Lectio Divina — Vigilant
Tuesday of the Twenty-ninth Week in Ordinary Time
October 20, 2026 | Weekly Theme: Belongs
1. Lectio — Blessed Are the Vigilant
“Blessed are those servants whom the master finds vigilant on his arrival.”
Luke 12:37
There is a rather remarkable difference between being vigilant and being a vigilante. The first is a virtue; the second can become a vice. And the difference between the two may be considerably smaller than I care to admit.
In today’s Gospel, Jesus tells His disciples to be prepared, with their loins girded and their lamps burning, like servants awaiting the return of their master from a wedding. They are to remain vigilant, ready to open the door whenever he arrives.
But Jesus introduces a marvelous reversal. When the master finds his servants vigilant, he does not merely congratulate them on their efficiency. He invites them to recline at table and proceeds to serve them himself.
The master becomes the servant.
Perhaps that is the first lesson I must carry into this day. Christian vigilance is not about asserting my power over others. It is about remaining attentive to the One who comes among us as a servant.
And if I truly belong to Christ, then my vigilance must resemble His humility rather than my own desire to control the outcome.
2. Meditatio — Vigilant Without Becoming a Vigilante
Today I will physically leave The Glenn for a while and head to the polls. My intention is to be vigilant about adhering to my conscience while making certain that my passion for the political process does not cross the line into acting like a vigilante.
I find the entire process strenuous. The competing claims, accusations, promises, advertisements, and demands for loyalty can leave me exhausted before I have even cast a ballot.
I can understand why some people choose to stay home and avoid participating altogether. There are moments when I am tempted to do the same. But my conscience does not permit me to withdraw simply because the responsibility is uncomfortable.
I want to belong.
Yet I do not belong to either political party, and I find myself increasingly uncomfortable with the suggestion that faithful citizenship requires unquestioning loyalty to one side or the other.
Perhaps this week’s theme of “belongs” has arrived at precisely the right moment.
Yesterday, I considered the foolishness of believing that everything at The Glenn belongs to me. Today, I confront a different temptation: believing that I must belong to a political tribe in order to participate responsibly in public life.
But Saint Paul reminds me that Christ Himself is our peace. Through His flesh, He has broken down the dividing wall of enmity, creating one new humanity and reconciling both with God through the cross.
That is a magnificent theological truth. Unfortunately, it does not always feel particularly magnificent when I am standing before a ballot, disagreeing with family, friends, and sometimes even my own desires.
How can Christ have broken down the dividing wall when I seem to encounter another wall every time I enter a political conversation?
And how can I claim that Christ is my peace when my own heart is so easily disturbed by those who see the world differently?
Perhaps I have mistaken peace for agreement.
The peace of Christ does not require that everyone vote alike. Nor does it demand that I abandon my conscience for the sake of avoiding disagreement. Rather, it requires that even my disagreements remain subject to the dignity of the human person and the commandment of love.
I may disagree with another person’s judgment without denying that person a place within the human family.
I may vote according to my conscience without imagining that my ballot makes me morally superior to my neighbor.
And I may recognize serious deficiencies in political candidates without surrendering to cynicism or despair.
The Lord speaks of peace to His people, yet I struggle to find a candidate whose words and actions consistently reflect that peace.
So how am I to remain vigilant?
Perhaps by remembering that voting is an exercise of moral responsibility, not an act of religious devotion to a political party or candidate.
My conscience must be formed through prayer, Scripture, the teaching of the Church, reliable information, and a sincere concern for the common good. It cannot simply be borrowed from a party platform, a political commentator, or even someone whose opinions I greatly respect.
Nor can I assume that the intensity of my convictions proves their correctness.
There is a particular temptation to become a vigilante when I begin to believe that the righteousness of my cause excuses the harshness of my conduct.
But Christ has not called me to patrol the consciences of my neighbors. He has called me to form and follow my own conscience faithfully, while respecting the dignity and freedom of others.
In Laudato Si’, Pope Francis describes an attitude of the heart characterized by serene attentiveness: the ability to be fully present to someone without constantly thinking about what comes next, and to receive each moment as a gift from God.
What a remarkable contrast to the frantic atmosphere of modern politics!
Here at The Glenn, my livestock guardian dogs demonstrate vigilance through attentiveness. They watch, listen, and respond to what is actually happening around them. A good guardian does not need to attack every movement in the pasture to demonstrate that it is doing its job.
Perhaps I should learn something from them before I head to the polls.
Vigilance requires discernment. It does not require perpetual agitation.
And when I return to The Glenn after voting, I must remember that my Christian responsibility has not ended with the casting of a ballot.
I will still be called to love my neighbor, protect creation, seek justice, speak truthfully, and work for peace, regardless of who wins or loses.
For my citizenship is important, but it is not the deepest truth about my identity.
I belong to Christ before I belong to any political community.
And perhaps the most important question I should ask before entering the polling place is not merely, “How should I vote?” but, “Will the Lord find me vigilant in love when I leave?”
3. Oratio — A Prayer Before Voting
Lord Jesus Christ,
You are my peace, even when the world around me seems determined to divide itself into opposing camps.
As I leave The Glenn and prepare to exercise my responsibility as a citizen, grant me the grace to remain vigilant without becoming a vigilante.
Form my conscience according to Your truth rather than my fears, my resentments, or my desire to belong to a particular group.
Give me wisdom to distinguish genuine moral concerns from political manipulation, reliable information from misleading claims, and righteous conviction from self-righteousness.
When I disagree with family and friends, keep me from confusing disagreement with enmity.
When I encounter candidates whose words and actions trouble me, help me make a responsible judgment without surrendering to contempt.
When I feel exhausted by the political process, remind me that faithful citizenship is one expression of my love for my neighbor.
And when I cast my ballot, let it be an act of conscience rather than an expression of fear or tribal loyalty.
Teach me the serene attentiveness described in Laudato Si’, so that I may remain present to the people around me and receive this day as Your gift.
Above all, Lord, remind me that I belong to You.
May I be found vigilant when You come, with my lamp burning not with anger, but with faith, hope, and love.
Amen.
4. Contemplatio — Vigilance in the Age of Artificial Intelligence
Magnifica Humanitas, Chapter Four — Safeguarding Humanity at a Time of Transformation: Truth, Work, Freedom. Paragraph 140: An Educational Alliance for the Digital Age.
There is a curious irony in using artificial intelligence to help compose a reflection about the importance of knowing when artificial intelligence ought not to be used.
Yet perhaps that irony is precisely where today’s contemplation must begin.
In paragraph 140 of Magnifica Humanitas, Pope Leo XIV reminds me that education is a long journey requiring patience, time, and sustained engagement with reality beyond appearances.
Every technology shapes those who use it. Consequently, education concerning artificial intelligence must include the ability to decide not only when and how to use it, but also when and for what purposes it should not be used.
That observation seems especially important as I prepare to vote.
I can ask an artificial intelligence system to summarize a candidate’s positions, compare public statements, explain policy proposals, or identify questions worth investigating. Such assistance may be useful, provided I verify its claims and recognize its limitations.
But can I ask it to form my conscience for me?
Can I surrender to a machine the responsibility of deciding which moral considerations deserve the greatest weight, which compromises I can accept, or how I should respond to the suffering of my neighbors?
And if a machine gives me a polished answer in seconds, does that answer relieve me of the difficult responsibility of asking whether the question itself was properly framed?
These are not merely technological questions. They concern the dignity of human freedom and the formation of conscience.
There is a difference between using a tool to become better informed and allowing the tool to become the author of my judgment.
The former may strengthen my responsibility. The latter may weaken the very freedom I am called to exercise.
Paragraph 140 warns that the speed and convenience of obtaining answers can extinguish the desire to ask questions. Yet genuine understanding develops over time through conversation, experience, and the patient encounter with reality.
Plato’s image of ideas and experiences being struck together like flint until a spark of understanding appears offers a remarkable contrast to the instantaneous production of digital answers.
Perhaps my conscience is formed less like a computer receiving a software update and more like a fire that must be patiently kindled.
And perhaps this is why voting according to conscience can be so strenuous.
I want clarity. I want certainty. I want to know that my decision is correct and that everyone whose judgment I respect will understand it.
But conscience does not always offer the comfort of unanimity. Sometimes it demands that I remain faithful amid uncertainty, disagreement, and imperfect choices.
It would be tempting to let a political party, a trusted commentator, a persuasive friend, or an artificial intelligence system remove that burden.
Yet if I do so, I risk surrendering the very responsibility that belongs to me.
There is another danger. Digital technology can make it remarkably easy to mistake constant stimulation for vigilance.
I may spend hours following political developments, reading reactions, and searching for confirmation of my concerns, all while becoming less attentive to the actual people and responsibilities immediately before me.
Here at The Glenn, I know that vigilance is not the same as staring endlessly at a Farm Camera. A notification can draw my attention to something important, but it cannot replace the patient knowledge of the land and its creatures that comes from living among them.
Likewise, the endless stream of political information cannot replace the patient formation of conscience through prayer, reflection, study, and genuine dialogue.
This is where Laudato Si’ and Magnifica Humanitas seem to speak with one voice.
Both challenge the assumption that faster is necessarily better. Both call me to resist a culture that reduces reality to what can be immediately consumed, controlled, or calculated.
And both remind me that genuine attentiveness requires the willingness to slow down.
Christ does not ask His servants to predict the exact moment of His return. He asks them to remain vigilant.
That vigilance is not frantic. It is faithful.
Nor does Christ ask me to know everything before acting. He asks me to act responsibly in the light I have received, remaining open to correction, conversion, and grace.
As I enter the polling place today, I will carry my own conscience, not a borrowed one. I will recognize that my judgment may be imperfect, but the responsibility to form it honestly remains mine.
And when I return to The Glenn, I hope to return not as someone who has defeated an enemy, but as someone who has attempted to fulfill a duty of love.
For the Kingdom of God does not belong to a political party, a technological system, or a victorious candidate.
I belong to Christ, and Christian vigilance requires that I remain faithful to Him even when the world demands that I choose another master.
5. Actio — Living Laudato Si’ and Synodality
Before leaving The Glenn today, I will take a few moments for prayerful silence. I will ask God to help me distinguish the voice of conscience from the noise of political pressure.
I will review the information available to me, verify important claims, and resist the temptation to substitute a convenient digital summary for the serious work of moral discernment.
At the polling place, I will treat the people around me with dignity and respect, regardless of their political preferences.
I will remember that those who disagree with me are not enemies to be defeated, but neighbors with whom I am called to share a common life.
In the spirit of synodality, I will remain willing to listen and learn, acknowledging that no political party possesses the fullness of truth and that my own understanding may require correction.
In the spirit of Laudato Si’, I will return to The Glenn with serene attentiveness, giving my presence to the creatures and responsibilities entrusted to my care rather than remaining absorbed in the political noise of the day.
And in the spirit of Magnifica Humanitas, I will practice restraint in my use of digital technology, remembering that some questions require more than a rapid answer.