Lectio Divina — Belongs
Twenty-ninth Sunday in Ordinary Time
October 18, 2026 | Weekly Theme: Belongs
Lectio — What Belongs to God?
“I have called you by your name, giving you a title, though you knew me not.”
Isaiah 45:4
“Give the Lord glory and honor.”
Psalm 96
“Knowing, brothers and sisters loved by God, how you were chosen.”
1 Thessalonians 1:4
“Shine like lights in the world as you hold on to the word of life.”
Philippians 2:15-16
“Then repay to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God.”
Matthew 22:21
What belongs to God? It is a rather dangerous question, particularly for someone like me who spends so much of his day deciding what belongs where.
In today’s Gospel, Jesus is confronted by those who hope to trap Him with a question about paying taxes to Caesar. He asks to see the coin and inquires whose image and inscription it bears. When they answer that it belongs to Caesar, He tells them to repay Caesar what belongs to Caesar and God what belongs to God.
But there is a marvelous question hidden within His answer. If the coin bears Caesar’s image, whose image do I bear?
Genesis tells me that I am created in the image of God. Consequently, before I begin sorting out which pasture belongs to whom, perhaps I ought to acknowledge to whom I belong.
Meditatio — The Pasture That Belongs to Everyone
In recent months, The Glenn has expanded beyond the boundaries of the land I actually own. My neighbors have graciously given me permission to graze my sheep on their pastures. In a practical sense, therefore, these pastures have become part of the daily life of The Glenn, even though the land does not belong to me.
Of course, the sheep have their own understanding of what belongs to whom. Wherever they find themselves grazing, they seem quite content to regard the grass as belonging to them, provided it is sufficiently green and plentiful.
My livestock guardian dogs have a different understanding. They believe the sheep belong to them, and consequently wherever the sheep go, the dogs believe they have both the right and the responsibility to go as well.
Then there are the coyotes. They, too, regard these open pastures as belonging within their territory, and unfortunately they sometimes seem to believe that the lambs belong on their menu.
To bring some order to these competing claims, I erect electric netting. The fence establishes a temporary boundary for the sheep, discourages their wandering, and hopefully persuades the coyotes that whatever they think belongs to them, the lambs are not available for the taking.
And there I stand, quite pleased with myself for having established the boundaries of ownership and responsibility.
But somewhere in this elaborate arrangement, I have nearly forgotten my neighbors, whose generosity made the grazing possible in the first place.
Worse still, I have begun to behave as though the sheep, the dogs, the coyotes, the grass, and the entire pasture exist primarily for my purposes. I find their competing claims to ownership rather foolish, while failing to recognize the foolishness of my own.
Today’s Gospel interrupts this comfortable arrangement with the question of what belongs to God.
In Laudato Si’, Pope Francis reminds me that the earth belongs to the Lord. The Scriptures reject every claim to absolute ownership, for God declares that the land is His and that human beings are strangers and sojourners with Him.
That is a rather unsettling description of my position here at The Glenn. After all these years, I like to think of myself as the proprietor. Yet Scripture insists that I am, at best, a temporary steward.
The biblical laws governing land and harvest were intended to establish fairness in relationships between people and the earth. They acknowledged that the fruits of creation belong, in a fundamental sense, to everyone, particularly requiring consideration for the poor, the stranger, and those who are vulnerable.
My electric fence may be necessary for responsible grazing and the protection of my sheep. But it cannot establish absolute ownership over what ultimately belongs to God.
Nor can my stewardship be reduced to protecting what I regard as mine. It must include gratitude toward my neighbors, respect for the creatures sharing this landscape, concern for the vulnerable lambs, and recognition that even the coyotes have a place in the created order.
There is a difference between protecting the sheep entrusted to my care and imagining that everything beyond the fence is my enemy.
Perhaps the greatest boundary that needs adjusting is not the electric netting across the pasture, but the invisible fence I have erected around my understanding of what belongs to me.
For if everything belongs to God, then I cannot claim the privileges of ownership without accepting the responsibilities of stewardship.
And if I belong to God, then even my freedom is not a license to possess, but an invitation to love.
Oratio — A Prayer of Belonging
Lord of all creation,
You have called me by name, even when I have failed to recognize Your presence in the world around me.
Forgive me for confusing stewardship with ownership and responsibility with control.
When I look upon the pastures of The Glenn, remind me that the land belongs first to You.
When I tend the sheep, remind me that they are creatures entrusted to my care rather than possessions existing solely for my benefit.
When I watch my guardian dogs protecting the flock, teach me something of Your faithful and watchful love.
When the coyotes threaten the lambs, grant me wisdom to protect the vulnerable without forgetting that even predators have a place within Your creation.
And when my neighbors share their pastures with me, let gratitude replace entitlement.
Above all, Lord, help me remember that I bear Your image. Let my words, decisions, and actions give back to You what belongs to You.
May I never use the language of faith to claim what belongs to others, nor use the language of stewardship to conceal my selfishness.
Everything I have is Yours, and I myself belong to You.
Amen.
Contemplatio — To Whom Does the Truth Belong?
Magnifica Humanitas, Chapter Four — Safeguarding Humanity at a Time of Transformation: Truth, Work, Freedom. Paragraph 138, Toward an Ecology of Communication.
As I contemplate the competing claims to ownership across the pastures of The Glenn, I find myself confronting another question: To whom does the truth belong?
In paragraph 138 of Magnifica Humanitas, Pope Leo XIV reminds Christian communities that they, too, are responsible for transparency in communication and the honest pursuit of facts.
He acknowledges the painful truths that have emerged concerning members of the Church and ecclesial institutions, particularly through the work of journalists who have exposed injustice and abuse and given a voice to victims.
That acknowledgment is profoundly important. The Church cannot claim that truth belongs to her while behaving as though she possesses the authority to conceal whatever truth might embarrass her.
Nor can I.
Here at The Glenn, I find it relatively easy to recognize the mistaken assumptions of sheep, guardian dogs, and coyotes. Each behaves according to its own nature and interests, and I stand above the confusion imagining that I understand the whole situation.
But when it comes to my own assumptions, I am considerably less enthusiastic about examining them.
I may acknowledge my neighbor’s legal ownership of the pasture while quietly behaving as though my use of it gives me a superior claim. I may acknowledge that the coyotes are part of God’s creation while treating their existence as an inconvenience. I may acknowledge that my sheep belong to God while acting as though their welfare is entirely dependent upon my control.
And I may acknowledge that the Church belongs to Christ while resisting the uncomfortable truths that call her members, including me, to conversion.
This is where an ecology of communication becomes inseparable from an integral ecology.
Both require me to abandon the illusion that I can possess reality by controlling the boundaries around it.
Truth is not a pasture that I can fence off for my exclusive use. It is a common good that demands honesty, humility, verification, and the willingness to listen to those whose experiences challenge my own understanding.
When journalists expose wrongdoing within the Church, I may be tempted to see them as coyotes threatening the flock. Yet the real danger may lie not in the disclosure of wrongdoing, but in the wrongdoing itself and in the silence that allowed it to continue.
There is a crucial distinction between guarding the flock and guarding an institution’s reputation at the expense of those who have been harmed.
A good shepherd protects the sheep. He does not protect the fence merely because he built it.
And a Church that belongs to Christ must protect the dignity of those entrusted to her, especially when doing so requires acknowledging painful truths about herself.
The Holy Father’s insistence that the Church must not wait for outsiders to compel her to confront uncomfortable truths applies equally to my own examination of conscience.
Must someone else point out my failures before I acknowledge them? Must a neighbor complain before I recognize that my stewardship has become possessiveness? Must suffering occur before I reconsider the boundaries I have established?
Today’s Gospel provides the answer through a coin bearing Caesar’s image.
Caesar may claim the coin, but he cannot claim the human person who bears God’s image.
Likewise, no institution, political authority, technological platform, or individual can claim absolute ownership of truth or human dignity.
Both belong ultimately to God.
Perhaps the most important question I can ask today is not, “What belongs to me?” but, “What have I been entrusted with, and to whom must I answer for the way I have cared for it?”
For the earth belongs to the Lord, the truth belongs to no human proprietor, and I belong to the One whose image I bear.
Actio — Living Laudato Si’ and Synodality
Today I will walk the boundaries of the grazing pastures with a renewed understanding of what belongs to whom.
I will give thanks for the generosity of my neighbors and consider whether my use of their land reflects the respect and responsibility their generosity deserves.
I will inspect the electric netting not simply as a means of controlling the sheep and excluding predators, but as an instrument of responsible stewardship that must be used thoughtfully and with respect for creation.
In the spirit of Laudato Si’, I will remember that the land and its fruits are gifts intended for the good of all, not merely resources to be claimed for myself.
In the spirit of synodality, I will also examine how I respond when someone challenges my understanding of the truth, particularly concerning the Church. Rather than immediately defending my position, I will seek to listen, verify, and acknowledge what is true, even when it is uncomfortable.
My concrete resolution is to practice stewardship without possessiveness and fidelity without defensiveness.
For what belongs to God must never become an excuse for refusing to love what belongs to my neighbor.
Song Pairing — This Is My Father’s World
“This Is My Father’s World” — Maltbie D. Babcock
This familiar hymn is an especially fitting companion to today’s meditation. Its central affirmation reminds me that the fields, creatures, skies, and natural beauty surrounding The Glenn do not ultimately belong to me. They are the work of my heavenly Father.
When I sing of my Father’s world, I am acknowledging both the beauty of creation and the responsibility that comes from belonging to its Creator.
Movie Pairing — The Biggest Little Farm (2018)
The Biggest Little Farm — Directed by John Chester
This documentary follows a couple attempting to establish a regenerative farm while discovering that the land is home to far more relationships and competing interests than they initially imagined.
Its encounters with livestock, predators, insects, soil, and the challenges of ecological balance remind me of the daily negotiations between sheep, guardian dogs, coyotes, and myself here at The Glenn.
The film offers a valuable reminder that caring for land does not mean controlling every creature upon it. Genuine stewardship begins when I acknowledge that I am participating in a living community rather than presiding over a collection of possessions.
Poetic Reflection — Belongs
The sheep declare the grass their own, The dogs defend what they have known. The coyotes claim the open plain, While I stretch fences through the rain.
My neighbor holds the title deed, Yet shares the pasture for my need. And still I stand with foolish pride, As though the world were mine to divide.
A coin bears Caesar's earthly face, But I bear God's enduring grace. What kings may claim, what men may own, Cannot possess what God has sown.
The truth belongs to none alone, No fence can make its light my own. And when the wounded cry for care, Christ calls His Church to hear them there.
So let me guard without conceit, And walk the earth with humble feet. For all I hold, and all I see, Belongs to God, who first loved me.
A Question for Contemplation
When I say that something belongs to me — whether land, livestock, truth, or even my understanding of the Church — am I acknowledging my responsibility before God, or am I trying to claim ownership of something that ultimately belongs to Him?