“But I say to you, do not swear at all; not by heaven, for it is God’s throne; nor by the earth, for it is his footstool; nor by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the great King. Do not swear by your head, for you cannot make a single hair white or black.”
Lectio Divina — “Swear”
1. Lectio
Gospel: Matthew 5:33-37
Oath-taking presupposes a sinful weakness of the human race, namely, the tendency to lie. Jesus demands of his disciples a truthfulness that makes oaths unnecessary.
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2. Meditatio
Swearing to me means not so much to make a solemn promise or state something under oath as using rude, profane, or offensive language. Yet this curious irregular verb—swear, swore, sworn—traces its roots to an Old English word meaning to take an oath. Words matter because they bind persons together. They are meant to be covenants rather than weapons.
This overview of Catholic Social Doctrine, however, would not be very comprehensible if, before reflecting on the contribution of individual popes and their most relevant documents, I failed to clarify some fundamental principles concerning the way in which the Church exists in history and relates to the world. Failing to do so would expose Social Doctrine to the risk of being perceived as an undue interference in worldly matters or as an external code of ethics imposed from above. In reality, it springs from a Church that walks alongside humanity, recognizing the autonomy of earthly realities and the distinction between ecclesial and political communities. Precisely because she does not seek to rule the world, she strives to serve the common good.
These thoughts accompany me while vacationing in Scotland. Looking out my window across the bay this morning, I see the crofts on the opposite shore. A croft is a traditional Scottish term for a small agricultural holding, consisting of a modest house and a piece of land, lovingly cultivated and passed down through generations. It strikes me that a croft is very close to what I am slowly working toward with The Glenn back home. I have traveled thousands of miles only to discover that what I seek has already been quietly planted within me.
The modern world tells me never to settle, to always seek something bigger, faster, grander. Yet the crofts scattered across these Highlands seem to preach another Gospel. They proclaim that enough can indeed be enough. They testify that a small plot of land, gratefully received, can become a place of blessing and communion rather than an object of endless acquisition.
Perhaps that is why today’s Psalm speaks so deeply to me:
“I say to the LORD, ‘My Lord are you.’ O LORD, my allotted portion and my cup, you it is who hold fast my lot.”
How strange that the Psalmist does not swear by his own accomplishments, nor by his possessions, nor even by his plans. Instead, he entrusts his lot to God. The word “lot” itself suggests something received rather than conquered.
Looking across these Scottish waters, I realize that my deepest temptation is not profanity but self-sufficiency. I want to swear by my own strength. I want guarantees. I want to possess my future.
Yet Jesus tells me not to swear at all.
Perhaps because my life itself is already an oath God has sworn in love.
And perhaps the peace I see in these crofts, and hope to cultivate at The Glenn, comes from the discovery that the Lord Himself is my allotted portion and my cup. He is the One who holds fast my lot, while I spend so much energy trying to hold fast to it myself.
The crofts of Scotland and the fields of Texas alike remind me that life is not ultimately something I own, but something entrusted to me. The common good begins not with mastering the earth but with receiving it as gift.
And so, instead of swearing by heaven, earth, Jerusalem, or even by my own head with its increasingly white hair, I find myself simply saying with the Psalmist:
“My Lord are you.”
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3. Oratio (Prayer)
Lord Jesus,
I often speak more quickly than I listen and promise more than I can accomplish.
Teach me the humility that does not need dramatic vows or impressive words.
Grant that my speech may reflect Your truth, my silence Your peace, and my actions Your love.
Purify my tongue from rash judgments, my mind from exaggeration, and my heart from hypocrisy.
Through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, who pondered Your word rather than multiplied her own, make me a man whose simple “yes” is faithful and whose “no” is honest.
May Saint Anthony, lover of the Word made flesh, help me seek truth more than victory.
Amen.
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4. Contemplatio (Chestertonian Synthesis)
Chesterton once remarked that the modern world is full of old Christian virtues gone mad. Perhaps one such madness is the belief that truth requires louder voices and grander declarations.
Saint Anthony of Padua knew otherwise. Though renowned for his preaching, he understood that eloquence without holiness is merely noise. The greatest sermons are often spoken by lives rather than lips.
And the Immaculate Heart of Mary teaches an even stranger lesson. She swore nothing spectacular. She uttered no manifesto. She simply said, “Let it be done to me according to your word.”
That small sentence changed history.
The Heart of Mary is immaculate because it is truthful. It contains no contradiction between what is believed and what is lived.
Thus I discover that sanctity is not built upon extraordinary promises but upon ordinary fidelity.
The saints are not those who constantly swear by heaven.
They are those who quietly live as though heaven were true.
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5. Actio
(Inspired by Laudato Si’ and lived through Synodality)
Pope Francis writes:
Let us review, however cursorily, those questions which are troubling us today and which we can no longer sweep under the carpet. Our goal is not to amass information or to satisfy curiosity, but rather to become painfully aware, to dare to turn what is happening to the world into our own personal suffering and thus to discover what each of us can do about it.