Forgetfulness - a Human Tendency

Homily for Thursday of the Twenty-fifth Week in Ordinary Time

“Vanity of vanities,” Qoheleth cries, and in the Season of Creation that line lands with a sharper edge. It is a warning about forgetfulness—the human tendency to live as though our actions leave no trace, as though the earth will simply absorb whatever we place upon it. Ecclesiastes reminds us that generations come and go, but the earth remains. The sun rises and sets, the wind blows, rivers run to the sea—yet human beings often act as though we stand outside this rhythm. The text exposes the illusion that we are masters of creation rather than participants in it. When we forget our place, creation suffers.

Psalm 90 shifts the tone: “Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain wisdom of heart.” Wisdom begins when we recognize our smallness. To number our days is to remember that our lives are woven into a larger story, one that includes soil, water, air, and every creature. It is to live gratefully, humbly, and responsibly.

In Luke’s Gospel, Herod is unsettled. He hears about Jesus and wonders who He is—John raised? Elijah returned? A prophet reborn? Herod’s confusion mirrors our own when we encounter God’s work in the world. We see signs of renewal, healing, and justice, yet we hesitate to change. Herod wants answers without transformation. But discipleship demands both.

Today we remember St. Pacificus of San Serafino, a Franciscan friar who lived in the Italian Marches. The Italian Marches, known today simply as Le Marche, form a region in central Italy along the Adriatic Sea. The name “Marches” comes from the medieval term marca—a border territory. These were frontier lands between powerful medieval states, which gave the region a distinctive mix of cultures, monasteries, and fortified towns.

This is a part of Italy renowned for its rolling hills, quiet valleys, and rugged mountains—a perfect setting for contemplative Franciscan spirituality. St. Pacificus was known for humility, simplicity, and a deep contemplative love for God’s presence in the ordinary rhythms of life. He was gentle spirit who lived a life of quiet service and a contemplative awareness of God in creation. He wasn’t a preacher or a miracle-worker in the dramatic sense. His holiness was small, steady, and ecological in the Franciscan way—rooted in attentiveness, gratitude, and reverence for God’s presence in all things.

During the Season of Creation, these readings converge into a single invitation: Wake up. Pay attention. Let God reorder your priorities. Creation is not a backdrop; it is a sacred trust. The vanity Qoheleth warns against is the life lived without reverence—without noticing the cost of our choices, without seeing God’s fingerprints in the natural world.

So today, let the Gospel unsettle you a little. Let the Psalm humble you. Let Ecclesiastes remind you that the earth is not ours to exploit but ours to cherish. And let Christ draw you into a way of living that honors the Creator by honoring creation.