33rd Sunday in Ordinary Time: The Last Things

Reflection on the Readings for the Thirty-Third Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year C (November 16, 2025)

As we draw near the end of the liturgical year, the Church invites us into the profound mystery of eschatology—the "last things"—through the readings for this Thirty-Third Sunday in Ordinary Time. These scriptures, proclaimed on November 16, 2025, echo the themes of judgment, redemption, and faithful perseverance, urging us to live with vigilant hope amid the uncertainties of our world. Yet, in reflecting on these words, I am drawn also to a poignant anniversary: today marks the twentieth year since Bishop Francisco Garmendia, the beloved auxiliary bishop of New York and tireless shepherd to Hispanic Catholics, was called to the Father's house in 2005. His life of service, marked by a deep devotion to the marginalized and the Eucharist, becomes a living commentary on today's Gospel, reminding us that true discipleship endures beyond the tempests of time.

The first reading from the prophet Malachi (3:19-20a) paints a stark image of divine judgment: "For lo, the day is coming, blazing like an oven, when all the proud and all evildoers will be stubble." This fiery vision is not meant to instill terror but to awaken a holy fear—a recognition that God's justice will consume all that is unjust, leaving no root or branch unburned. Yet, in the very next breath, Malachi offers a tender promise of mercy: "But for you who fear my name, there will arise the sun of justice with its healing wings." Here, the "sun of justice" foreshadows Christ, the Light who rises not to scorch but to heal, restoring wholeness to the humble and the faithful. In our fractured world—plagued by division, injustice, and fleeting distractions—this passage calls us to cultivate that reverent fear, not as slaves to dread, but as children who trust in the dawn after the longest night.

The responsive psalm, Psalm 98:5-6, 7-8, 9, swells with cosmic praise: "Sing praise to the Lord with the harp... Before the Lord, for he comes, for he comes to rule the earth." It transforms Malachi's judgment into a symphony of salvation, where mountains and rivers join humanity in acclaiming God's equitable reign. This is no distant, impersonal tribunal; it is the arrival of a just King whose rule brings harmony to creation itself. As we sing these verses, we are invited to align our lives with this universal chorus, letting our daily choices—acts of kindness, advocacy for the poor, stewardship of the earth—resonate as notes in the grand hymn of redemption.

In the second reading, from 2 Thessalonians (3:7-12), St. Paul confronts the early Christian community with a practical exhortation amid their eschatological fervor: "We hear that some are conducting themselves among you in a disorderly way, by not keeping busy but minding the things of others." Paul's remedy is simple yet demanding: "If anyone is unwilling to work, neither should that one eat." This is no mere scolding against idleness; it is a blueprint for Christian maturity. In an age of anxiety about the "end times," Paul reminds us that faith without works is fruitless. We are called to emulate him—"to imitate us," he says—not in passivity, but in diligent labor that builds up the Kingdom here and now. Whether in our families, workplaces, or communities, this summons us to purposeful action, trusting that our efforts, however small, contribute to the justice Malachi envisions and the praise the psalmist proclaims.

The Gospel from Luke (21:5-19) brings these threads together in Jesus' sobering discourse on the Temple's destruction and the signs of the end. As the disciples marvel at the Temple's grandeur—"Teacher, look at the magnificent stones and buildings"—Jesus shatters their illusions: "All that you see here—the days will come when there will not be left a stone upon another stone." Wars, earthquakes, famines, persecutions—these are the birth pangs of a new creation. Yet, amid the chaos, Jesus' words are laced with assurance: "You will be hated by all because of my name, but not a hair on your head will be destroyed. By your perseverance you will secure your lives." This is the heart of the readings: endurance not as grim stoicism, but as steadfast love rooted in Christ. The "end" is not annihilation but fulfillment, where even betrayal by family or the roar of nations becomes opportunity for testimony.

What strikes me most in this Gospel is its raw honesty about suffering—echoing the very trials Bishop Francisco Garmendia faced in his ministry. Born in Spain in 1928 and arriving in the United States as a young priest, Bishop Garmendia became a pioneer for the growing Hispanic Catholic population in New York. Ordained auxiliary bishop in 1977, he championed bilingual liturgy, immigrant rights, and education, often in the face of cultural resistance and personal health struggles. On November 16, 2005, after years of tireless service, he passed into eternity at age 77, leaving a legacy of pastoral zeal that touched countless lives. 

Today, as we ponder Luke's warnings of division and persecution, I see in my friend the late Bishop Garmendia a model of the perseverance Jesus describes. He did not flee the "roar of the sea and the earth" of urban poverty and prejudice; instead, he bore witness through concrete charity, founding schools and advocating for the voiceless. His death, exactly two decades ago, invites us to ask: In what "stones" of our own lives—comforts, securities, illusions of permanence—are we tempted to place our trust? And how can we, like him, turn trials into platforms for proclaiming the Gospel?

These readings, proclaimed on this anniversary, converge in a single invitation: to live eschatologically without fear. The "day is coming," Malachi warns, but it dawns as healing light for those who fear the Lord. Paul bids us work diligently, that our hands might prepare the harvest. And Jesus assures us that, though the world quakes, our perseverance in love will secure not just survival, but eternal life. Bishop Garmendia's homecoming reminds us that this promise is no abstraction; it is the story of saints who walked among us, their lives a foretaste of the justice to come.

As we approach Advent's threshold, may we heed these words. Let us dismantle the false temples of self-reliance, labor with Paul’s discipline, and persevere with the unshakeable hope of Christ. In doing so, we join the psalm's eternal song, where even the rivers clap their hands for the Lord who rules with equity. And on this day, we pray for Bishop Garmendia, whose faithful witness continues to inspire: Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him. May he, with all the saints, intercede for us as we await the Sun of Justice. Amen.

Rest in peace, my friend!  Pray for us!

Visit Bishop Francisco Garmendia.