Charity Unto Death

August 1, 2026 Memorial of Saint Alphonsus Liguori, Bishop and Doctor of the Church Readings for Today

Martyrdom of St John the Baptist, by Lawrence OP, CC BY-NC-ND 2.0. Video Now Herod had arrested John, bound him, and put him in prison on account of Herodias, the wife of his brother Philip, for John had said to him, “It is not lawful for you to have her.” Although he wanted to kill him, he feared the people, for they regarded him as a prophet. Matthew 14:3–5 Saint John the Baptist was unwaveringly bold in his preaching, humble in his disposition toward God, and faithful to the truth he proclaimed. These holy virtues, however, did not spare him from the clutches of Herod—a man morally weak, politically fearful, and unrepentant. In the end, Herod not only imprisoned John but, through the manipulation of his unlawful wife and her daughter, had him killed. Who, then, was victorious? From a worldly perspective, it seemed Herod was. John was not only persecuted but martyred. Yet the true victory belonged to John. His triumph was not in escaping suffering but in remaining faithful—faithful to the truth, to charity toward Herod, and to the salvation of Herod’s soul. This sacrificial charity moved John to speak boldly, even at the cost of his life. At John’s death, Jesus grieved deeply. The loss was real and sorrowful, but not despairing. John’s followers also mourned out of love. He had changed many lives and prepared the way for Jesus’ ministry. Of him, Jesus said, “No one born of woman is greater than he” (Matthew 11:11). Today, separated by 2,000 years, it can be difficult to feel the sorrow of John’s loved ones. Yet the sting of that loss was profound because John loved profoundly. Those who are arrogant and self-centered often fade quickly from memory. But when a life radiates holiness, inspires through simplicity, and transforms hearts through truth, that loss is deeply and rightly mourned. The greatest human sorrow ever known was the mutual suffering of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and the Immaculate Heart of Mary, whose love was perfect. Their hearts were pierced not only by personal grief, but by the weight of humanity’s sin. John’s death was not tragic; it was meaningful. He died for the truth, for charity, for the Messiah. He died as a man deeply loved, whose life touched many. He died not in bitterness or confusion, but in courage, compassion, and purpose. His ministry was powerful, but the witness of his grace-filled martyrdom was even more so. Each of us is called to imitate Saint John the Baptist in our own way—with boldness, humility, and fidelity. We are called to love with a charity that becomes sacrificial, even costly. John’s life is a model of that sanctity. Can we see ourselves in him? When you examine your life, do you live boldly and confidently in the truth? Or do you give in to fear, which often leads to confusion and apathy? Is your charity strong enough to endure suffering, even unjust persecution, for the glory of God and the salvation of souls—including your own? Reflect today on the strength of your charity. We are all called to a love so deep that it requires supernatural courage and understanding. Consider your life through the powerful lens of Saint John the Baptist’s witness. Sacrifice is painful. It was for John, for his followers, and even for Jesus. Are you willing to endure such suffering in fidelity to God’s will? Seek the Baptist’s intercession today and follow his example, that your charity may touch many lives and leave a lasting impression. Most loving Lord Jesus, Your human heart grieved the suffering and death of John the Baptist, whose mission was to prepare the way for Your public ministry. Yet Your sorrow did not flow from despair, but from love and gratitude for John’s life and his selfless witness, born of true charity. Grant me, I pray, that same courage and love that flowed from John’s heart, so that my life, like his, may leave a lasting impression on others, give You glory, and sanctify my own soul. Jesus, I trust in You.

When senator-judges become defense counsels

By Antonio Contreras

On the Contrary

The Manila Times

August 1, 2026

IN my view, the prosecution and defense panels are doing their assigned jobs. The prosecution is presenting a case for conviction. The defense is challenging that case and protecting the respondent. We may criticize their strategies, but advocacy is their function. The deeper problem lies elsewhere: in a Senate impeachment court where some senator-judges behave not as neutral adjudicators but as additional counsel, usually for the defense.

A basic distinction should govern the proceedings. Counsel may examine and cross-examine witnesses, challenge credibility, develop a theory of the case and draw conclusions from the evidence. Senator-judges may ask genuine clarificatory questions and make proper procedural interjections.

Their task is to understand, regulate and decide. Once their questions become leading, argumentative or designed to rescue one side from damaging testimony, they cease clarifying and begin advocating.

Sen. Robinhood Padilla illustrated this confusion when he admonished the prosecution not to be “one-sided.” A prosecution panel is necessarily one-sided, just as the defense is. Each side presents its strongest lawful case, and truth is tested through the contest between them. The person who must not be one-sided is the senator-judge. Yet Padilla’s intervention effectively adopted a defense complaint and directed it at the very panel whose constitutional task is to prosecute.

Sen. Bong Go crossed a similar boundary when he appeared to explain or justify Vice President Sara Duterte’s assault on a sheriff. The prosecution offered the incident as evidence of an alleged pattern of violent conduct. Go was free eventually to reject that inference when judging the case. But supplying an exculpatory explanation while the evidence was being presented was the work of defense counsel. A judge evaluates an explanation after it is offered; a defense lawyer offers it.

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Senators Alan Peter Cayetano and Pia Cayetano have repeatedly pursued lines of questioning that resemble cross-examination. Their interventions have tested witnesses, challenged the prosecution’s theory and supplied propositions favorable to the defense. The problem is not that senator-judges ask questions. It is that questions cease to be clarificatory when they are structured to impeach a witness, elicit concessions for one party or argue with an answer. Cross-examination belongs to counsel, not to judges wearing a second, invisible defense hat.

Sen. Raffy Tulfo provided another example in his questioning of a bank manager. Instead of clarifying banking procedures or the witness’ testimony, he passed judgment on the witness’ managerial competence. That was no longer a neutral effort to understand the evidence. It was an argumentative conclusion about the witness, delivered before the court had completed hearing the case. If parties are forbidden from making premature factual or legal conclusions, senator-judges should not be allowed to make them from the bench.

This exposes a glaring double standard. Party-list representative Leila de Lima was stopped while introducing the prosecution’s presentation because she was supposedly already making conclusions of law and fact. Senate presiding officer Francis Escudero enforced a narrow, legalistic limit on how the prosecution could frame its case. Yet the same court has tolerated senator-judges making conclusions, disputing witnesses and advancing defense-friendly interpretations during questioning. Rules cannot be strict restraints on the parties but elastic privileges for the judges.

Pia Cayetano presents an additional contradiction. She rose to remind everyone, including her colleagues, about proper conduct and decorum. But she later shared a spliced video that reinforced a narrative favorable to the defense. A senator-judge who publicly circulates selective material bearing on a pending case is not merely commenting on procedure. She is entering the adversarial contest. One cannot credibly police judicial restraint inside the chamber while practicing partisan advocacy outside it.

The conduct can be plainly enumerated: Padilla faulted the prosecution for performing its adversarial role; Go supplied a defense-oriented justification for contested conduct; Alan Peter and Pia Cayetano used questions resembling cross-examination; Tulfo pronounced judgment on a witness’ competence; Pia Cayetano amplified selectively edited material; and Escudero imposed legalistic restraints on the prosecution while permitting senator-judges wider latitude to argue and conclude. These are not isolated slips. Together, they reveal a failure of role discipline.

Impeachment is not an ordinary criminal trial. Its ultimate question is not simply whether criminal guilt has been proven under the standards of a trial court. It is whether a high official has committed an impeachable offense and remains fit to retain the public trust. Due process remains indispensable, but legal formalism must not be selectively used to weaken one side while senator-judges themselves engage in conduct that would be improper for neutral adjudicators.

This is why the overjudicialization of impeachment is dangerous. The Senate borrows courtroom rules, then applies them asymmetrically. It restrains advocates for being argumentative while allowing judges to argue. It warns parties against conclusions while permitting judges to announce their own. It insists on decorum while some senator-judges campaign for a preferred interpretation. Procedure becomes not a safeguard of fairness but a convenient instrument for controlling one side and assisting the other.

Neutrality does not require silence. Senator-judges may clarify ambiguities, resolve procedural questions and test whether they have correctly understood the record. But they must not rehabilitate witnesses, construct defenses, attack prosecution witnesses or publicly promote one party’s narrative. The relevant test is not whether a question ends with a question mark. It is whether its purpose is comprehension or advocacy.

The prosecution and defense should be allowed to do their jobs. The Senate impeachment court must do its own. Its members are not there to rescue either panel, much less to become an auxiliary defense team. They are there to hear the full case, maintain fair rules and judge without appearing to have chosen a side in advance.

When senator-judges become counsels, the principal casualty is the credibility of the court. Any verdict, whether conviction or acquittal, will command respect only if the process is evenhanded. The Constitution entrusted the Senate with the grave power to try impeachments. That trust requires more than legal knowledge. It requires restraint, consistency and the discipline to remain judges even when partisan instincts tempt them to become lawyers.

The author is a professor at the University of the Philippines Los Baños and vice chairman of the Board of PTV Network Inc. (PTVNI).

Sissy Spacek

When Sissy Spacek first arrived in New York in 1972, few people believed she had what it took to become a movie star.

Casting directors told the 22-year-old from Quitman, Texas that she was too unusual looking for Hollywood. She was too quirky, too angular, and too different from the glamorous leading ladies audiences were used to seeing.

Instead of changing herself, she stayed true to who she was.

Her real name was Mary Elizabeth Spacek, but everyone called her Sissy. She had moved to New York hoping to build a career as a folk singer, but that dream never took off.

Just as she was considering giving up, two people encouraged her to try something different. Her cousin, actor Rip Torn, and acclaimed actress Geraldine Page believed she had the talent to succeed as an actress.

She listened.

Spacek began with small roles and worked as an extra while studying at the Lee Strasberg Theatre Institute. She immersed herself in method acting, determined to create honest, believable characters rather than chase fame or glamour.

Her breakthrough came in 1973 when director Terrence Malick cast her opposite Martin Sheen in Badlands. Critics praised her natural performance, and Hollywood began to take notice.

But it was her next major role that changed everything.

In 1976, she was cast as the shy, isolated teenager in Carrie, based on Stephen King's first published novel.

For the audition, Spacek made an unforgettable choice. She wore her mother's old clothes, skipped makeup, and deliberately left her hair unwashed. She wanted to look exactly like a lonely girl who had spent her life being overlooked.

The approach worked.

She won the role.

Then came one of the most iconic scenes in horror film history.

For three days, more than 40 gallons of pig's blood were poured over her while filming the unforgettable prom sequence. The thick mixture was cold, sticky, and unpleasant, but Spacek remained covered in it between takes to maintain continuity and stay connected to the emotional intensity of the scene.

Her commitment paid off.

The performance earned her first Academy Award nomination and established her as one of Hollywood's most gifted young actresses.

Rather than repeat the same type of role, Spacek deliberately sought characters that challenged her.

That decision led to Coal Miner's Daughter, where she portrayed country music legend Loretta Lynn.

To prepare, she spent months studying Lynn's life, voice, mannerisms, and stage presence. She even performed all of the songs herself instead of relying on dubbed vocals.

Her portrayal was so convincing that Loretta Lynn famously said it felt like she was watching herself on screen.

In 1981, Sissy Spacek won the Academy Award for Best Actress, confirming her place among the finest performers of her generation.

At the height of her success, however, she made a choice that surprised many people.

Instead of chasing bigger paychecks and constant publicity, she stepped away from Hollywood's fast paced lifestyle.

Together with her husband, production designer and director Jack Fisk, she settled on a farm in rural Virginia. There, they raised horses, grew vegetables, raised their two daughters, and built a quiet life far removed from the entertainment industry.

Spacek never completely left acting, but she became highly selective about the roles she accepted. She returned only for projects that truly inspired her.

That approach led to acclaimed performances in films such as In the Bedroom and The Help, earning her additional Academy Award nominations and introducing her work to a new generation of audiences.

Today, after decades of marriage and one of Hollywood's most respected careers, Sissy Spacek still calls that Virginia farm home.

She never measured success by fame or celebrity.

She measured it by living a life that reflected her values, choosing meaningful work over constant attention, and remaining true to herself from the very beginning.

In an industry that once told her she was too different to succeed, Sissy Spacek proved that authenticity can become a person's greatest strength.

Our Native Places

Friday, July 31, 2026 Memorial of Saint Ignatius of Loyola, Priest Readings for Today Readings for Friday of the Seventeenth Week in Ordinary Time

See page for author, CC BY 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons Video Jesus came to his native place and taught the people in their synagogue. They were astonished and said, “Where did this man get such wisdom and mighty deeds? Is he not the carpenter’s son? Is not his mother named Mary and his brothers James, Joseph, Simon, and Judas? Are not his sisters all with us? Where did this man get all this?” And they took offense at him. Matthew 13:54–57 Though this passage recounts the sorrowful rejection Jesus experienced in His hometown, it also reveals something deeper: the mystery of the Incarnation and the subtle spiritual danger that can arise from overfamiliarity. It invites us to see ourselves in the people of Nazareth—in our own “native place.” The Greek word translated as “native place” (patris) signifies more than geography. It denotes one’s homeland and the cultural identity that shapes a person. Both meanings are important. Geographically, Nazareth was where Jesus lived, worked, and was intimately known. The people recognized His mother, Mary, and His extended family—referred to here as His “brothers” and “sisters,” a term which refers to His cousins and relatives. They had watched Him labor as a carpenter, gather with family and friends, and attend synagogue with them. Just as important was their cultural closeness. In small towns like Nazareth, people shared customs, values, religious traditions, and family histories. They were molded by the same feasts, the same teachers, and the same unspoken rules. This collective memory formed a lens through which everything—and everyone—was interpreted. When Jesus returned after beginning His public ministry, He no longer appeared to them as the humble craftsman they had always known. He stood before them as a man of divine authority, a miracle worker, and the long-awaited Messiah. To many, this was not merely surprising—it was unsettling. His new identity seemed incompatible with their memories of the boy they had watched grow up. Their vision of Him was too small to contain the mystery He now revealed. Thus, what should have been a moment of grace became instead a moment of resistance. Spiritually, our “native place” can be understood as all that is familiar to us—our upbringing, relationships, habits, expectations, and experiences. While these can often be good and formative, they can also become obstacles when God calls us beyond them. Like the people of Nazareth, we may cling to the familiar and resist the radical transformation Christ desires to accomplish in us. When He invites us to deeper faith, greater sacrifice, or unexpected mission, we may respond with doubt and hesitation. God’s call always requires us to step beyond the boundaries of what we know. He draws us out of our comfort zones, out of our “native place,” into a new life in which we are called to carry Christ within us in a wholly new and astonishing way. At first, this can be shocking. Like the people of Nazareth, we may be tempted to reject the unfamiliar work God is doing in us, preferring the comfort of what is known to the challenge of what is holy. But grace does not always come in expected ways. Grace often enters quietly, veiled in the ordinary, requiring faith to see and courage to embrace. Reflect today on what can be, at times, an unsettling truth: God is calling you out of the ordinary and familiar into the extraordinary and new. Holiness always demands change—conversion of heart, transformation of mind, and renewal of life. Embrace that change. Resolve to welcome the unexpected. Be ready for the newness of the Gospel by allowing grace to cleanse every obstacle, every doubt, and every attachment that holds you back. In this way, Christ will gradually reveal the new person He is calling you to become—formed not by the limits of your “native place,” but by the boundless promise of His love and almighty power. My transformative Lord, I know that You are calling me out of my comfort zone, out of the familiar, and into the realm of the unknown. Please give me courage and trust so that nothing keeps me from doubting Your grace and plan for my life. Use me as You will and make me into a vessel of Your presence in this world. Jesus, I trust in You.

James Garner

At just 14 years old, James Garner reached his breaking point.

For years, he had endured physical abuse and humiliation from his stepmother. One day, he finally fought back. He pinned her to the floor and made it clear that he would never allow her to hurt him again.

Soon afterward, she left the family.

That moment became a turning point in Garner's life and shaped the man he would become.

Born James Scott Bumgarner on April 7, 1928, in Norman, Oklahoma, Garner's childhood was marked by loss and hardship. His mother died when he was only five years old, leaving him and his brothers separated among relatives for a time. When their father eventually brought the family back together, they were placed under the care of a stepmother whose discipline often crossed the line into cruelty.

Garner later spoke openly about the abuse he suffered. He recalled frequent beatings and one particularly painful incident when she forced him to wear a dress in public to humiliate him.

Those painful experiences left a lasting impression. They gave him a deep dislike of bullies and a lifelong determination to stand up for people who could not defend themselves.

He left school before graduating and took on a variety of jobs to make a living. He worked in grocery stores, oil fields, truck driving, and chicken hatcheries before joining the Merchant Marine at 16. Later, he served as an Army rifleman during the Korean War.

The war left its mark on him.

He was wounded twice. The first time came from enemy mortar fire. The second happened when friendly fire struck as he dived into a foxhole. For his bravery and sacrifice, Garner received two Purple Hearts.

After returning home, acting entered his life almost by chance. In 1954, he landed a silent role in the Broadway production of The Caine Mutiny Court-Martial. Although he had no dialogue, he watched experienced actors like Henry Fonda perform night after night, learning that subtlety and honesty could be more powerful than dramatic gestures.

His big break came in 1957 when he starred as Bret Maverick in the television series Maverick.

Unlike the typical television cowboy, Bret Maverick relied on intelligence, humor, and quick thinking instead of violence. He knew that avoiding a fight often took more courage than starting one, and audiences loved the fresh approach.

Even after becoming a star, Garner refused to let powerful people take advantage of him.

During a writers' strike, Warner Bros. stopped paying him while preventing him from accepting other work. Rather than stay silent, Garner sued the studio for breach of contract.

He won.

Instead of returning to one of television's biggest hits under unfair conditions, he chose to walk away.

His film career continued to grow with standout performances in The Great Escape, The Americanization of Emily, and Grand Prix. While preparing for Grand Prix, Garner trained extensively as a race car driver. His dedication earned the respect of professional racers, who quickly realized he had genuine talent behind the wheel.

Despite his success, family remained the center of his life.

In 1956, he married Lois Clarke after knowing her for only two weeks. Many believed the marriage would never last, but they proved everyone wrong. Garner adopted Lois's daughter, Kimberly, and together they welcomed their daughter, Gigi. Their marriage lasted nearly 58 years until his death.

In 1974, Garner returned to television as private investigator Jim Rockford in The Rockford Files.

Like Bret Maverick, Rockford was not fearless. He simply refused to let bullies have the final word. The role earned Garner an Emmy Award in 1977 and became one of the defining performances of his career.

The series also demanded a great deal physically. Garner performed many of his own stunts, worsening old injuries and causing long-term damage to his back. Even while dealing with health problems, he continued to stand up for what he believed was right. He later challenged another major studio over unpaid profits and eventually reached a successful settlement after a lengthy legal battle.

At 57, Garner earned his only Academy Award nomination for Murphy's Romance. Years later, he touched a whole new generation of moviegoers with his heartfelt performance as the elderly Noah in The Notebook, bringing warmth, dignity, and quiet emotion to the role.

A stroke in 2008 slowed him down, but it never changed his devotion to his family. He remained by Lois's side until his passing on July 19, 2014, at the age of 86.

Throughout his career, James Garner often portrayed men who stood up to bullies and defended the underdog.

Perhaps those performances felt so genuine because he had lived that story himself.

As a frightened 14-year-old boy, he found the courage to stand up to the person who had terrorized him for years. That act of courage became the foundation of the strength, compassion, and quiet integrity that defined both his life and his remarkable career.