COULD IT happen that the one accused of breaking the law is actually the one truly fulfilling it? And could it also happen that the one proudly claiming to be a “defender of the law” is, in fact, the one violating it?
That is what Jesus wants to clarify in today’s Gospel.
Many in his time accused him of being disobedient to the law. We heard his declaration: “I have come not to abolish the law but to fulfill it.”
He did not intend to defy the law. What he desired was to obey its deepest spirit.
There were times when Jesus was accused of violating the law regarding the Sabbath, the day of rest. Why? Because he healed people on the Sabbath.
For the Pharisees, work was forbidden on the Sabbath. And for them, healing was work—therefore, a violation.
But think about it: A person was restored to health. Someone experienced relief and comfort because of Jesus’ compassion. Yet what they saw was not the miracle, but the “violation.”
It was like looking at a donut and noticing not the bread, but only the hole in the middle. In other words, they forgot the very reason the Sabbath law existed in the first place.
In the Book of Deuteronomy (5), it is clearly stated why the Lord commanded Israel to rest on the seventh day. It emphasizes that the right to rest belongs to everyone—not only to the rich, but also to slaves, workers, foreigners, and even the animals used for plowing the land.
This means the spirit of the Sabbath law is mercy—concern for others, especially for those who live from hand to mouth, those who will not eat if they do not work. The Sabbath is, in a sense, the beginning of what we now call “leave with pay.” One is compensated not only for days of labor, but also for the day of rest after six days of work. If even animals must be allowed to rest, how much more human beings?
It is a recognition of dignity. This is the spirit of the Sabbath: to give relief to those who are burdened. That is why Jesus’ act of healing on the Sabbath was not a violation of the law—it was the fulfillment of the law.
On the other hand, let us look at the Pharisees who claimed to be defenders of the law. Instead of rejoicing in the relief that Jesus brought to the weary and suffering whom he healed, they became resentful. And in their anger, they plotted to kill him.
Sometimes it really happens this way: when the law is used not to protect human beings, but to crush them.
Is it not puzzling that despite clear laws, it seems so difficult for the poor to obtain justice? Is it not puzzling that even though our Constitution has prohibited political dynasties for four decades, until now no enabling law has been passed? Isn’t the reason obvious? Because most lawmakers themselves come from political dynasties.
And isn’t it often the case that the law is used as a weapon—to intimidate those who resist, to silence the weak, and to protect the powerful?
Sometimes there is even an international law like UNCLOS that supports our rights over our exclusive economic zone, yet it still cannot be enforced even by the United Nations itself. Who are we to wage war against China? We are like a louse on the body of a giant animal. But does the fact that they are bigger mean they have the right to bully us—to blast our small outrigger fishing boats with water cannons from their massive ships, right inside waters that international law recognizes as part of our EEZ? And when we protest, they still have the nerve to accuse us of causing trouble or provoking conflict?
That is why in today’s Gospel, Jesus is not satisfied with superficial obedience. He offers commentary on three of the Ten Commandments: Do not kill, do not commit adultery, and do not bear false witness.
We may not literally kill, but we may forget that killing does not begin with taking a life. It begins with the desire to dominate, with the planting of anger and resentment. When we allow it to fester inside us like an infected wound, it can eventually lead to violence. Killing begins in the heart.
The same is true, he says, regarding the commandment, “You shall not commit adultery.” Adultery does not begin in bed. It begins with lust—like what happened to King David when he saw the beautiful wife of Uriah, Bathsheba, and desired her. Where did his desire lead? Not only to adultery, but even to murder—when he had the soldier husband killed so he could take the woman for himself.
The same is true, Jesus says, about the commandment, “You shall not bear false witness.” Many lawyers know this well: with clever use of words, lies can be dressed up as truth and made to look convincing. That is why Jesus says: let your word be simple and truthful—say yes when it is yes, and no when it is no.
What Jesus teaches is not merely obedience to the written law, but allowing its deepest meaning to sink into the heart. The Ten Commandments are not simply a list of prohibitions and obligations. Their deepest root is covenant—relationship.
We obey God not because we fear punishment, but because we have entered into a covenant with him. Because he loves us, we respond with love—for him and for our neighbor. That is why for Jesus, the heart of the law is covenant:
Love God above all. Love your neighbor as yourself.
When the law is rooted in love, we do not remain at the level of shallow compliance or mere avoidance of what is forbidden. We freely choose to do what is right and good.
Do you remember the childhood story of Jose Rizal about the Monkey and the Tortoise?
One day, they found a banana tree that had been carried by floodwaters and was floating down the river. They dragged it to the riverbank. The monkey said, “Since we found it together, let us divide it fairly.”
But he was already thinking of how to take advantage of the tortoise: “I should get the upper part. That’s where the fruit will come out.”
The tortoise remained quiet. He said, “Alright. I’ll take the half you don’t want—the lower part with the roots.” And of course, we know what happened next. The part taken by the monkey was planted but withered. But the portion left to the tortoise was planted, took root, grew, and bore fruit.
That is Jesus’ invitation to us today. Let us not behave like the monkey; let us be wise like the tortoise.
The letter of the law is like the upper half of the banana tree—useless if it is separated from the whole and has no roots in the ground.
The root of the Law is Covenant. The foundation of the Law is Love—love of God and love of neighbor.
When our obedience is rooted in love, goodness will naturally grow. It will naturally bear fruit in a society that is just and peaceful. Life will flourish.
That is how the true spirit of the law is fulfilled.
(Homily for the 6th Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year A) Mt 5:17–37)
