Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost

Dom Prosper Guéranger:

On this Sunday, which is their Twelfth of Saint Matthew, the Greeks read in the Mass the episode of the young rich man who questions Jesus, given in the Nineteenth Chapter of the Saint’s Gospel. In the West, it is the Gospel of the good Samaritan, which gives its name to this twelfth Sunday after Pentecost.



Dom Prosper Guéranger:

The glorious promises mentioned in the concluding words of our Collect [grant us, we beseech you, that we may run on, without stumbling, to the things you have promised us] are described to us in the Epistle which seems at first sight to be entirely in praise of the Apostolic ministry. But the glory of the Apostles is the glory of Him whom they announce, and this one glory which is His, Christ, the Head, communicates it to all his members, making it also their one glory. This divine glory flows, together with the divine life, from that sacred Head. And they both flow, and copiously too, through all the channels of holy Church (Ephesians iv. 15, 16).

If they do not come to all Christians in the same proportions, such difference in no wise denotes that the glory or the life themselves are of a different kind to some from what they are to others. Each member of Christ’s mystical Body is called to form his own degree of capacity for glory. Not of course, as the Apostle says, that “we are of ourselves sufficient even to think anything as of ourselves,” but what diversity is there not in the way in which men turn to profit the divine capital allotted to each by grace! Oh if we did but know the gift of God! (John iv. 10) If we did but understand the super-eminent dignity reserved under the law of love, to every man of good will! (Luke ii. 14), then, perhaps, our cowardice and sluggishness would at last go. Perhaps then our souls would get fired with the noble ambition which turns men into saints.

At all events, we should then come to realise that Christian humility, of which we were speaking on the last two Sundays, is not the vulgar grovelling of a low-minded man, but the glorious entrance on the way which leads by divine Union to the one true greatness. Are not those men inconsistent and senseless who, longing by the very law of their nature for glory, go seeking it in the phantoms of pride, and allow themselves to be diverted by the baubles of vanity from the pursuit of those real honours, which Eternal Wisdom (Ecclesiasticus vi. 29‒32) had destined for them! And those grand honours were to have been heaped on them, not only in their future Heaven, but even here in their earthly habitation, and God and His Saints were to have been admiring and applauding spectators!

In the name, then, of our dearest and truest interests, let us give ear to our Apostle and get into us his heavenly enthusiasm. We will understand his exquisite teaching all the better if we read the sequel to the few lines assigned for today’s Epistle. It is but fully carrying out the wishes of the Church when her children, after or before assisting at her liturgical services, take the Sacred Scriptures and read for themselves the continuation of passages which are necessarily abridged during the public celebrations. It were well if they did this all through the Year. What a fund of instruction they would thus acquire! Today, however, there is an additional motive for the suggestion, inasmuch as this second Epistle to the Corinthians is brought before us for the first and only time during this season of the Liturgy.

But, let us examine what is this glory of the New Testament, which so fills the Apostle with ecstasy and, in his mind, almost entirely eclipses the splendour of the Old. Splendour there undoubtedly was in the Sinai covenant. Never had there been such a manifestation of God’s majesty, and omnipotence, and holiness, as on that day when, gathering together at the foot of the Mount, the descendants of the twelve sons of Jacob, He mercifully renewed, with this immense family, the covenant formerly made with their Fathers (Genesis xv. 18) and gave them His Law in the extraordinarily solemn manner described in the book of Exodus. And yet, that Law, engravened as it was on stone by God’s own hand, was not, for all that, in the hearts of the receivers. Neither did its holiness prevent, though it condemned, sin — sin which reigns in man’s heart (Romans vii. 12, 13). Moses, who carried the divine writing, came down from the Mount having the rays of God’s glory blazing on his face (Exodus xxxiv. 29‒35). But it was a glory which was not to be shared in by the people of whom he was the head. It was for himself alone, as was likewise the privilege he had enjoyed of speaking with God face-to-face (Exodus xxiii. 11). It ceased with him, thus signifying by its short duration the character of that ministration which was to cease on the coming of the Messiah, just as the night’s borrowed light vanishes when the day appears. And, as it were the better to show that the time was not as yet come when God would manifest His glory, the children of Israel were not able to gaze steadfastly on the face of Moses so that, when he had to speak to the people, he had need to put on a veil. Though a mere borrowed light, the brightness of Moses’ face represented the glory of the future Covenant, whose splendour was to shine, not, of course, externally, but in the hearts of us all, by giving us the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ Jesus (2 Corinthians iv. 6). Light, living and life-giving, which is none other than the divine Word (John i. 4‒9), the Wisdom of the Father (Wisdom vii. 25, 26), a Light and a Wisdom which the energy of the Sacraments, seconded by contemplation and love, makes to pass from the Humanity of our divine Head to the very recesses of our souls.

We will find our Sunday giving us a second reminder of Moses, but the true and enduring greatness of the Hebrew leader is in what we have been stating. In the same way that Abraham was grander by the spiritual progeny which was the issue of his Faith than he was by the posterity that was his in the flesh, so the glory of Moses consisted, not so much in his having been at the head of the ancient Israelites for forty long years, as in his having represented, in his own person, both the office of the Messiah King and the prerogatives of the new people. The Gentile is set free from the law of fear and sin (Romans viii. 2) by the law of grace, which not only declares justice, but gives it. Tthe Gentile, having been made a son of God (Romans viii. 15), communes with Him in that liberty which comes of the Spirit of love (2 Corinthians iii. 17). But this privileged Gentile has no type which so perfectly represents him in the first Covenant as this the very lawgiver of Israel, this Moses who finds such favour with the Most High as to be admitted to behold His glory (Exodus xxxiii. 17‒19) and converse with Him with all the intimacy of friend to friend (Exodus xxxiii. 11). Whereas God showed Himself to this His servant — as far, that is, as mortal man is capable of such sight (Exodus xxxiii. 20) — and as He was seen by him without the intermediation of figures or images (Numbers xii. 8) — so, when he approached thus to God, Moses took from his face the veil he wore at other times. The Jew persists, even to this very day, in keeping between himself and Christ, this veil which is removed to all the world else (2 Corinthians iii. 14). The Christian, on the contrary, with the holy daring of which the Apostle speaks (2 Corinthians iii. 12), removes all intermediates between God and himself and draws aside the veil of all figures. Beholding the glory of the Lord with face uncovered, we are transformed into the same image from glory to glory, as by the Spirit of the Lord (2 Corinthians iii. 8), for we become other christs, and are made like God the Father, as is His Son Christ Jesus.

Thus is fulfilled the will of this Almighty Father for the sanctification of the elect. God sees Himself reflected in these predestined who are become, in the beautiful light divine, conformable to the image of His Son (Romans viii. 29). He could say of each one of them what he spoke at the Jordan and on Thabor: “This is my beloved son in whom I am well pleased” (Matthew iii. 17; xvii. 5). He makes them His true temple (2 Corinthians vi. 16), verifying the word He spoke of old: “I will set my tabernacle in the midst of you: I will walk among you, and will be your God (Leviticus xxvi. 12). I will bring your seed from the East and gather you from the West. I will say to the North: Give up and to the South: Keep not back! Bring my sons from afar, and my daughters from the ends of the Earth!” (Isaias xliii. 5‒7).

Such are the promises for whose realisation we should, as the Apostle says, be all earnestness in working out our sanctification, by cleansing ourselves from all defilement of the flesh and of the spirit, in the fear of God (2 Corinthians vii. 1) and in His love. Such is that glory of the New Testament, that glory of the Church and of every Christian soul, which so immensely surpasses the glory of the Old and the brightness which lit up the face of Moses. As to our carrying this treasure in frail vessels, we must not on that account lose heart but the rather rejoice in this weakness, which makes God’s power all the more evident. We must take our miseries, and even Death itself, and turn them into profit by giving the stronger manifestation of our Lord Jesus’ life in this mortal flesh of ours. What matters it to our faith and our hope if our outward man is gradually falling to decay, when the inner is being renewed day-by-day? The light and transitory suffering of the present is producing within us an eternal weight of glory. Let us then fix our gaze not on what is seen, but on what is unseen: the visible passes, the invisible is eternal (2 Corinthians iv. 7‒18).



Dom Prosper Guéranger:

The Doctor and Apostle of the Gentiles was speaking to us in the Epistle of the glory of the New Testament: He, of whom Paul was but the servant, Jesus, the Man-God, reveals to us in the Gospel the perfection of that Law which He came to give to the world. And as though He would, in a certain way, unite His own divine teachings with those of His Apostle and justify that Apostle’s enthusiasm, it is from the very depth of His own most holy soul and in the Holy Ghost (Luke x. 21‒23) that, having thanked His Eternal Father for these great things, He cries out, turning to His Disciples: “Blessed are the eyes that see the things which you see!”

The same idea was expressed by the Prince of the Apostolic College when he spoke of the unspeakable and glorious joy (1 Peter i. 8) which resulted from the new Alliance in which figures were to be replaced by realities. In his first Epistle to the elect of the Holy Spirit (1 Peter i.) Peter speaks, in the same strain as his divine Master had done, of the unfulfilled aspirations of the Saints of the Old Testament — these admirable men whom Saint Paul describes (Hebrews xi.) as being so grand in faith, as to be both heroic in combat and sublime in virtue. Saint Peter, then, expresses in inspired language how the elect of the Church of expectation were continually looking forward to the grace of the time that was to come; how they were ever counting the years which were to intervene; how they were carefully searching (scrutinising, as our Vulgate words it) the long ages, to find out when that happy time would be realised, although they were well aware, that the longed-for sight of the mysteries of salvation was never to be theirs, and that their mission was limited to prophesying those future grandeurs to future generations (1 Peter i. 10‒12).

But, who are those Kings spoken of in our Gospel as uniting with the Prophets in the desire to see the things we see? To say nothing of those holy ones who thought less of the throne they sat on, than of the divine Object of the world's expectation, may we not say with the holy Fathers that they well deserved to be called kings, whom Saint Paul describes as, by their faith, conquering kingdoms, vanquishing armies, stopping the mouths of lions, masters of the very elements: what is more, masters of their own selves? Heedless of the mockeries, as well as of the persecutions of the world that was not worthy to possess such men, these champions of the faith were seen wandering in the deserts, sheltering in dens and caves, and yet as happy as kings, because of a certain Object whom they intensely loved and longed to see, and yet whom they knew they were not to see until after their deaths and until tedious ages had run their long course (Hebrews xi. 33‒39). We, then, who are their descendants — we for whom they were obliged to wait in order to enjoy a share of those blessings which their sighs and vehement desires did so much to hasten — do we appreciate the immense favour bestowed on us by our Lord? We, whose virtue scarcely bears comparison with that of the fathers of our faith and who, notwithstanding, by the descent of the Holy Spirit of love, have been more enlightened than ever were the prophets for, by that Holy Spirit we have been put in possession of the mysteries which they only foretold — how is it, that we are so sadly slow to feel the obligation we are under of responding, by holiness of life (1 Peter i. 13‒16) and by an ardent and generous love, to the liberality of that God who has gratuitously called us from darkness to His admirable light? (1 Peter ii. 9)

Having so great a cloud of witnesses over our heads, let us lay aside every weight and sin which surrounds us, and run, by patience, in the fight proposed to us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and finisher of faith who, having joy set before Him, preferred to endure the cross despising the shame, and now sits on the right hand of the throne of God (Hebrews xii. 1, 2). We know Him with greater certainty than we do the events which are happening under our eyes for, He Himself, by His Holy Spirit, is ever within us, incorporating His mysteries into us.

The illumination of holy Baptism has produced within our souls that revelation of Christ Jesus which constitutes the basis of the Christian life, and for which the Man-God congratulated His disciples. It was of that revelation or knowledge that He spoke, rather than of the exterior sight of His human nature: a sight, which was common not only to His devoted followers, but to every enemy that chose to stare at Him. The Apostle of the Gentiles makes this very clear when, after the change produced in the Disciples by the Holy Ghost coming upon them, he thus spoke: “If we once knew Christ according to the flesh, now, we know Him so no longer” (2 Corinthians v. 16). It is literally in us, and no longer in the cities of Judea, that the kingdom of God is to be found (Luke xvii. 21). It is faith that shows us the Christ, who is dwelling in our hearts, that He may establish us in charity and grow in us by transforming us into Himself, and fill us with all the fullness of God (Ephesians iii. 16‒19). It is by fixing his eye on the divine image, which silently lights up the soul that has been purified by Baptism, that, as we were just now saying, the inner man is renewed from day-to-day by incessant contemplation and growing love, and persevering and, at last, perfect imitation, of his Creator and Saviour (Colossians iii. 10).

How important, then, that we let the supernatural light have such free scope and expansion within us, that not one of our acts, or thoughts, not even the deepest recess of our hearts, will escape its sovereign influence and guidance! It is on this point that the Holy Ghost works prodigies in faithful souls: the unrestrained development of those His highest Gifts — Understanding and Wisdom — gives such a predominance to the divine light that the brightness of the sun’s rays pales to the eyes of these Saints. Sometimes, even in His omnipotent freedom of breathing when and as He wills, this Holy Spirit waits not for the regular development of those Gifts of His which He bestows on all: the soul, drawn up to heights unreached by the ordinary paths of the Christian life, finds herself plunged in the deepest abyss of Wisdom. There she delightedly imbibes the rays which come to her from the eternal summits and, in their tranquil and radiant simplicity which holds all in itself, she feels that she has the secret of all things. There are moments when, raised up still higher — above the region of the senses or the domain of human reasoning as Saint Denis the Areopagite words it, above all the intelligible — she is permitted to rest her wings on the summit, where dwells the uncreated light in its essence — that thrice holy sanctuary from where it streams down even to the furthest limits of creation, lending something of its divine splendour to every creature. Then is it that mercifully acting on the soul, which cannot yet bear the direct infinite glory, the Blessed Trinity shrouds her in that mysterious darkness of which the Saints speak as belonging to these highest degrees of mystical ascension. The darkness, beyond which is the very God of Majesty (Psalms xvii. 12), is an obscurity which penetrates the soul with higher bliss than does light itself. It is a sacred night whose silence is more eloquent than any sound that this Earth could hear. It is a holy of holies where adoration absorbs the soul: vision is not there, still less is science, and yet it is in this sanctuary that understanding and love, acting together in ineffable unison, take hold of the sublimest mysteries of theology.

It is quite true that such favours as these are imparted to but few, and no man can lay the slightest claim to them, be his virtue ever so great, or his fidelity ever so tried. Neither does perfection depend on them. Faith, which guides the just man, is enough to make him estimate the life of the senses for what it really is: miserable and grovelling. With the aid of ordinary grace he easily lives in that intimate retirement of the soul in which he knows that the holy Trinity resides: he knows it because he has it from the teaching of the Scripture (John xiv. 23). His heart is a kind of Heaven where his life is hidden in God, together with that Jesus upon whom are fixed all his thoughts (Colossians iii. 3): there he gives to his beloved Lord the only proof of love which is to be trusted, the only one that this Lord asks at our hands — the keeping of the commandments (John xiv. 21). In spite of the ardent longings of his hope, he waits patiently and calmly for that final revelation of Christ which on the last day will give him to appear together with Him in glory (Colossians iii. 4), for, as without seeing Him he believes in Him, so, without seeing Him, he knows that he loves Him (1 Peter i. 8). The ever advancing growth in virtue which men observe in such a man is a more unmistakable proof of the power of faith than can be those extraordinary manifestations of which we were just speaking, and in which the soul is so irresistibly subdued that she has scarcely the power to refuse her love.

Hence it is not without a reason and a connection that the Gospel chosen for today passes at once, after the opening verses which we have been commenting, to the new promulgation of the great commandment which includes the whole Law and the Prophets (Matthew xxii. 36‒40). Faith assures man that he may and “must love the Lord his God with his whole heart, and with his whole soul, and his whole strength, and his whole mind, and his neighbour as himself.” In the Homily on the sacred text offered to us by the Church, the interpretation goes not beyond the question proposed by the Jewish lawyer: by this she as good as tells us that the latter portion of the Gospel, though by far the longer, is but the practical conclusion to the former, according to that saying of the Apostle, that “Faith works by charity” (Galatians v. 6). The parable of the good Samaritan, though containing materials for the sublimest symbolic teaching, is spoken here in its literal sense by our Lord for the one purpose of removing the restrictions put by the Jews on the great precept of love. If all perfection be included in love — if, without love, no virtue produces fruit for Heaven — it is important for us to remember that love is not of the right kind unless it include our neighbour. And it is only after stating this particular that Saint Paul affirms that “love fulfils the whole law” (Romans xiii. 8), and that “love is the plenitude of the law” (Romans viii. 10). Thus we find that the greater number of the precepts of the Decalogue are upon our duties to our neighbour (Romans xiii. 9), and we are told that the love we have for God is only then what it ought to be when we not only love Him, but when we also love what He loves, that is, when we love man whom He made to his own likeness (1 John iv. 20).

Hence the apostle Saint Paul does not explicitly distinguish, as the Gospel does, between the two precepts of love, and says: “All the law is fulfilled in one sentence: You must love your neighbour as yourself” (Galatians v. 14). Such being the importance of this love, it is necessary to have a clear understanding as to the meaning and extent of the word neighbour. In the mind of the Jews, it comprised only their own race, and in this they were following the custom of the pagan nations, for whom every stranger was an enemy. But here in our Gospel we have a representative of this Jewish diminished law (Psalms xi. 2) eliciting, from Him who is the author of the law, an answer which declares the precept in all its fullness. This time He does not make His voice be heard amid thunder and fire, as on Mount Sinai. He, as Man living and conversing with men (Baruch iii. 38) reveals to them, and in the most intelligible possible way, the whole import of the eternal commandment which leads to life (Baruch iv. 1). In a parable (in which, as many think, He is relating a fact which has really happened, and is known to those to whom He is addressing it) our Jesus describes how there was a man who went forth from the Holy City, and how he fell in with a Samaritan, that is, with a stranger the most despised and the most disliked of all that an inhabitant of Jerusalem looked on as his enemies (John iv 9). And yet, the shrewd lawyer who questions Jesus and, no doubt, all those who had been listening to the answer, are obliged to own that the neighbour, for the poor fellow who had fallen into the hands of robbers was not so truly the priest, or the levite (though both of them were of his own race) as this stranger, this Samaritan, who forgets all national grudges as soon as he sees a suffering creature, and cannot look on him in any other light than as a fellow-man. Our Jesus made Himself thoroughly understood, and every one present must have well learnt the lesson — that the greatest of all laws, the law of love, admits no exception, either here or in Heaven.