Memorial of Saint Pius of Pietrelcina, Priest

What is Daily Mass Readings with Homily and Saint of the Day?

Hear the Mass readings of the day, followed by a homily grounded in the writings of the Church Fathers, Doctors, and master theologians. Every episode concludes with a brief reflection on the heroic virtue of the Saint of the Day and a practical spiritual resolution to carry into your daily life.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Today is September the twenty-third, the Memorial of Saint Pius of Pietrelcina — Padre Pio — that stigmatized priest whose very body became an altar. Grant us, O Lord, a poverty of spirit so complete that we need nothing but Your word, Your authority, and Your presence to carry the Gospel to the ends of the earth.

A reading from the Book of Proverbs, chapter thirty, verses five through nine.

Every word of God is tested; he is a shield to those who take refuge in him. Add nothing to his words, lest he reprove you, and you will be exposed as a deceiver. Two things I ask of you, deny them not to me before I die: Put falsehood and lying far from me, give me neither poverty nor riches; provide me only with the food I need; lest, being full, I deny you, saying, "Who is the LORD?" Or, being in want, I steal, and profane the name of my God.

The word of the Lord.

The Responsorial Psalm, Psalm one hundred nineteen, verses twenty-nine, seventy-two, eighty-nine, one hundred one, one hundred four, and one hundred sixty-three.

Your word, O Lord, is a lamp for my feet.

Remove from me the way of falsehood, and favor me with your law. Your word, O Lord, is a lamp for my feet. The law of your mouth is to me more precious than thousands of gold and silver pieces. Your word, O Lord, is a lamp for my feet. Your word, O LORD, endures forever; it is firm as the heavens. Your word, O Lord, is a lamp for my feet. From every evil way I withhold my feet, that I may keep your words. Your word, O Lord, is a lamp for my feet. Through your precepts I gain discernment; therefore I hate every false way. Your word, O Lord, is a lamp for my feet. Falsehood I hate and abhor; your law I love. Your word, O Lord, is a lamp for my feet.

Alleluia. The Kingdom of God is at hand; repent and believe in the Gospel. Alleluia.

A reading from the holy Gospel according to Luke, chapter nine, verses one through six.

Jesus summoned the Twelve and gave them power and authority over all demons and to cure diseases, and he sent them to proclaim the Kingdom of God and to heal the sick. He said to them, "Take nothing for the journey, neither walking stick, nor sack, nor food, nor money, and let no one take a second tunic. Whatever house you enter, stay there and leave from there. And as for those who do not welcome you, when you leave that town, shake the dust from your feet in testimony against them." Then they set out and went from village to village proclaiming the Good News and curing diseases everywhere.

The Gospel of the Lord.

Three commands ring out from today's sacred page, each one stripping something away: strip away falsehood, strip away excess, strip away self-reliance. The sacred writer Agur, in Proverbs, prays for the middle path — not poverty that drives a man to theft, not wealth that makes a man forget the source of all good things. This is not merely prudence in financial matters. This prayer is a theology of dependence. Agur is not asking for comfort; he is asking for the conditions under which holiness becomes possible.

Saint Thomas Aquinas, in the Summa Theologica, teaches that the virtue of temperance does not consist in the rejection of created goods as though they were evil, but in their right ordering toward the ultimate end, which is God Himself. Agur's prayer is a perfect expression of that ordering. He does not despise bread; he despises the bread that makes a man forget the Bread of Life. He does not despise silver; he despises the silver that silences the name of the Lord upon a man's lips.

The Psalmist then thunders in confirmation: "Your word, O Lord, endures forever; it is firm as the heavens." Notice that firmness — the heavens do not shift according to fashion or fear. Every human institution, every political arrangement, every philosophical system built without the word of God is, by contrast, a tent in a windstorm. Cornelius a Lapide, commenting on Psalm one hundred nineteen, notes that the Psalmist's hatred of falsehood is not an incidental sentiment but a fruit of his love for the divine law — the two are inseparable. You cannot truly love truth without developing a principled, even visceral, revulsion at its opposite. A man who is merely indifferent to lies has not yet arrived at love of truth.

Then Christ acts. He summons the Twelve. He gives them power and authority. And then — this is the miracle hidden in plain sight — He empties their hands. No walking stick. No sack. No money. No second tunic. Saint Augustine, in his treatise on the harmony of the Gospels, reflects that this apostolic poverty is not a logistical arrangement but a sacramental sign: the apostle who carries nothing demonstrates with his body that the Kingdom of God is the only cargo worth bearing. The preacher who arrives burdened with his own provisions announces, without words, that he trusts his own resources over the providence of God. The apostle who arrives empty announces the opposite.

This is the razor's edge that Agur prayed to walk. And Christ enforces it — not as cruelty, but as mercy. When the apostle has nothing in his hands, he cannot point to what he carries. He can only point to the One who sent him.

The instruction to shake the dust from one's feet upon departure from an unwelcoming town is sobering. It is not a gesture of contempt. Saint Thomas reads it as a formal witness — the apostle testifies, even in leaving, that something of infinite value was offered and refused. The dust of rejection becomes evidence. The preacher who has fully emptied himself can leave freely, because he has left behind no personal investment. He gave what was given to him, and he moves on.

Padre Pio of Pietrelcina entered the Capuchin order as a boy, took a vow of poverty, and then discovered that God intended to take that vow with alarming literalness. For fifty years, he bore the wounds of Christ in his own flesh — the stigmata — without anesthesia, without relief, without explanation that satisfied merely human curiosity. He became, in his own person, the apostle who carried nothing and yet through whom healing and conversion poured like rivers. He heard confessions for up to eighteen hours a day. He had no walking stick, no sack, no second tunic — only the authority given him at his ordination and the word of God planted so deeply in his soul that it became the architecture of his being.

Padre Pio once said, "Pray, hope, and don't worry." That is Agur's prayer made practical. That is the Twelve setting out from village to village made contemporary. That is the man who needed nothing but God — and found that God was sufficient.

He died on this day in 1968, the wounds still present in his body. When they examined him afterward, the wounds had vanished — as if the suffering had been entirely purposeful and, its purpose accomplished, was gently taken back. He carried nothing into death, and nothing into death carried him away.

Today, identify one thing you are carrying — one anxiety, one attachment, one false security — that God did not pack for your journey. Name it clearly. Set it down. Carry only what He gave you.

May Almighty God bless you, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen. Praised be Jesus Christ, now and forever. Amen.
EPISODE_TITLE: Empty Hands, Full Authority
IMAGE_PROMPT: A barefoot Capuchin friar walks a dusty Italian road at dawn, hands open and empty at his sides, bearing the visible wounds of the stigmata, with golden light breaking over ancient hills in the distance.