Last week we emphasized the reality of spiritual hunger and the necessity to engage the spiritual works of mercy. This weekend’s gospel provides ballast for that idea by reminding us that physical hunger is just as real and has a vital claim on our compassion.

Back in grade school I smelled a rat when it came to the works of mercy. I understood perfectly why feeding the hungry or giving water to the thirsty was a compassionate thing to do. And of course the homeless need shelter, the shivering need clothing, the sick and imprisoned want company, and the dead could use a proper burial.

Among my favorite scenes in biblical history is a screwball comedy moment between Amaziah, priest of Bethel, and Amos. Comedy in Amos? You betcha. Admittedly Amos is not naturally a funny guy, and probably doesn’t have a joke-y bone in his body.

Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account,” Jesus famously taught in his Sermon on the Mount. And he should know, because Jesus faced precisely this kind of treatment at his debut in Nazareth.

Earlier this year I sat and watched my father die. There’s not much we can do for the people we love in this hour but pray and be present. I recited all the mysteries of the rosary, all the mysteries of life and love and suffering, during the weeks before his death.

Summertime is supposed to be the slow season. School’s out; the temperature’s up; sandals are on, and sauntering is in. But some of us can be forgiven if our hearts are still racing this June.

Thirty years ago I spent some time volunteering at Covenant House, a child welfare organization in New York. As you can imagine, the concept of the covenant was a big thing there.

Forever is a long time. Ask the couple who promises fidelity for only one lifetime! Or the celibate who takes vows for the long haul.

If the riveting movie Doubt taught us nothing else last year, it’s that there’s always room for being dead wrong. We don’t like to entertain that notion even in the privacy of our midnight thoughts.

City dwellers may be accustomed to considering snakes only in the metaphorical sense. But in my backyard, they’re awfully literal.