Lectio Divina – Monday of the Fourteenth Week in Ordinary Time
Theme: “commotion”
1. Lectio
Gospel – Matthew 9:18–26
> “When Jesus arrived at the official’s house and saw the flute players and the crowd who were making a commotion, he said, ‘Go away! The girl is not dead but sleeping.'”
The Gospel does not deny the reality of death. Rather, Jesus refuses to let death have the final word. He first quiets the unnecessary commotion before revealing the quiet power of God. Matthew reminds me that the loudest voices are not always the truest ones. Mourning had become a spectacle; Jesus transformed it into a sanctuary.
How often do I make more noise about my problems than room for Christ’s presence?
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2. Meditatio
While tending the sheep in one of the pastures around The Glenn, I came upon a pair of tarantula hawks quietly gathering nectar from a milkweed blossom. My first instinct was to reach for my phone and create a social media commotion about these legendary wasps whose sting ranks among the most painful known. Yet the remarkable thing was not their danger but their peace. As they fed, they ignored me entirely. Adult tarantula hawks live on nectar, and while feeding they are astonishingly gentle. Sometimes the fermented sweetness of milkweed nectar even causes them to stagger awkwardly, looking almost intoxicated as they move from blossom to blossom, unknowingly carrying pollen that gives new life to the prairie.
How quickly I wanted to tell the frightening story instead of the beautiful one.
Perhaps that says more about me than it does about the wasps.
Nature continually whispers the Gospel while I often shout over it. Pope Francis asks, “Nature is filled with words of love, but how can we listen to them amid constant commotion, interminable and nerve-wracking distractions, or the cult of appearances?” That question finds me standing in the pasture with my camera in my hand. Am I listening to creation, or merely using it to generate attention?
The same temptation exists within the Church. Pope Francis’ vision of a synodal Church is not one that manufactures commotion but one that learns to walk together, listening before speaking, discerning before reacting, allowing itself to be evangelized by the poor and by the signs of the times. A Church forever making noise eventually drowns out the still, small voice of Christ.
The Glenn continually teaches me that regeneration begins with quiet observation. Sheep graze silently. Livestock guardian dogs watch patiently. Milkweed blooms without applause. Tarantula hawks pollinate without speeches. Even Jesus does His greatest work after telling the crowd to leave.
Perhaps the Kingdom grows best after the commotion ends.
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3. Oratio
Lord Jesus,
When I am tempted to create noise instead of offering hope, quiet my tongue.
When I mistake excitement for evangelization, teach me Your gentle authority.
Drive away the commotion within my own heart before You drive away the commotion around me.
Teach me to notice the hidden miracles that occur every day at The Glenn, where creation patiently reveals Your wisdom to anyone willing to stand still long enough to see.
Grant me the humility to trust that You need neither my outrage nor my spectacle to accomplish Your work.
May I learn to listen before I speak, to contemplate before I react, and to love more than I publicize.
Amen.
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4. Contemplatio (Chestertonian Synthesis)
The world forever mistakes noise for life. It supposes that if enough people are talking, something important must be happening. Yet Christianity was born not amid applause but in a stable, flourished in silence beside a carpenter’s bench, conquered the world from an empty tomb, and repeatedly transforms souls in the stillness of Eucharistic adoration.
The crowd at Jairus’ house believed death deserved loud lamentation. Christ believed resurrection required quiet confidence.
The Optional Memorial of Saint Maria Goretti tempts me toward another kind of commotion. I can become fascinated by the violence of her murder, rehearse every horrifying detail, and leave inspired only by tragedy. Yet that would be to remain outside the house with the flute players.
Jesus invites me inside.
Saint Maria’s greatness was not the way she died but the way she lived before that moment and the way she forgave afterward. Her holiness is found less in the commotion surrounding her death than in the quiet purity and mercy that shaped her life. Even her forgiveness of Alessandro came without fanfare, accomplishing more than vengeance ever could.
Chesterton might have smiled and observed that Heaven is curiously fond of quiet victories. The saints rarely conquered by making the largest commotion. They conquered by remaining faithful while the world exhausted itself with noise.
Perhaps that is why Christ first emptied the room before raising the little girl.
Miracles have always preferred silence to spectacle.
Monday of the Fourteenth Week in Ordinary Time
