Fear and promise often arrive in the same breath. Gideon, hiding in a winepress, hears himself named “champion” by the messenger of God. The disciples, anxious about their future after leaving everything, hear Jesus warn that wealth can strangle the way into the Kingdom—and then promise a hundredfold and eternal life. Today’s Scriptures hold together honest fear and extravagant promise, and they trace a path through them that is both ancient and urgently contemporary (Judges 6:11-24a; Psalm 85:9-14; 2 Corinthians 8:9; Matthew 19:23-30).
Go with the strength you have (Judges 6:11-24a)
Gideon’s first prayer sounds like many modern sighs: If the Lord is with us, why has all this happened? He voices the ache of those who watch downsizing notices pile up, caregivers who feel alone at 3 a.m., and believers troubled by scandal or disunity. God’s answer is both bracing and tender: Go with the strength you have … I shall be with you (Judg 6:14, 16).
St. Clement of Rome, writing into a fractured Corinthian Church, knew this tension between weakness and calling. He did not dismiss weakness; he ordered it toward communion. In his First Letter to the Corinthians, he calls for repentance, humility, and the restoration of harmony by obeying the structure God has given the Church. Unity is not uniformity but concord for mission. The God who met Gideon in a hidden place meets communities and households in their crisis places, not to shame them, but to refit them for service grounded in humility and good works.
Gideon asks for a sign, offers a simple meal, and receives fire and peace. He builds an altar and names it Yahweh-shalom—the Lord is peace (Judg 6:24a). This peace is not escape but equipment. Psalm 85 sings that in God’s economy, justice and peace are not rivals: Kindness and truth shall meet; justice and peace shall kiss (Ps 85:11). For those longing for calm amid polarized news feeds or anxious budgets, the peace God gives is not passive; it is the steadying of a heart invited to do the next faithful thing, knowing Who goes with it.
The poverty that frees (2 Corinthians 8:9; Matthew 19:23-26)
Jesus looks straight into a cultural assumption—then and now—that wealth guarantees safety and options, and he says, It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for one who is rich to enter the Kingdom (Mt 19:24). The disciples are stunned: Who then can be saved? Jesus does not soften the warning, but he deepens the horizon: For men this is impossible, but for God all things are possible (Mt 19:26).
St. Thomas Aquinas explains why riches can be perilous: external goods are good in themselves but become weights when loved inordinately, diverting the will from its true end—God. Grace does not erase our nature; it heals and elevates it, enabling desires to be reordered (cf. Summa Theologiae I–II, q.109; II–II, q.118). The Gospel does not demand poverty as a stunt, but as a freedom: poverty of spirit for all, chosen poverty for some, generous stewardship for many. In an age of subscriptions, instant delivery, and curated images, detachment is spiritual resistance. The “camel” image can feel like a surgical metaphor: the Spirit removes what swells the ego so the heart may pass through the narrow way.
St. Gregory of Nyssa speaks of the soul’s perpetual ascent—epektasis—the unending movement into God’s infinite goodness. To keep ascending, one travels light. In The Life of Moses, Gregory describes holiness as a journey from clarity to cloud to a dark radiance where one trusts God beyond sight. Detachment is not loss for loss’s sake; it is room-making for the Infinite. The disciple who holds goods loosely becomes spacious enough for joy that does not rot, status that does not need an audience, and security rooted in the poverty of Christ who made himself poor so that by his poverty you might become rich (2 Cor 8:9).
Reward without calculation (Matthew 19:27-30; Psalm 85:12-14)
Peter asks the question many avoid but feel: We have given up everything … what will there be for us? (Mt 19:27). Jesus promises judgment seated with him, a hundredfold in this life, and eternal life in the next (Mt 19:28-29). Then he warns against scorekeeping: many who are first will be last, and the last will be first (Mt 19:30).
Aquinas helps by clarifying that charity is not a transaction; it is participation in God’s own life. God crowns his own gifts in us. The “hundredfold” is not a prosperity contract but the surprising fecundity of a life opened to God—new brothers and sisters, homes of welcome, fields of mission, a heart expanded for sorrow and joy. Psalm 85 envisions this fruitfulness: The LORD himself will give his benefits; our land shall yield its increase. Justice shall walk before him (Ps 85:13-14). The Kingdom reverses rankings by ordering desires: the last become first because they cling first to God.
St. Clement’s pastoral wisdom steadies this promise. When communities strain under envy or ambition, he counsels humility that honors God’s appointments and rejoices in others’ gifts. The “hundredfold” emerges where believers refuse rivalry, cultivate concord, and translate worship into practical mercy.
Signs, altars, and everyday courage (Judges 6:17-24a)
Gideon’s sign was fire on a rock; ours might be smaller: an unexpected word of encouragement; the courage to schedule a counseling session; a debt forgiven or a hard conversation finally begun. Gideon builds an altar. In a distracted era, altars can look like rhythms of remembrance—gratitude written daily, a shared meal without screens, a weekly hour of adoration, an envelope marked for almsgiving. These small stones gather into a place where peace has a name and a memory: The Lord is peace.
Gregory of Nyssa would say that even after such beginnings, there is always more of God to desire. The Christian life is not a single heroic moment but a long obedience, a continual consenting to be led further up and further in. Weakness is not disqualification; it is the space grace fills.
An optional companion today: Saint John Eudes
Today offers the optional memorial of Saint John Eudes (1601–1680), a French priest devoted to the Hearts of Jesus and Mary. He nursed plague victims, preached missions, founded seminaries and the Congregation of Jesus and Mary (Eudists), and taught that Christian holiness flows from sharing the sentiments of Christ’s Heart—merciful, poor, obedient, and aflame with love. Eudes reminds modern disciples that reform begins with the heart: formation before activism, adoration before strategy. He would urge an examination that asks, “What in my budget, my schedule, and my media habits reflects the Heart that became poor to enrich me?” (2 Cor 8:9). In his spirit, generosity becomes not an event but a way of being.
Practicing the promise today
- Name the Midianites. Identify the fears that drive hiding: a bill, a diagnosis, a fractured relationship. Pray with Judges 6:14, 16: “Go with the strength you have … I shall be with you.”
- Travel lighter. Choose one attachment to loosen this week—an unnecessary purchase deferred, an hour freed from scrolling, a status move declined. Revisit Matthew 19:24-26 and ask for the grace that makes the impossible possible.
- Build an altar of peace. Schedule one concrete act of reconciliation or mercy—apologize, forgive, deliver a meal, or give alms. Let Psalm 85:11-14 shape the imagination: kindness meeting truth, justice kissing peace.
Gideon’s story begins in fear but ends in an altar named Peace. The disciples’ fear of lack gives way to a promise that outruns calculation. Clement calls for humble concord, Gregory invites the endless ascent made possible by holy detachment, and Aquinas steadies the heart with a vision of grace perfecting nature. In a world that prizes control, Jesus offers freedom: to hold goods lightly, people dearly, and God above all. The narrow way remains open, even for camels, because the One who calls also carries.