The readings for this Sunday trace a demanding but liberating path: from the humility of acknowledging our limits, to the hard clarity of counting the cost of discipleship, to the social conversion that turns possessiveness into brotherhood. They ask for more than admiration of Jesus; they call for allegiance that reorders our loves, lightens our anxieties, and heals our relationships.
Heavenly Wisdom for Earthbound Minds (Wisdom 9; Psalm 90)
“Who can know God’s counsel?” the Book of Wisdom asks, as it confesses how timid and unsure human plans are, weighed down by frailty and distraction (Wis 9:13-16). The answer is as simple as it is revolutionary: only because God gives wisdom and sends the Holy Spirit from on high are our paths made straight (Wis 9:17-18b). Psalm 90 deepens the theme: “Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain wisdom of heart” (Ps 90:12). In other words, divine wisdom is not trivia for the curious—it is God’s own light for daily decisions, a remedy for fear, and a refuge when time feels short and pressures long (Ps 90:3-6, 13-17).
In an age of constant choices—career pivots, family logistics, financial strain, digital overload—decision fatigue is real. St. Thomas Aquinas describes prudence as right reason in action, and the gift of wisdom as a share in God’s own way of seeing, given by the Spirit to judge all things by their highest cause—God (cf. Summa Theologiae II-II, q.45). When our plans wobble, it is often because we evaluate options by urgency or ego rather than by their relationship to God. Numbering our days, as the Psalm urges (Ps 90:12), frees us to ask: Will this choice make me more capable of loving God and neighbor? Will it help me become the person I am in Christ?
Counting the Cost Without Losing Heart (Luke 14:25-33)
Jesus’ words about hating father and mother, even one’s own life (Lk 14:26), jar modern ears. He uses Semitic hyperbole to demand priority: love for him must come first, or love for everyone else will be disordered. Aquinas calls this the “order of charity”: we love all in God and for God; God is not one love among many, but the measure of all loves (cf. II-II, q.26). Without this order, good things become tyrants—family expectations, success, comfort, reputation—quietly occupying the throne of the heart.
Twice Jesus asks for calculation: before building a tower, count the cost; before battle, assess the odds (Lk 14:28-32). Discipleship is not improvised enthusiasm but deliberate surrender. In practical terms, this means asking not only, “Do I find Jesus inspiring?” but “What am I ready to let go of to follow him?” The answer may be costly: patterns of comparison, scrolling that eats prayer, income gained at the expense of integrity, grudges that masquerade as boundaries. “Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple” (Lk 14:27). The cross is not an invitation to seek suffering, but to refuse to flee the suffering that faithfulness requires.
St. Teresa of Ávila insists that progress in prayer hinges on detachment. The more lightly we hold everything, the more freely God can lead us. Jesus concludes with stark clarity: “Anyone of you who does not renounce all his possessions cannot be my disciple” (Lk 14:33). Renunciation is not contempt for creation; it is freedom from ownership by anything. Teresa would say: keep what you must for your duties; hold nothing as untouchable; let God be the only absolute.
From Slave to Brother: The Social Shape of Renunciation (Philemon 9-17)
Paul’s brief note to Philemon is a masterclass in Gospel relationships. Onesimus—legally a slave—has become Paul’s “own heart” through faith (Phlm 12). Paul sends him back not to preserve the old order, but to reveal a new one: “no longer as a slave, but more than a slave, a brother” (Phlm 16). Paul will not coerce Philemon; he wants a free, generous choice (Phlm 14). The cross always has social consequences. To reorder our loves in Christ is to reorder how we treat people: coworkers, employees, immigrants, neighbors whose politics vex us, family members who have failed us.
St. Ambrose pressed this point in his preaching: the Gospel demands that our goods—material, social, and spiritual—serve persons. To welcome an “Onesimus” today might mean hiring with an eye to justice, forgiving a debt that traps someone in shame, or restoring dignity where labels have erased personhood. The Church’s vision is not private holiness floated above public life; it is the steady conversion of hearts that changes how we use power, money, time, and words.
Practicing the Wisdom That Frees
These readings call for a pattern of life, not a flash of resolve. Some practices help:
- Pray for the gift of wisdom daily. Try a brief morning prayer: “Lord, teach me to number my days and order my loves” (Ps 90:12). Ask specifically for the Spirit’s counsel before key decisions (Wis 9:17-18b).
- Clarify your “tower.” What work of love is God asking you to build this season—raising children with patience, studying with integrity, caring for an aging parent, serving your parish, reconciling with a friend? Count the cost honestly (Lk 14:28-30), then set a concrete rule of life that protects it (time, budget, boundaries).
- Practice one act of detachment. Choose something good you tend to clutch—an hour of screen time, a purchase, an apology owed—and offer it to Christ. Let it become a cross freely carried, not a resentment endured (Lk 14:27, 33).
- See people as brothers and sisters. Identify one “Onesimus” in your orbit—someone easy to categorize or dismiss—and act to restore relationship: a call, fair pay, an invitation, an apology (Phlm 16-17).
- Keep an eye on time. Review your week: did your schedule reflect your deepest loves in Christ? If not, adjust. Psalm 90’s wisdom is as practical as a calendar (Ps 90:12, 17).
“In every age, O Lord, you have been our refuge” (Ps 90:1). The refuge God offers is not escape from the world but freedom within it: a heart ordered by love of Christ, a mind illumined by wisdom, hands committed to works that endure. Counting the cost becomes a joy when we discover that everything we “lose” to follow Jesus is returned as peace, purpose, and the unshakable gift of communion—no longer as possessions, but as brothers and sisters in the Lord (Phlm 16; Lk 14:33).