Charles Borromeo, bishop of Milan, is remembered today, and this Wednesday of the thirty-first week in Ordinary Time brings us the demanding words Jesus speaks to the crowds that follow him. Our difficulty is a wish to follow Christ while keeping a grip on everything else, as if the road could be walked with full hands. The readings lead us from Philippians to the Gospel of Luke, with the psalm as our answer.
Now great crowds traveled with him. And turning around, he said to them: "If anyone comes to me, and does not hate his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brothers, and sisters, and yes, even his own life, he is not able to be my disciple. And whoever does not bear his cross and come after me, is not able to be my disciple. For who among you, wanting to build a tower, would not first sit down and determine the costs that are required, to see if he has the means to complete it? Otherwise, after he will have laid the foundation and not been able to finish it, everyone who sees it may begin to mock him, saying: 'This man began to build what he was not able to finish.' Or, what king, advancing to engage in war against another king, would not first sit down and consider whether he may be able, with ten thousand, to meet one who comes against him with twenty thousand? If not, then while the other is still far away, sending a delegation, he would ask him for terms of peace. Therefore, every one of you who does not renounce all that he possesses is not able to be my disciple." (Lk 14:25-33)
The first reading, from the letter to the Philippians, shows Paul, the apostle, urging a church he loves to work toward its salvation with fear and trembling. But Paul does not leave us under that weight: "it is God who works in you, both so as to choose, and so as to act" (Ph 2:13). The effort asked of us is therefore an answer, because God himself is at work in us from the first choice to the last act.
The psalm turns that assurance into a prayer: "The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear?" (Ps 26:1). The apostle speaks in the same key when he tells the Philippians that they "shine like lights in the world" while holding to the Word of Life, and when he rejoices that his own life may be offered up for their faith. A life already given away has nothing left to defend, and that is why it can shine.
Then the Gospel shows us a road. Great crowds are traveling with Jesus on the long road to Jerusalem, where he knows the cross awaits, and he turns around to tell them what it costs to belong to him. He asks that love for him be set before father, mother, wife, children, brothers and sisters, and even before our own life. The words ask for no contempt toward those we love. They ask that love for him come first, so that every other love finds its place, and to renounce is to put the heart in order.
The second condition concerns the cross: whoever does not bear his cross and come after Jesus cannot be his disciple. The cross is the gift of ourselves to his mission, never a pain to be sought for its own sake. Jesus did not evade suffering, and he did not flee the cross when it came. Sooner or later it finds each of us with many faces: misunderstanding, opposition and the price of a choice that others do not share. We do not go looking for it; we welcome it when it comes, as a school of trust and peace and as a road that leads toward him.
Why does Jesus add two stories about a builder and a king? He wants the crowds to follow with open eyes. The builder must sit down and count the cost of his tower, and the king who meets twenty thousand with ten thousand must weigh the terms of peace. Honest counting shows us how short our own resources are. And yet the count does not end in despair, since the apostle has already told us who works in us, and a heart that recognises in Christ its true strength finds that what once seemed a loss is only a weight set down.
Jesus then closes with a demand that admits no exception: "every one of you who does not renounce all that he possesses" cannot be his disciple (Lk 14:33). To renounce all is to be more attached to him than to our goods, and to give up our legitimate affections and our own life; it leaves no pocket in which to keep a private security. Jesus asks nothing that he has not done first, for he left his glory, gave up everything and became one of us in order to save us, and his love is gentle and free, never imposed. To follow him is therefore to risk everything and to receive everything.
In the spirituality of Bethlehem, empty hands are the only hands that can receive what is given. The Child of Bethlehem comes with nothing in his hands and gives everything, and he does not command but draws us to himself. Where the will to power dies, the joy of service is born, and smallness becomes the place where God bears fruit. Hands that grip a tower, an army or a possession cannot take up a cross, whereas hands left open take hold of the cross and the gift together.
Today the Lord asks us to keep our hands open on the road: to love more than we possess, to serve more than we rule, and to put him first at home, at work and in our parishes. God works in us both to choose and to act, and none of this is done alone. So let us walk on behind Jesus with open hands and fearless hearts.
Scripture text: Catholic Public Domain Version (CPDV), public domain.
Prayer of the Day
Lord Jesus, Child of Bethlehem, you came with empty hands and gave us everything. Teach us to prefer you to all that we hold, to count our poverty honestly and to welcome the cross that finds us. Be our light and our salvation on the road, so that we may fear nothing. Open our hands to receive what you give, and make our hearts glad to follow you. Amen.
For Meditation
- What do we still hold tightly in our hands that keeps us from preferring Christ to everything else?
- Which cross has found us lately, and are we welcoming it as a road toward Jesus or trying to run from it?
- When we count our own resources honestly, do we also remember that God works in us both to choose and to act?
