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Saint Januarius – Bishop, Martyr, and Patron of Naples

Saint Januarius, known in Italian as San Gennaro, is one of the best-known saints of southern Italy. His feast is celebrated on September 19.

Januarius lived around the end of the third and beginning of the fourth century. According to Christian tradition, he was Bishop of Benevento during the persecution of Christians under Emperor Diocletian. When several Christians were arrested, Januarius went to encourage them. He too was arrested and, after refusing to renounce his faith, was put to death, traditionally around 305 AD, near Pozzuoli.

His story reminds Christians that holiness is not simply a matter of speaking about Christ. Januarius was prepared to remain faithful when faithfulness became dangerous. As a bishop, he did not abandon his people when they suffered. He went to them, encouraged them, and ultimately shared their fate.

The famous blood of Saint Januarius

Saint Januarius is especially famous because of a remarkable tradition associated with a relic of his blood, preserved in Naples Cathedral. On certain occasions each year, especially around September 19, the substance contained in sealed ampoules and traditionally identified as his blood is observed to change from a solid or thickened state into a liquid state.

This event is commonly called the liquefaction of the blood of Saint Januarius. For centuries, it has been part of Neapolitan religious life. The Catholic Church permits and honors the devotion surrounding the relic, while the phenomenon itself should not be confused with a formally defined article of faith. Various natural explanations have also been proposed.

For the people of Naples, however, Saint Januarius is much more than an extraordinary relic. He represents a profound relationship between a saint and the city that has invoked his protection for centuries, particularly in times of epidemics, earthquakes, volcanic danger and other calamities.

A spiritual message

The deepest message of Saint Januarius can therefore be found not in the extraordinary phenomenon connected with his blood, but in the blood he was willing to shed for Christ.

His martyrdom asks us a challenging question: What is my faith worth when following Christ costs me something?

Most Christians will never be asked to become martyrs in the literal sense. Yet there is a kind of daily martyrdom: remaining truthful when lying would be easier, forgiving when resentment seems justified, defending someone who is treated unjustly, remaining faithful to prayer during spiritual dryness, and standing beside suffering people instead of avoiding them.

Saint Januarius teaches us that faith becomes especially powerful when it moves from words into fidelity, courage, and sacrifice.

A short prayer might be:

Saint Januarius, faithful bishop and courageous martyr, pray for us. Help us to remain faithful to Christ in times of difficulty, courageous in witnessing to the Gospel, and compassionate toward those who suffer. May our lives show that Christ is more precious to us than comfort, success or fear. Amen.

The kingdom of heaven is like a farmer who goes out early in the morning to hire worgoeskers for his vineyard. He negotiated with the workers for a denarius a day…

God has called us to live in the world, whereby we can participate in the improvement and sanctification of God’s creation. If someone realizes this, that is already a reward for him. But God, as a generous farmer, motivates us even more to work in His vineyard, with the reward of eternity.

When he went out about nine o’clock, he saw others standing strangely in the square… likewise at twelve, three, and five in the afternoon, and finding them standing, he said to them: ‘Why are you standing here idle all day?’

Parables about the kingdom of God reveal its essence from different points of view. The parable of the workers in the vineyard emphasizes the work, the credit for the work done. In other words: “Heaven is not for the lazy”, as St. John Bosco. God desires human activity, not dullness in both the spiritual and physical realms. Of course, professions have their differences, some work more physically, others mentally. One can see in the hours when the lord invites the workers, his status duties, which may have their destination either for work or prayer… 

When evening came, the lord of the vineyard said to his steward: ‘Call the workers and pay them their wages, beginning with the last and ending with the first!’

With the workers in the parable, it is clear that not everyone knows what they are working for. Only the first will know the agreed salary, the others have been promised a fair reward. In the case of God’s steward, it should be enough for us...

So those who boarded around five o’clock in the afternoon came, and each received a denarius. When the first ones came, they thought they would get more. But they also got a denarius each.

It is strange that the pay is the same, although the length of the work is not. There is a conflict between human and God’s vision of justice. The agreement was not broken, but the human expectation was different. The temptation to evaluate oneself and one’s merits in comparison with others is human, but to try to be satisfied with what God gives and to believe that it is the best for us is divine.

They took him and grumbled at the householder: ‘These last worked only one hour, and you made them equal to us, who bore the burden of the day and the heat.’

We may have our merits, but let God judge them. Feelings of guilt—there will always be some. And maybe that is precisely the message of the parable, so that we can handle them and not get bored with the work, which in God’s eyes will certainly not lose its reward. God is sometimes surprisingly, disturbingly, even “outrageously” good in our eyes. “Are you staring at me because I’m good?”

When the plane landed on a rocky runway, they found themselves in the Masai Mara, Kenya. A native welcomed them and loaded their luggage into a Land Rover. They set off for a two-day camp. Along the way, they stopped to watch zebras and wildebeest migrating from the Masai Mara to the Serengeti. The guide explained that these huge herds travel together because zebras have excellent eyesight but poor sense of smell, and wildebeest have poor eyesight but a very good sense of smell. This means that when they stick together, they are less vulnerable. 

Kenya has many such examples of God’s wisdom. God created animals with different strengths and weaknesses. It is the same with humans. He created us to be dependent not only on him but also on one another. The apostle Paul discusses this idea in his letter to the church in Corinth. As members of the body of Christ, we have different gifts and abilities. The church is healthy only when we work together, care for one another, and each uses their abilities for mutual benefit. Together we will go much further than we would go alone.

Because of this danger, Christ sends the apostles. “Take nothing for the journey.” The only thing that can ensure and help the apostles is his word.

The Nobel Prize is awarded every year to those people who have made an exceptional contribution—economists, physicists, writers, doctors, scientists, and people striving for peace and tranquility. When someone receives the Nobel Prize, they receive the highest recognition for many years of education, work, professional growth, and sacrifices. What are these people willing to undergo? We Christians desire to influence the world spiritually. But I ask, what is the source of the spiritual influence of our ministry?

If we want to impact people in the name of Jesus Christ, what do we need to invest in? The early followers of Christ were profoundly influenced by spending time with Jesus. The Jewish religious leaders recognized this. In Acts 4:13, it says, “When they saw the boldness of Peter and John, and perceived that they were unlearned and ordinary men, they marveled, and they took knowledge of them, that they had been with Jesus.” Courses and education are valuable additions to serving Christ, but nothing can replace time spent in His presence. He is the only source of spiritual influence in our lives and the lives of believers. If we are to master our service to the Lord, let us spend time with the Master.

Dear brothers and sisters,

Today the Church invites us to remember an extraordinary woman: St. Hildegard of Bingen, a Benedictine abbess, mystic, theologian, writer, composer, and Doctor of the Church. She lived in the 12th century, yet many aspects of her spiritual message remain remarkably relevant today.

Hildegard teaches us above all one important truth: when a person opens his or her heart completely to God, God can accomplish extraordinary things through an ordinary human life.

Hildegard was born in Germany in 1098. From childhood she had a profound sensitivity to the presence of God. Later she entered religious life and eventually became an abbess. She received mystical visions, but for many years she hesitated to speak about them. She did not seek attention. She did not want to become famous. She wanted simply to belong to God.

Eventually, however, she understood that the gifts God had given her were not meant only for herself. They were meant for others.

This is already an important lesson for us.

God has given something to every one of us. Perhaps we do not have mystical visions. Perhaps we cannot write books or compose music. But everyone has received gifts: the ability to encourage someone, to listen, to pray, to forgive, to teach, to care for another person, or simply to remain faithful when life becomes difficult.

The question is not: “Do I have extraordinary gifts?”

The question is: “Am I using what God has given me?”

Hildegard lived at a time when women had very little public influence. Yet she corresponded with popes, bishops, abbots, kings, and emperors. She was not afraid to tell powerful people the truth. When she saw corruption or spiritual weakness in the Church, she spoke clearly about it.

Where did this courage come from?

It came from her relationship with God.

A person who wants to please everybody will eventually become afraid of everybody. But a person who wants above all to please God becomes inwardly free.

Hildegard reminds us that holiness does not mean weakness. A saint can be gentle and at the same time courageous. Humility does not mean remaining silent when truth must be spoken. True humility means that we no longer place ourselves at the center. God is at the center.

Another beautiful aspect of Hildegard’s spirituality was her vision of creation. She saw the whole created world as filled with signs of God’s wisdom and goodness. Human beings, animals, plants, the earth, music, the human body—all belong to God’s creation.

For Hildegard, faith was therefore not something separated from ordinary life. God was not present only in the monastery chapel. His wisdom could be discovered throughout creation.

This is something our modern world urgently needs to rediscover.

We often divide our lives into two parts: the religious part and the ordinary part. We pray on Sunday, but then on Monday we return to the “real world.” Hildegard would tell us: There is only one world, and it belongs to God.

God is present when you pray.

But God is also present when you work.

God is present when you care for a sick person.

God is present when you admire the beauty of nature.

God is present when you struggle with suffering.

God is present when you use your talents for the good of another person.

Hildegard often spoke about the spiritual vitality that comes from God. Sin makes the human heart dry and sterile, while God’s grace brings life. This is a powerful image for our spiritual lives.

Sometimes our hearts become dry.

We lose enthusiasm for prayer. We become disappointed with people. We carry old wounds. We become tired of doing good because we do not see results. Perhaps we begin merely to fulfill our religious duties without joy.

At such moments Christ invites us back to the source.

He does not say: “Produce life by your own strength.”He says: “Remain in me.”

A branch does not produce fruit because it tries harder. It produces fruit because it remains connected to the vine.

The same is true for us.

Our greatest spiritual problem is often not that we are weak. Our greatest problem is that we try to live without remaining deeply connected to God.

Hildegard’s remarkable activity flowed from contemplation. Before she spoke to others about God, she listened to God. Before she advised powerful people, she knelt before the One who is more powerful than all earthly rulers.

That order is important.

First listen. Then speak.
First pray. Then act.
First receive from God. Then give to others.

Perhaps this is the invitation St. Hildegard gives us today.

We live in a noisy world. Thousands of voices compete for our attention. News, television, phones, social media, advertisements, opinions and worries constantly enter our minds. But among all these voices there is one voice that matters above all others: the voice of God.

And God usually does not shout.

We must become quiet enough to hear Him.

St. Hildegard listened. And because she listened, her life became fruitful.

We may never write theological books. We may never compose sacred music. We may never advise popes or emperors. But we can become saints.

And in the end, that is what matters.

At the end of our lives God will not ask how famous we became, how many people admired us, or how successful we appeared.

He will ask whether we loved.

Whether we listened to His voice.

Whether we used the gifts He entrusted to us.

Whether through our lives someone else experienced a little more hope, a little more goodness, a little more truth, and a little more of God.

St. Hildegard of Bingen teaches us to listen to God. Teach us to recognize His presence in creation. Teach us to use our gifts courageously. And teach us to remain so deeply united with Christ that our lives, too, may bear abundant fruit.

Amen.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus gives us a striking picture. He compares the people of his generation to children sitting in the marketplace and complaining:

“We played the flute for you, but you did not dance.
We sang a dirge, but you did not weep.”

What does Jesus mean?

He is speaking about the human tendency to make excuses for not responding to God.

John the Baptist came and lived a very austere life. He fasted, lived in the desert, called people to repentance, and spoke with great seriousness. And what did people say? “He has a demon.”

Then Jesus came. He ate with people, accepted invitations to their homes, sat at the table with sinners and tax collectors, and proclaimed the joy of God’s mercy. And what did people say? “Look, he is a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!”

John was too strict for them. Jesus was not strict enough.

John fasted—they criticized him.
Jesus ate with sinners—they criticized him.

The problem, therefore, was neither John nor Jesus. The problem was the human heart’s unwillingness to change.

This Gospel is very relevant to us because we can behave in the same way.

Sometimes we say: “If God showed me clearly what he wants, I would follow him.” But when God speaks clearly, we may say: “This is too difficult.”

We want God to comfort us, but not to correct us. We want him to forgive us, but sometimes we do not want him to ask us to forgive others. We want God’s blessings, but not always his commandments. We want Jesus as Savior, but we sometimes resist Jesus as Lord.

In other words, we want God—but often on our own terms.

John the Baptist represents the call to repentance. Jesus reveals the fullness of mercy and salvation. We need both.

There are moments when God says to us: “You must change something in your life.” Perhaps there is a sin we have become accustomed to. Perhaps resentment lives in our heart. Perhaps our prayer has become superficial. Perhaps we have neglected someone who needs us.

At such moments, we need to hear John the Baptist: “Repent. Prepare the way of the Lord.”

But there are also moments when we are discouraged, ashamed, wounded, or conscious of our weakness. Then we need to hear Jesus saying: “Come to me.”

Christianity contains both the seriousness of conversion and the joy of salvation

There is a time to weep over our sins, but there is also a time to rejoice because they have been forgiven. There is a time for fasting, and there is a time for celebration. There is a cross, but there is also a resurrection.

The danger begins when we reject every way in which God approaches us.

Sometimes God speaks through success; sometimes through disappointment. Sometimes through another person; sometimes through silence. Sometimes through Scripture; sometimes through our conscience. Sometimes through suffering; sometimes through unexpected joy.

The important question is not: “Does God speak to me in the way I would prefer?”

The important question is: “Am I willing to listen when God speaks?”

At the end of today’s Gospel, Jesus says something mysterious and beautiful:

“Wisdom is vindicated by all her children.”

In other words, the truth of God’s way becomes visible in its fruits.

A person who truly accepts God begins to change. Perhaps slowly, perhaps with many struggles—but something happens. Pride yields way to humility. Hatred yields way to forgiveness. Selfishness yields way to generosity. Fear yields way to trust. The person becomes more capable of loving.

These are the children of divine wisdom. These are its fruits.

We can therefore ask ourselves today: What fruit is my faith producing in me?

We can hear hundreds of sermons and remain unchanged. We can know many prayers and still refuse reconciliation. We can defend Christian teaching and yet fail to love the person standing beside us.

God does not merely want us to hear his Word. He wants his Word to enter our hearts and transform our lives.

Dear brothers and sisters, God may sometimes come to us like John the Baptist, calling us to conversion. At other times, he comes like Jesus, sitting at the table with sinners, offering friendship, mercy, and a new beginning.

Let us accept him in both forms.

When God calls us to repentance, let us repent.
When he calls us to rejoice, let us rejoice.
When he asks us to forgive, let us do so.
When he invites us to trust, let us trust him.
When he calls us to follow him, let us follow him.

Let us not be like the children in the marketplace who refuse both the flute and the dirge.

Instead, let us have hearts attentive enough to recognize God’s voice, humble enough to accept his correction, and trusting enough to receive his mercy.

Then God’s wisdom will be visible in both what we believe and how we live.

Why is the evil spirit not afraid of our abilities but of our holiness?

Satan knows us very well. He knows what tempts us and what attracts us. He knows what we like and what we fear.

Herod was a man of his time. He longed for power, he was selfish and cunning. And yet, he liked to listen to John the Baptist. He sensed his holiness. Holiness is a great power. God is holy, and Satan is afraid of Him.

How was the holiness of John the Baptist revealed? In his humility, in the fact that he belonged completely to God. The evil spirit wants our hearts. He knows that when we turn to God, he has lost.

We may have a difficult life. But that is not the greatest problem. What really matters is that we remain with God. John lived with God; he lived according to God’s will. John the Baptist helped to save many people because he turned their attention toward God.

Our task is not simply to save our life here on earth, but to gain eternal life. Today we often struggle for things that tomorrow we will lose. If our only concern is to have a comfortable and successful life here on earth, we are on the wrong path. Such things cannot give us true inner strength.

Many people feel that earthly things they have gained—such as wealth, success, or a career—have fulfilled their lives. But I ask: For how long? The years will pass, and one day they will lose all these things.

Do not the words of Jesus apply here? He teaches us not to seek treasures that moth and rust can destroy, but rather lasting treasures—values that remain for eternal life.

It is a tragedy when we pursue earthly things without caring about what God says about how we live. Such a path can never end well.

The real question is not how much we have achieved, how successful we have become, or how comfortable our life has been. The real question is: Do we belong to God?

That was the strength of John the Baptist. And that is the strength of every holy person. The evil spirit is not afraid of our talents, our intelligence, our position, or our success. He is afraid of a person who belongs completely to God.

Yesterday we celebrated the Triumph of the Cross. Today the Church invites us to do something that seems almost unnatural: to look away from the Crucified for a moment, and to look at the woman standing next to Him. We call her today Our Lady of Sorrows, Mater Dolorosa.

If the Cross is the throne, she is the queen standing at its foot. If the Cross is the altar of sacrifice, she is the first witness.

The Gospel we just heard gives us few words from Mary on this day. John says: she was *standing*.

In Greek, the verb is *histēmi* – to stand firm, to endure, to remain. She did not collapse. She did not run away. She stood.

This is the heart of today’s feast.

### 1. Sorrow is not the opposite of faith. It is part of it.

We often think of faith as something that takes away sorrow. If I believe enough, I won’t hurt. But Mary shows us the opposite.

We contemplate today her Seven Sorrows:

1. The Prophecy of Simeon – “a sword will pierce your own soul too” (Lk 2:35)
2. The Flight into Egypt
3. The Loss of the Child Jesus in the Temple
4. Meeting Jesus on the Way to Calvary
5. Standing at the Foot of the Cross
6. Receiving Jesus’ body into her arms
7. The Burial of Jesus

Notice what they have in common: every one is about her love for her Son. Her sorrow is not meaningless pain. It is love that hurts. The more you love, the more you can be wounded.

Simeon told her a sword would pierce her heart. Not because God wanted to punish her, but because her heart was so open, so wide, that it could be pierced all the way through. A closed heart cannot be pierced. A small heart feels a small wound. A great heart, like Mary’s, feels a great wound.

Many of you here know this sword. You have stood at the bedside of a child, a spouse, a parent, and you could do nothing but stand. You have received the phone call, the diagnosis, the news you never wanted to hear. In that moment you learned what Mary knew: love does not protect us from sorrow. Love makes us present *in* sorrow.

### 2. She teaches us how to stand.

The world tells us what to do with sorrow: explain it away, distract ourselves from it, become bitter because of it, or deny it.

Mary does none of those things.

She does not explain the Cross. She does not understand it fully in that moment. She ponders it.
She does not run to busy herself. She stands.
She does not become bitter. The last words her Son speaks to her are, “Woman, behold your son” – giving her John, and in John, giving her all of us. Even in her deepest pain, she becomes a mother again.

This is what it means to be co-redemptrix, not that she redeems us- only Christ does that – but that she co-operates. She says *yes* again at the Cross, just as she said *yes* at Nazareth. At Nazareth, it was a yes to joy: “Let it be done to me.” At Calvary, it is a yes to sorrow: “Let it be done to me still.”

And because she stood there, sorrow itself is changed. The Cross is no longer a place where we are alone. There is a mother there.

When you are at your own cross – and each of you has one, even if you hide it well – you are not alone. The Mater Dolorosa has stood there first.

### 3. Her tears lead us to hope.

We call her today “Our Lady of Sorrows,” but we should not leave her there on Good Friday. On Easter Sunday, where is she? The Scriptures are silent, but Tradition is not. Who would the Risen Jesus appear to first, if not His mother?

Her sorrow was not the end of her story, and your sorrow will not be the end of yours.

#The beautiful medieval hymn we sometimes sing today, the *Stabat Mater* – “At the Cross her station keeping, stood the mournful Mother weeping” – ends not with weeping, but with paradise:

“When my body dies, grant that to my soul is given, the glory of paradise.”

Mary teaches us that tears are a prayer. Pope Francis once said that in the most difficult moments, Mary doesn’t take our sorrows away; she accompanies us. She weeps with us so that we do not weep alone.

So what do we take home today?

Don’t be afraid of your own pierced heart. Bring it to her. The devotion of Our Lady of Sorrows is not morbid. It is for real people, living real lives, who have experienced real pain.

This week, when that wave of worry, grief, or old wound comes – do not push it away. Stand with it for a moment, as she stands. Say, “Mother, you know this. Stand with me. Teach me how to stand.”

# Because the woman who stood by the Cross also stands by your cross. And she is standing still – waiting to bring you, as she brought Christ, through sorrow into joy.

**Amen.**

Dear brothers and sisters,

Today the Church celebrates the Exaltation of the Holy Cross. At first sight, this feast contains a strange contradiction. We exalt an instrument of suffering and death. The cross was one of the cruelest forms of execution in the ancient world. It was associated with humiliation, defeat, and shame. And yet Christians place the cross above our altars, in our homes, around our necks, and we make the sign of the cross when we begin and end our prayers.

Why?

Because after Jesus Christ, the Cross no longer means only death. It has become the sign of love, salvation, and victory.

Jesus says in the Gospel: “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son.” These words help us understand the mystery we celebrate today. At the center of Christianity is not what human beings do for God, but what God has done for us.

And what has God done?

He loved us so much that he entered our human condition. He accepted our weakness, suffering, rejection, and even death. On Calvary, God did not remain far away from human pain. In Jesus Christ, he entered into it.

This is why, when we look at the Cross, we should not see only nails, wounds, and suffering. We should see love.

The Cross tells us: This is how much you are loved.

There is a beautiful thought that says: “I asked Jesus, ‘How much do you love me?’ He stretched out his arms on the Cross and said, ‘This much.’”

That is the message of Calvary.

Jesus could have saved himself. Those standing beneath the Cross even mocked him: “If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross.” But Jesus did not come down. Not because he lacked the power, but because he chose to remain faithful to love.

The greatness of Christ is not that he avoided suffering. His greatness is that suffering could not destroy his love.

He was betrayed, but he continued to love.

He was abandoned, but he continued to love.

He was mocked, but he continued to love.

He was crucified, but even from the Cross he prayed: “Father, forgive them.”

This is why the Cross is the throne of Christ the King. His crown is made of thorns, his throne is made of wood, and his royal power is the power of self-giving love.

But today’s feast also speaks about our crosses.

Every human life has them. Sometimes they are small; sometimes they are very heavy. Illness can become a cross. Loneliness can become a cross. Difficulties in marriage or family life can become a cross. The death of someone we love can become a cross. Old age, disappointment, misunderstanding, failure, anxiety about the future—all these things can weigh heavily upon us.

Christian faith does not say suffering is good in itself. Jesus himself healed the sick and comforted those who suffered. We should therefore do what we reasonably can to relieve suffering—our own and that of others.

But some crosses we cannot simply remove.

Then the question becomes: What will I do with this cross?

We can carry it alone, becoming increasingly bitter and discouraged. Or we can unite it with the Cross of Christ and say:

“Jesus, I do not understand why this has happened. I would not have chosen it. But since I must walk this road, walk it with me. Give me strength. Do not allow my suffering to destroy my faith, my hope, or my ability to love.”

And something remarkable can happen. The cross may remain, but we are no longer carrying it alone.

This is one of the deepest meanings of Christian faith. Christianity does not promise us a life without crosses. It promises us Christ in the midst of our crosses.

There is another lesson.

Sometimes we notice others’ crosses but do nothing to make them lighter. Perhaps today we should ask ourselves: Whose cross could I help carry?

Perhaps an older adult needs our presence. Perhaps someone is lonely and needs a telephone call. Perhaps someone in our family needs forgiveness. Perhaps a sick person needs encouragement. Perhaps someone is silently struggling and needs to know that somebody cares.

Simon of Cyrene helped Jesus carry his Cross. We too can become a Simon of Cyrene for another person.

And finally, the Cross reminds us that suffering and death do not have the last word.

Good Friday was not the end.

Beyond the Cross came the empty tomb. Beyond death came resurrection. Beyond apparent defeat came victory.

That is why Christians can look at the Cross with hope.

When everything seems lost, God may still be at work.

When we cannot see the way forward, God has not abandoned us.

When suffering seems meaningless, Christ is beside us.

And when death finally comes, the Cross points beyond the grave toward eternal life.

Dear brothers and sisters, today let us look once more at the crucified Christ.

When we are proud, let the Cross teach us humility.

When we are selfish, let it teach us generosity.

When we refuse to forgive, let it remind us of Christ’s forgiveness.

When we suffer, let it give us courage.

When we are afraid of death, let it remind us of the Resurrection.

And whenever we make the sign of the Cross, let us not do it mechanically. Let us remember what we are proclaiming:

I belong to the One who loved me to the end.

The Cross was once a sign of shame. Christ made it a sign of glory.

It was an instrument of death. Christ made it the tree of life.

It appeared to be a defeat. Christ made it the sign of victory.

Therefore today, with the whole Church, we proclaim:

We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you, because by your Holy Cross you have redeemed the world.

Amen.

Last summer, some friends of mine were on holiday in Prague and decided to visit the Jewish Quarter. Among the many remarkable places they saw, they were especially moved by the 500-year-old Pinkas Synagogue. Its interior walls are covered with the names of nearly 80,000 Jewish victims of the Holocaust from Bohemia and Moravia. Written in black and red, the names are arranged by the communities the victims came from and are accompanied by their dates of birth and death.

Can you imagine thousands upon thousands of names written on a wall? It is a deeply moving sight. Yet these are not simply names. Every name represents a human life. Every name belonged to a person who had a family, hopes and dreams, joys and sorrows. Behind every name there is a story.

Something similar can be experienced at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C. There, thousands of names are engraved in black granite, commemorating members of the United States Armed Forces who lost their lives in the Vietnam War. Again, every name has a story behind it.

A long list of names may seem uninteresting if we forget that behind every name there is a human story. Perhaps this is one reason why many people are tempted to skip the genealogies and lists of names in the Bible. When we come across the genealogy of Jesus in the Gospel, we may be tempted to pass over it quickly and move on to a more “interesting” passage of Scripture.

But we should not overlook these lists. God placed them in Sacred Scripture for a reason. Every name belongs to the history of salvation. Every person has a place in God’s plan.

On September 8, we celebrate the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and on September 12, the Church celebrates the Holy Name of Mary. These two feasts are closely connected. First, we rejoice at the birth of a child; a few days later, we honor the name given to her: Mary.

In our thoughts, we can return for a moment to the cradle of Mary, newly born into the home of Joachim and Anne. Like her joyful parents, we look with tenderness upon this little child. At that moment, no one could yet see all that God would accomplish through her. Yet from the very beginning, Mary had a unique place in God’s plan of salvation.

Saint Luke tells us: “The angel Gabriel was sent from God to a town of Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man named Joseph, of the house of David, and the virgin’s name was Mary.”

It is such a simple sentence, and yet that name would become one of the most beloved names in the history of Christianity.

The name Mary therefore reminds us not only of a person, but also of a whole story—the story of faith, obedience, humility, love and complete trust in God.

Mary said yes to God. She carried Jesus beneath her heart. She gave birth to Him in Bethlehem. She cared for Him in Nazareth. She followed Him throughout His public ministry. She stood beneath the Cross when so many others had fled. And after the Resurrection, she remained with the disciples in prayer.

Her name carries the story of a mother.

Perhaps this reminds us of something important in our own lives. We all need mothers to accompany us on our journey. Some of us have already lost our earthly mothers. Yet throughout our lives, God often gives us other people who care for us with a mother’s heart.

Even in our parishes, we meet women who care for others with remarkable kindness, patience, and generosity. They notice when someone is lonely. They help when someone is in need. They pray for others, encourage them, and quietly serve the community. In this sense, they become spiritual mothers to many.

Saint Paul understood how important such people are. At the end of his Letter to the Romans, he gives us a long list of names. He mentions Phoebe, Priscilla and Aquila, and many others who had helped him in his ministry.

To someone reading the letter today, these names may seem like a mere list. But for Paul they were much more than that.

They were people who had prayed with him, worked with him, suffered with him, and supported him.

They were people who had become part of his story. Every priest could probably make a similar list. During his ministry, a priest has the privilege of serving in different parishes and communities. In each place, God gives him people who accompany him, encourage him, pray for him, and help him in his ministry.

Over the years, we carry many names in our hearts. We remember them with gratitude, and we bring them before God in our prayers.

Your faith, your prayers, your kindness, and your service are part of the story of this Christian community. And, more importantly, your name is known to God.

Behind every name there is a story. Behind your name there is a story as well—a story that God knows better than anyone else.

Today we honor one particular name: Mary.

For Christians throughout the centuries, the name of Mary has been a name of tenderness, consolation and hope. When we speak her name, we remember the woman who trusted God completely and who always leads us to her Son.

Therefore, on this Memorial of the Holy Name of Mary, let us entrust ourselves once again to her maternal care.

Holy Mary, Mother of God, take us beneath your protective mantle. Accompany us on our journey of faith. Teach us to trust God as you trusted Him, to say yes to His will as you did, and above all, lead us always to your Son, Jesus Christ.

Amen.