Trinity XVII
October 12, Sunday- Seventeenth Sunday after Trinity (Semidouble, Green); Commemoration of Respect Life Sunday.
On this day, we come together under the spread canopy of God’s compassion to celebrate the gift of life—life in its first quivering cry, its frail seasons, its last breath, and every everyday pulse in between. All life originates from the voice that created the planet, the same voice that summons mountains, forms rivers, and gently weaves together the secret depths of our humanity.
This day is not just a remembrance—it is a duty. We are called to recognize the divine image in every person, the sacred spark in those forgotten or unseen, to protect and cherish what God Himself has given. We come before Him with gratitude for the dawn of creation and with a commitment to stand for grace in every moment where life is threatened or diminished. He who counts the stars also counts our days, and He calls them good.
Let us enter now into words that speak of restoration, of mercy poured without measure, and of the city renewed—where every stone is laid in love and every breath belongs to Him.
Before the stones are placed, before light finds its edge,
the unseen breath moves over the deep.
From this breath, each life begins—
a spark held in the mystery of hands unseen,
fragile, holy, and known before the dawn.
The cry of the small is heard beneath the noise;
the unspoken is not forgotten.
In hidden places, life stirs with quiet strength,
rooted in mercy, watered by grace,
waiting to rise in the time of song.
O children of dust, remember the Maker’s delight—
you are not accidents of earth and hunger,
but chosen forms of light entrusted to the clay.
The One who shaped the mountains also shapes your secretness,
and calls you by the name only love can speak.
O radiant city, born again from ruin,
your stones remember songs forgotten by the exile.
Light spills across your high walls like promise kept,
and laughter gathers in your streets like first rain.
The cup is raised in trembling hands—
the scarlet sign of love surrendered,
life poured out for life to live again.
Betrayal breathes beside devotion,
yet mercy, unbroken, makes its home among the flawed.
To those who plant with open palms
and give without shadow or measure,
abundance blooms unseen:
springs rise in barren ground,
and hunger becomes a feast of peace.
Walk within your own heart’s temple.
Count its hidden towers, its unseen gates.
The one who calls all things to judgement
does not seek empty vows or hollow songs,
but the fragrance of truth,
and the silence that bends toward mercy.
O enduring dwelling, built not by hands,
your light will not fade with day’s decline.
For in the stillness beyond the tempest and flame,
every living stone is set in grace—
joined, kindled, and kept
for the dawn that never ends.
Respect Life Sunday invites the Church to remember what the world forgets—that life itself is holy ground. It is not earned or measured by usefulness, not bestowed by power or withdrawn by permission. Life belongs to the One who breathes it, who spoke light out of silence and still speaks spirit into dust. To affirm life, therefore, is not merely to defend existence but to proclaim the mystery of divine intention pulsing within every living form.
The poem’s dawn imagery—the breath moving upon the deep—evokes the ancient truth that creation is a continuous process. God’s creative word did not cease at the seventh day; it renews the world with every birth, with every quiet act of mercy, with each moment we choose to guard what is fragile rather than consume it. Respect Life Sunday becomes, then, a season of reawakening to that ongoing creation within and among us.
In calling each believer a living stone, the poem reminds us that the defense of life is not reactive but creative. We are not only to protest what destroys but to build what lasts: families of faithfulness, cultures of care, sanctuaries for the weak, and spaces where joy can take root again.
Today, then, is more an act of participation than a declaration. It is a joining with the Creator’s ongoing work—a pledge that the fire of love will refine our witness until it shines like the walls of the promised city. And within those walls, every life—cradled, wounded, aged, unseen—will be found radiant with the same eternal light that first called the world to be.
Trinity XVII © 2025 by Adam Fernandes is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International