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Homily for the Closing of the Season of Creation
800th Anniversary of the Transitus of St. Francis of Assisi
27th Sunday in Ordinary Time
4 October 2026: Isaiah 5:1–7; Philippians 4:6–9; Matthew 21:33–43
Dear sisters and brothers in Christ. We have with us today some special guests: the international leadership body of the ICM Sisters, who are our partners in mission at the Karismaville Mission Station in Malabon, and some brother Jesuits who are undergoing their Tertianship program and who will be meeting with me after this Mass. So I hope you don’t mind that I prepared my homily today in English.
Today we also bring the Season of Creation to a close. We started it on the first sunday of September with a Mass for the Care of Creation. And this year 2026, we also commemorate on this 4th of October the 800th anniversary of the passing of St. Francis of Assisi patron saint of advocates of integral ecology. Franciscans use the Latin word TRANSITUS to refer to his passage from this life to eternal life.
Transitus literally means a passage, a crossing over. Eight hundred years after the passing of St Francis, his voice still speaks powerfully to our world. Perhaps because we are facing an ecological crisis that is really also a spiritual crisis.
And our readings today give us one very simple image for our reflection on the call for ecological conversion: the vineyard.
Allow me then to reflect with you on three simple points:
First, the world is God’s vineyard.
Second, the vineyard is not ours; we’re mere stewards.
And third, God still calls us to conversion.
THE WORLD IS GOD’S VINEYARD
Our first reading from Isaiah begins with a parable narrated almost like a love song that turns into a lament. A farmer plants a vineyard. He chooses fertile land. He clears away the stones. He plants choice vines. He builds a watchtower. He prepares a winepress. He does everything he can for his vineyard. And then he waits for good grapes. But the vineyard produces wild and useless grapes. So God asks a very painful question:
“What more was there to do for my vineyard that I had not done?”
And then Isaiah turns the mirror toward his listeners: You are the vineyard.
“The vineyard of the Lord of hosts is the house of Israel.”
And what fruit was God looking for? He looked for Justice. But what he found was violence, bloodshed. He looked for Righteousness. But what he heard was the unheeded cry of the oppressed.
Perhaps, at the end of this Season of Creation, the same Word of God turns the mirror toward us. Look at the “vineyard” God has entrusted to us. The earth. The seas. The rivers. The forests. The mountains. The air that we breathe. The incredible variety of plants and animals with which we share this common home.
What more could God have given us? And yet we also hear the cry of the earth. We see polluted rivers, disappearing forests, damaged ecosystems, extreme weather, communities displaced by disasters. And, as always, it is often the poor who suffer first and suffer most.
Perhaps the question is no longer simply, “What is happening to our planet?” The Word of God asks a more uncomfortable question:
“What have we done with the vineyard?”
THE VINEYARD IS NOT OURS
In the Gospel reading, Jesus takes up Isaiah’s vineyard parable but gives it a twist. In Isaiah, the problem is the fruit. In Jesus’ parable, the problem is the tenants. The vineyard has been entrusted to them. But little by little, they begin to behave as if they owned it.
They confuse stewardship with ownership. And perhaps many forms of human corruption begin precisely there. Something is entrusted to us, and eventually we begin to think it belongs to us. That is why we often hear the common crime of political leaders who have abused their power for personal gain: betrayal of public trust.
We do it with wealth. We do it with power and authority. We can even do it with ministry. And humanity has done it with creation. We have this tendency to think too highly of ourselves because of our intelligence.
We have forgotten one very basic truth: The vineyard is not ours. The earth is not ours.The seas are not ours. The forests are not ours.
The creatures with whom we share this planet are not ours to dispose of as we please. We did not create them.
They were here before us. And one day, we will leave them behind.
We are mere tenants. We are stewards. Yes, we are special creatures, image and likeness of God. God made us so, not to lord it over creation but to be its caretakers. Because we are intelligent creatures, we tend to forget that we are also creatures among fellow creatures.
I think it was precisely to emphasize this kinship of ours with the rest of creation that St. Francis could speak of “Brother Sun, Sister Moon, Brother Wind, Sister Water, and our Mother Earth.” For Francis, these were not just poetic expressions. They expressed a profound way of seeing our relationship with our fellow creatures.
Francis did not look at creation simply as a collection of things that human beings could own, use and consume. He saw relationships. The sun is brother. The moon is sister. Earth is mother. Because we all come from the same Creator.
Perhaps this is one of the deepest forms of ecological conversion that we need today: to move from ownership to stewardship,
from domination to fraternity,
from exploitation to care.
THE COURAGE TO FACE THE TRUTH
And this brings us to St. Paul in our second reading. Paul says:
“Do not be anxious.” Instead, bring everything before God—with prayer, petition and thanksgiving.
And then he says something very beautiful: “Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is gracious—think about these things.”
Notice the first word: Whatever is true. There can be no real conversion without the courage to face the truth. Sometimes we think we can have peace by avoiding inconvenient truths.
By not talking about it. By avoiding it. By denying it. By putting all the blame on others except ourselves. But there is no genuine peace founded on denial. This is true of our personal lives. It is also true of our relationship with creation.
Of course it is easy to point to others—the big corporations, destructive industries, irresponsible governments, powerful economic interests. And certainly, those who have greater power carry greater responsibility.
But the prophetic Word always has a way of turning the mirror toward us. What about me? What about the way I live? What do I consume? What do I waste? What do I throw away? How much is enough for me? What kind of world am I helping to create by the choices I make every day?
Before violence becomes visible outside us, it often begins inside us. In greed. In the desire to possess. In our inability to say, “Enough.”
This is why ecological conversion must also involve what Pope Leo has called a kind of interior disarmament. We cannot make peace with creation if there is no peace within the human heart.
THE GRACE OF CONVERSION
But the prophetic Word is not meant simply to condemn us. This was one of the important points in our Gospel reflection.
Why does Isaiah confront Israel?Because God has not given up on his vineyard. Why does Jesus confront the tenants? Because conversion is still possible.
A prophetic warning can itself be an act of mercy. God confronts us because we can still change. There is still time to care for the vineyard. There is still time to repair what we have damaged. There is still time to change the way we live, our throwaway culture, our wasteful habits. There is still time to bear good fruit.
And perhaps this is where St. Francis continues to speak so powerfully eight hundred years after his Transitus. Francis himself had to undergo conversion.
He had once dreamed of success, honor and worldly glory. But gradually God taught him another way of living: with fewer possessions, with greater freedom, with deeper fraternity—with the poor, with the excluded, and eventually with all creation. His conversion changed the way he saw everything.
OUR OWN TRANSITUS
Today we remember the Transitus of Francis. But all of us are also making our own transitus. The world is passing, and all of us are passing with it. None of us will remain here forever. We received this world from those who came before us.
And one day we will hand it on to those who come after us. Perhaps that is why the Gospel question is so urgent: What kind of vineyard will we leave behind?
When our own transitus comes, what will we have done with what God entrusted to us? Did we treat the vineyard as owners? Or did we care for it as stewards? Did we simply take from it? Or did we also protect it, heal it and allow it to bear fruit for others?
Brothers and sisters, as we close the Season of Creation, perhaps St. Francis leaves us with this simple reminder: The earth does not belong to us; we belong to it. We are part of it. Scripture reminds us never to be consumed by arrogance because we are dust and unto dust we shall return.
Ultimately, of course we belong to God, and so does the vineyard. We are only passing through. May we pass through this world gently. May we learn again to receive creation as gift. May we have the courage to face the truth when we have failed to care for it. And may we leave the vineyard more fruitful, more beautiful, and more life-giving for those who will come after us.
