Lectio Divina
Thursday of the Twelfth Week in Ordinary Time
Theme: “Will”
1. Lectio
Gospel: Matthew 7:21
«“Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the Kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father in heaven.”»
In this single verse the word “will” appears twice, yet it speaks in two distinct ways. The first “will” points toward what shall happen in the future: who will enter the Kingdom. The second “will” reaches much deeper. It is not about the future but about desire, purpose, and obedience—the Father’s will. The first asks what shall become of me; the second asks whose desire governs my life.
Jesus continues His warning against false prophets by broadening it to include those disciples who preach, heal, and cast out demons in His name while failing to conform their lives to the Father’s will. Miracles are no substitute for holiness. Loud professions of faith cannot drown out lives lived in contradiction to the Gospel. Entrance into the Kingdom belongs not to those who merely invoke the Lord’s name, but to those whose own will has gradually become one with the Father’s.
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2. Meditatio
Every day I make dozens of decisions at The Glenn. Most are small enough to pass unnoticed. I decide which pasture to open, whether the sheep need moving, whether the pigs require another pen, whether the dogs need correction, whether the grass should be harvested today or tomorrow. Most of these decisions require little deliberation.
Then, every so often, I encounter one decision that quietly asks a much larger question: Is this my will, or is it God’s will?
Those moments are dangerous because I possess an extraordinary ability to baptize my own opinions and call them divine inspiration. I can convince myself that what I want must surely be what God wants. When the whole enterprise collapses under the weight of my certainty, I cry out to heaven as though God had failed me.
Yet when I surrender to God’s will, the opposite often occurs. His path usually runs contrary to common sense, expert advice, and my carefully constructed plans. More than once I have looked across The Glenn convinced that everything would fall apart if I obeyed Him. Then the storm passes, the dust settles, and I discover that what seemed most fragile has endured while my own schemes would have failed. I stand amazed, almost embarrassed, whispering, “Lord, I never would have done it that way.”
Perhaps that is because, as Pope Benedict XVI reminded us, “Man does not create himself. He is spirit and will, but also nature.” My will is a marvelous gift, but it is not the highest authority. Creation itself begins to suffer whenever I imagine that I have the final word. The misuse of creation begins, Benedict observed, when I recognize no authority higher than myself.
This is true not only of a homestead but also of society.
Reading Quadragesimo Anno, I see Pope Pius XI confronting a world tempted to believe that either the State or the marketplace should exercise unlimited power. Instead, he proposed the principle of subsidiarity: decisions should remain as close as possible to the persons, families, and local communities capable of making them responsibly. Higher authorities exist to support—not replace—the responsibilities of those below them.
The principle surprises me because it resembles the way God governs my own soul. God rarely overwhelms me with irresistible force. Instead, He entrusts me with stewardship. He invites rather than coerces. He gives me responsibilities before He gives me results. My task is not to seize control but to cooperate with grace.
The Glenn teaches me this lesson repeatedly. I am not its creator. I am merely its steward. The sheep, the pigs, the dogs, the trees, the ponds, and even the prairie itself constantly remind me that life flourishes not because I impose my will, but because I learn to recognize God’s.
Perhaps the greatest temptation is not disobedience but presumption—the assumption that my will and God’s are automatically identical. Jesus’ warning is sobering. There will be those who cry, “Lord, Lord,” while never having surrendered the little kingdom of themselves.
Today I ask a different question. Not, “What do I want God to bless?” but, “What is God already blessing, and will I join Him there?”
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3. Oratio
Lord Jesus,
You know how easily I mistake my own desires for Your holy will. I confess that I often pray not for discernment but for confirmation. I ask You to bless plans I have already made instead of allowing You to make Your plans within me.
Teach me the freedom of obedience.
When I stand uncertain at a crossroads, give me the humility to wait. When I am tempted to grasp control, remind me that I am only a steward. When Your will seems contrary to worldly wisdom, grant me the courage to trust You more than I trust my calculations.
Bless my work at The Glenn. Let every decision become an act of discipleship. May my care for this small corner of creation reflect my desire to care for the greater vineyard You have entrusted to Your Church.
May my lips never say, “Lord, Lord,” while my heart quietly enthrones itself.
Instead, may I pray with increasing sincerity:
“Not my will, but Yours be done.”
Amen.
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4. Contemplatio (Chestertonian Synthesis)
The modern man believes freedom means doing whatever he wills. The Christian discovers that freedom begins only when he finally wills what God wills.
This seems a contradiction until one notices nature itself. The river is freest when it follows its course. The bird is freest when it flies according to the shape of its wings. The sheep flourish not because they reject the shepherd, but because they trust him. Even my beloved Glenn prospers most when I cease trying to dominate it and instead cooperate with the order God has already written into creation.
Chesterton once delighted in pointing out that humility does not make a man think less of himself; it allows him to think of himself less. So too with the will. The miracle is not that I lose my will in following God, but that I finally discover what my will was created to become.
The saints were not weak-willed people. They possessed extraordinarily strong wills. The difference was that they offered those wills back to God.
Perhaps that is why Jesus does not ask me to accomplish spectacular miracles. He asks something far more difficult: that I desire what the Father desires.
The astonishing truth is that God’s will is never my diminishment. It is always my fulfillment. My will can build fences around my little kingdom. His will opens the gates of the Kingdom of Heaven.
At The Glenn I have learned that every successful day begins the same way—with open hands.
Perhaps that is also how every saint begins.
Thursday of the Twelfth Week in Ordinary Time
