Memorial of Saint Thérèse of the Child Jesus, Virgin and Doctor of the Church
First Reading: (Isaiah 66:10–14)
Responsorial Psalm: (Psalm 27:1, 4, 13–14)
R. I believe that I shall see the good things of the Lord in the land of the living.
Alleluia
Mark 1:15
R. Alleluia, alleluia.
The Kingdom of God is at hand; repent and believe in the Gospel.
R. Alleluia,alleluia!
Gospel: (Matthew 18:1–5)
Reflection:
The question put before Jesus by the disciples is deceptively simple:
“Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?”
They are asking a question about rank, importance, recognition, and position. They want to know who stands highest in God's kingdom. But Jesus does something startling. He does not identify a powerful person, a scholar, a religious authority, a successful leader, or someone whose accomplishments are widely known.
He calls a child.
He places the child in their midst.
And then He says:
“Unless you turn and become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven.”
This is not a command to become childish. It is a command to become childlike before God.
The distinction is profound.
Childishness can mean selfishness, impulsiveness, and dependence upon one's own desires. But the child Jesus places before the disciples represents something entirely different: humility, receptivity, trust, dependence, and the willingness to receive rather than to dominate.
The kingdom of God cannot be conquered by human ambition.
It must be received.
The Christian life therefore does not begin with our achievement. It begins with God's grace.
We do not climb our way into God's love.
We receive it.
We do not make ourselves worthy of being loved by God.
We discover that we are already being pursued by divine love.
The great temptation of the spiritual life is to think that holiness must always look extraordinary. We imagine that becoming holy requires some enormous sacrifice, some dramatic mission, some heroic public accomplishment that everyone will recognize.
A small act of patience can become an act of charity.
A hidden sacrifice can become an offering to God.
Forgiving someone who has hurt us can become an act of holiness.
Doing our work faithfully when nobody notices can become prayer.
Accepting an inconvenience without resentment can become an act of love.
Remaining faithful when we receive no recognition can become an offering.
The little thing becomes great when it is filled with love.
This is precisely why the Gospel's language of becoming little is so demanding. It attacks our desire to be noticed.
We want to be first.
Jesus asks us to become humble.
We want recognition.
Jesus teaches us hidden faithfulness.
We want control.
Jesus asks us to trust.
We want to know that our efforts will succeed.
Jesus asks us to remain faithful even when we cannot see the outcome.
God reveals Himself as the One who comforts His children.
That image tells us something essential about Christian spirituality.
Before we become workers for God, we must become children of God.
Before we can give, we must learn to receive.
Before we can carry others, we must allow God to carry us.
Before we can become strong for everyone else, we must acknowledge our own dependence upon Him.
This is not weakness.
It is the beginning of supernatural strength.
The world often teaches us that dependence is weakness and self-sufficiency is strength.
Not because we understand everything.
The child does not understand or possess everything.
The child receives.
The child trusts.
The child knows that life depends upon another.
And Jesus tells us that this is precisely the disposition necessary for entrance into the kingdom.
There is another important dimension to this Gospel.
Jesus says:
“Whoever receives one child such as this in my name receives me.”
The little ones matter to God.
The unnoticed matter to God.
The weak matter to God.
The forgotten matter to God.
The person who receives little recognition matters to God.
The person whose contribution seems insignificant matters to God.
The person who feels invisible is not invisible to God.
This is perhaps one of the most beautiful lessons of Saint Thérèse whose feast day is today.
Her life was short.
She did not travel the world.
She did not establish a vast institution.
She did not accomplish what the world would normally classify as greatness.
Yet the Church recognizes her as a Doctor of the Church because her hidden life revealed something enormous about the nature of Christian holiness.
She teaches us the science of love.
And the science is simple, but it is not easy:
God loves us first.
We receive that love.
We trust that love.
We allow that love to transform us.
And then we give that love away.
This changes the way we should look at today.
Perhaps today God is not asking us to accomplish something spectacular.
Perhaps He is asking us to love the person directly in front of us.
Perhaps He is asking us to be patient.
Perhaps He is asking us to forgive.
Perhaps He is asking us to stop seeking recognition.
Perhaps He is asking us to perform some ordinary duty faithfully.
Perhaps He is asking us to surrender an anxiety that we have been carrying.
Perhaps He is asking us simply to trust Him.
The kingdom of heaven is not built merely through spectacular moments.
It is built through countless hidden acts of love.
Thérèse understood this.
St. Thérèse, pray for us.
Amen 🙏
