instructing them thus, “Do not go into pagan territory or enter a Samaritan town. Go rather to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. As you go, make this proclamation: ‘The kingdom of heaven is at hand.’ Cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse lepers, drive out demons. Without cost you have received; without cost you are to give.”
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We are shaped by an image of what it means to be human, that has come to dominate our thinking since the 1800s. Since then, we see ourselves as autonomous creatures of being able to survive by ourselves, of not needing anyone, even God.
Ironically, this has led to a feeling of insecurity, a sense that we're fragile, and an instinct that we are not sufficient after all. Our response to our sense of being insufficient is this myth of the victorious human being, who is able to overcome all adversaries.
In sport, we see this with the victor being glorified, and everyone else counting for nothing.
Consequently, we've lost the understanding of who we really are. Authentic human life includes the honest realization of our own fragility.
In Genesis, humanity asserts its autonomy and opposition to God, and then ironically discovers itself to be naked, fragile, ashamed.
This is always the consequence of proclaiming ourselves to be independent, to find ourselves eventually naked and incapable of maintaining this false front.
Ours is the story of a humanity who carries in themselves a memory of their dignity, of being chosen by God, of true greatness, but who instead decides to become great, until we arrive at the point of shame, a disordered relationship with our own body and with other people.
The politics of our day is once again become a litany of making ourselves great again. This path always ends in a state of rivalry with others, seeking constantly to exalt ourselves in an effort to recreate the memory of our true beauty and true goodness.
What we're called to is love, not perfection. God is not seeking victors, but people with the same compassion that God has.
If we remember the gaze of Jesus, his way of looking at people, it's sobering to think of the obsession in our times with the external aspect of ourselves as if it were everything.
Jesus looks deeper than our appearance, deeper than our makeup, deeper than our existential deodorants, deeper than our disguises in which we try to present ourselves as perfect people, even in church.
We like to see ourselves as people without weaknesses, but then the weaknesses pursue us and reveal themselves when we least expect it. We are vulnerable and weak, what we're called to is love, not perfection.
Human beings reach perfection when they have love and mercy in their hearts, not when they can defeat every enemy.
This Sunday, we all accept that we're in sheep in need of a shepherd, and we desperately need to be cared for by him and leave behind this mirage of autonomy from the 1900s.
Can we live as children of the Father, allies with him in the covenant, as sheep or cared for by a good shepherd who are fed, washed and healed by one who loves them?
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