Wednesday of the Ninth Week in Ordinary Time
Memorial of Saint Charles Lwanga and Companions, Martyrs
2 Timothy 1:1–3, 6–12
Paul is in prison.
He is old.
He is tired.
He is lonely.
He knows his life
is coming close to the end.
And from that place,
he writes to Timothy,
his beloved disciple.
He does not speak like a man
who has lost everything.
He speaks like a man
who has found the one thing
death cannot take away.
He says he was called
to proclaim
“the promise of life in Christ Jesus.”
Not only the promise of heaven one day.
Not only the promise
that after death something continues.
But life.
Real life.
The life that begins in Christ
and cannot be destroyed.
There are people
who look alive,
but inside they are tired.
They move.
They work.
They scroll.
They smile.
They answer messages.
They do what everyone else does.
But deep inside,
something feels empty.
Like a phone with no signal.
Like a lamp with no flame.
Like a beautiful house
where nobody lives.
Paul knew another kind of life.
He met the risen Christ.
And after that,
life was no longer only breathing,
working,
eating,
surviving.
Life had a name.
Christ.
John says:
“In Him was life.”
Jesus says:
“I am the resurrection and the life.”
Peter calls Him:
“the Author of life.”
This is the heart of the Gospel.
Jesus does not come
only to make us behave better.
He does not come
only to give us rules.
He comes to give us life.
A life deeper than success.
A life stronger than shame.
A life brighter than fear.
A life that can stand even in prison,
even in suffering,
even before death.
That is why Paul can write from prison
without despair.
Chains are on his body,
but Christ is alive in his heart.
The world can close a door.
Christ opens a way.
The world can take comfort.
Christ gives courage.
The world can threaten death.
Christ gives life.
In the Catholic tradition,
there is something called a monstrance.
It is used to hold the Blessed Sacrament,
so that the faithful may adore Christ.
Some monstrances are beautiful—
golden, shining, carefully made.
But when a monstrance is empty,
it is only an object.
Beautiful, perhaps.
But empty.
Paul became like a living monstrance.
He carried Christ within him.
That is why he could say:
“It is no longer I who live,
but Christ who lives in me.”
And this is the difference.
A person can be talented,
successful,
admired,
busy,
even religious—
and still be empty inside.
But when Christ lives in the heart,
there is another life there.
This is why the Gospel must be proclaimed:
to bring Christ,
the Author of life,
into the hearts of humanity.
Let Christ live in us
as He lived in Paul.
Let us become,
in our own small way,
living monstrances of His life.
Scripture Attribution
New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993
the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of
Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
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