St Paul speaks in athletic language - pushing himself to win an imperishable crown. I ask myself: "Am I training my soul through spiritual discipline, Sunday Mass, small acts of mercy, and spiritual exercises? Or am I just going through the motions, comforting myself that I am doing fine? Am I merely 'beating the air' in the words of St Paul? Perhaps being too mediocre?" I'm challenged by St Paul to be a better witness to Christ.

Then Psalm 84 gives me an image I long for - a sparrow finding a home at God's altar. That home is the tabernacle in a quiet adoration chapel, the Rosary prayed in my car, the pilgrimage of Confession, the quiet moments of communing with the Lord. Even through stress, failure, betrayal, fatigue, the psalm promises I can walk through it and find springs of water. Those moments are rare but truly consoling. My strength to be a better witness comes from God.

Then come Jesus' words, giving me a sharp kick on my back, throwing me down flat. He says, "Why do you observe the splinter in your brother's eye and never notice the plank in your own?" It's so easy for me to criticise the parish priest, the music at Mass, the laxity or rigidity of others. The Church today, as Pope Francis envisaged, calls me to be a field hospital caregiver, not a speck-inspector. I'm called to be a compassionate and understanding witness.