St Charles Borromeo was a reformer, a bishop, and a man on fire.
He lived in an age when the Church was wounded and weary after the Reformation. Some gave up. Charles rolled up his sleeves.
He rebuilt seminaries, renewed catechesis, reformed clergy, and rekindled love for the Eucharist. He shows us what holiness looks like when it wears boots —
steady, faithful, pastoral, concrete.

In the first reading, St Paul reminds us that the Church is a living body: “We have many parts in one body, and all the members do not have the same function.”

The Church is not a club of like-minded people; it’s the Body of Christ,
each person vital, each gift necessary.

Charles knew that the Church cannot renew herself through slogans or anger —
only through holiness, charity, and order.
He taught that reform begins not in Rome or the chancery,
but in the confessional and the heart.

That’s why Paul’s next words fit him perfectly: “Let love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good.” This is how renewal begins — not by shouting louder, but by loving truer.

In the Gospel, Jesus tells of the great banquet.
The master prepares everything, sends the invitations —
and everyone has an excuse.
“I’ve bought land.” “I’ve bought oxen.” “I’ve just got married.”
In other words: “I’m too busy.”

So the master sends the invitation again — this time to the poor, the crippled, the blind, the lame. He fills the hall with those the world overlooks.

That’s the Kingdom: a feast of grace, open to all who will come hungry.

The tragedy of the Gospel isn’t that the master runs out of food —
it’s that people run out of desire.
They were full of themselves, and so had no room for God.

Charles Borromeo answered that invitation every day.
He didn’t live for prestige but for presence — the presence of Christ in his people.
When plague struck Milan, the civil leaders fled; Charles stayed.

He organised care for the sick, opened food stores, and walked barefoot through the streets carrying the Blessed Sacrament to those dying in quarantine.
That’s what “come to the banquet” looks like in practice.

He knew that the Eucharist is not just something to attend, but Someone to adore.
It is Christ’s invitation to enter the very life of God.

Charles said: “Be sure you first preach by the way you live.”
He was preaching even when he said nothing.

Paul ends today’s passage with the words: “Never flag in zeal, be aglow with the Spirit, serve the Lord.”

That line could be written under the life of St Charles.
He burned with pastoral charity —
not a noisy flame, but a steady one that kept others warm.

And that’s the invitation for us today:
to rediscover the fire, to say yes again to the banquet,
to let the Spirit set our love in motion.

If you want to reform the Church, love the Eucharist.
If you want to heal the world, serve with humility.
If you want to be a saint, begin where you are —
and burn faithfully where God has placed you.

The banquet is still waiting.
The table is still set.
And the Master is still calling.

The excuses haven’t changed much —
“I’m busy, tired, distracted.”
But neither has the invitation:
“Come, everything is ready.”

So today, through the prayers of St Charles Borromeo,
let’s ask for his heart —
a heart big enough for God,
and brave enough for the Church.

Because the saints aren’t just guests at the feast —
they’re the ones who help set the table.