1st Reading – Wisdom 9:13-18b
Who can know God’s counsel,
or who can conceive what the LORD intends?
For the deliberations of mortals are timid,
and unsure are our plans.
For the corruptible body burdens the soul
and the earthen shelter weighs down the mind that has many concerns.
And scarce do we guess the things on earth,
and what is within our grasp we find with difficulty;
but when things are in heaven, who can search them out?
Or who ever knew your counsel, except you had given wisdom
and sent your holy spirit from on high?
And thus were the paths of those on earth made straight.
In this passage from the Book of Wisdom, we are reminded of the limits of human understanding. Left to ourselves, our judgments are uncertain, but God’s Spirit makes our path clear.
Who can know God’s counsel, or who can conceive what our LORD intends?
The passage opens with two parallel rhetorical questions, a common classical device. The implied answer, of course, is “no one.” God’s mind is beyond human grasp, and yet we are called to live according to his will.
The stage is thus set for the necessity of divine revelation: Somehow, the will of God will have to be revealed to us.
For the deliberations of mortals are timid, and unsure are our plans.
Human reasoning is frail and easily clouded by earthly concerns.
For the corruptible body burdens the soul and the earthen shelter weighs down the mind that has many concerns.
In Greek thought, particularly in Plato’s teachings, the immaterial soul or mind was often seen as superior to the body, which was viewed as a prison or weight dragging the soul down, distracting it from contemplation of truth.
The author of the Book of Wisdom adopts this imagery without fully endorsing its extremes. Within Jewish belief (and later, Catholic teaching), the body is not evil nor a mere prison; it is part of God’s good creation. Still, the body can become a source of limitation, weakness, and temptation, making it harder for human beings to rise to God’s wisdom.
So in this passage, the author is highlighting a practical truth: our mortal, earthbound condition — with its frailty, passions, and distractions — keeps us from easily discerning God’s will. This resonates with Paul’s later reflections (Romans 7; 2 Corinthians 5) on the tension between the earthly body and the life of the Spirit.
And scarce do we guess the things on earth, and what is within our grasp we find with difficulty;
Even earthly matters, which should be more accessible to us, are known only with great effort and uncertainty.
but when things are in heaven, who can search them out?
If we struggle to understand what is close at hand, how much less are we capable of grasping heavenly realities on our own?
Or who ever knew your counsel, except you had given Wisdom and sent your holy spirit from on high?
Here lies the answer: only God can make his will known.
The author’s use of the term holy spirit is a poetic synonym for God’s own Wisdom and divine assistance poured out on his people. It is not a reference to the third person of the Trinity, a concept that was developed later, but foreshadows the fuller revelation of the Holy Spirit given in Christ.
And thus were the paths of those on earth made straight.
Through the gift of Wisdom, God guides his people and makes straight their paths. Divine revelation is what enables us to live rightly and walk according to God’s will.
2nd Reading – Philemon 9-10, 12-17
I, Paul, an old man,
and now also a prisoner for Christ Jesus,
urge you on behalf of my child Onesimus,
whose father I have become in my imprisonment;
I am sending him, that is, my own heart, back to you.
I should have liked to retain him for myself,
so that he might serve me on your behalf
in my imprisonment for the gospel,
but I did not want to do anything without your consent,
so that the good you do might not be forced but voluntary.
Perhaps this is why he was away from you for a while,
that you might have him back forever,
no longer as a slave
but more than a slave, a brother,
beloved especially to me, but even more so to you,
as a man and in the Lord.
So if you regard me as a partner, welcome him as you would me.
Our second reading is from Paul’s Letter to Philemon, the only time this very short letter ever appears in the liturgy. Written from prison, Paul appeals to Philemon, a Christian leader, on behalf of Onesimus, a runaway slave who has become a believer.
I, Paul, an old man, and now also a prisoner for Christ Jesus,
Paul highlights his weakness and suffering rather than his authority. His self-description as “a prisoner for Christ Jesus” underlines that his chains are borne for the sake of the Gospel, lending gravity to his request.
“Paul has not used ‘prisoner for Christ Jesus’ in any other epistle as a part of his name, though he has used it in Ephesians and in Philippians as a form of proclamation. Thus, I think it of more importance that he says he is a prisoner of Christ Jesus than an apostle. Indeed, the apostles gloried that they were worthy to suffer abuse for the name of Jesus Christ.” [Saint Jerome (386 AD), Commentary on the Epistle to Philemon]
urge you on behalf of my child Onesimus, whose father I have become in my imprisonment;
While imprisoned, Paul encountered Onesimus, a slave who had likely fled from Philemon. Paul instructed and baptized him, becoming his spiritual father.
In the Roman Empire, where millions were enslaved, fugitives faced brutal punishments. By interceding for Onesimus, Paul acknowledges the reality of slavery while introducing a new Christian dynamic of spiritual kinship.
I am sending him, that is, my own heart, back to you.
Paul’s language reveals deep affection. Onesimus had become more than a helper; he was bound to Paul in the Lord.
Paul’s entire letter to Philemon is only 25 verses long, yet it contains four mentions of love and two references to Paul’s heart.
I should have liked to retain him for myself, so that he might serve me on your behalf in my imprisonment for the gospel,
Paul gently suggests that Philemon might consider freeing Onesimus, so that his service could be offered freely, as an extension of Philemon’s generosity.
but I did not want to do anything without your consent, so that the good you do might not be forced but voluntary.
Paul has been criticized by many for not explicitly condemning slavery. Yet from the confines of prison, such a denunciation would have achieved little and likely worsened his situation. Moreover, his expectation of Christ’s imminent return shifted his focus away from social reform and toward the conversion of the heart.
By inviting Philemon to act not under compulsion but in the freedom of love, Paul lays the foundation for a vision of human dignity that renders slavery untenable.
Perhaps this is why he was away from you for a while, that you might have him back forever, no longer as a slave but more than a slave, a brother, beloved especially to me, but even more so to you, as a man and in the Lord.
Paul dares to reinterpret Onesimus’ flight as providential. Though the escape was a criminal act in itself, it resulted in the transformation of a pagan into a follower of Jesus Christ.
This new bond in Christ transcends earthly categories of master and slave. “As a man” (in the flesh) refers to natural ties, while “in the Lord” points to the deeper reality of baptismal unity.
In presenting an escaped slave as a beloved brother, Paul voices an idea revolutionary for its time and destined to break down worldly barriers of division. Though it would take centuries for slavery’s full evil to be universally rejected, Paul’s vision of fraternity in Christ planted the seed of a new understanding of human dignity.
So if you regard me as a partner, welcome him as you would me.
Paul has already taught that in Christ there is “neither slave nor free” (Galatians 3:28; Colossians 3:11). Here, he asks Philemon to live that truth.
“The slave is now returning more faithful than ever – additionally, a new relationship exists between them: both are now Christians, related in a way that not even death can undo. “Onesimus’ flight has become the source of good things to him.” [Theodoret of Cyr (died 466 AD), Commentary on Philemon]
Gospel – Luke 14:25-33
Great crowds were traveling with Jesus,
and he turned and addressed them,
“If anyone comes to me without hating his father and mother,
wife and children, brothers and sisters,
and even his own life,
he cannot be my disciple.
Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me
cannot be my disciple.
Which of you wishing to construct a tower
does not first sit down and calculate the cost
to see if there is enough for its completion?
Otherwise, after laying the foundation
and finding himself unable to finish the work
the onlookers should laugh at him and say,
‘This one began to build but did not have the resources to finish.’
Or what king marching into battle would not first sit down
and decide whether with ten thousand troops
he can successfully oppose another king
advancing upon him with twenty thousand troops?
But if not, while he is still far away,
he will send a delegation to ask for peace terms.
In the same way,
anyone of you who does not renounce all his possessions
cannot be my disciple.”
Last week we heard Jesus speak about humility and generosity at table; today he goes further, teaching that true discipleship requires a radical, all-encompassing commitment.
Great crowds were traveling with Jesus, and he turned and addressed them,
Jesus is on his great journey toward Jerusalem (Luke 9:51), teaching the crowds along the way what it means to follow him.
People were drawn to him for a variety of reasons: his miracles, his teaching, curiosity, or even hope that he might be the Messiah.
“If anyone comes to me without hating his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple.
In this passage, Jesus will give three conditions for discipleship. The first is very clear: True discipleship requires committing to him above all else.
Here, the word “hate” does not mean hostility. The Greek verb miseō literally means to hate, but in Jewish usage it reflects a Semitic idiom where “love” means to choose something above all else, and “hate” means to love less. Hebrew often uses sharp opposites for emphasis.
We see this elsewhere in scripture:
- Genesis 29:30-31: Jacob “loved Rachel more than Leah,” and the next verse literally says that Leah was “hated” (śĕnûʾâ). Clearly, Jacob did not despise Leah, but his affection for Rachel was greater.
- Deuteronomy 21:15-17: A law about inheritance refers to a man who has two wives, “one loved and the other hated.” Again, it means “preferred less.”
- Malachi 1:2-3: “Jacob I loved, but Esau I hated.”
Luke’s Greek preserves the Semitic sharpness of “hate,” but the meaning is clear: disciples must prefer Christ even over their closest family ties. Matthew’s gospel confirms this interpretation with his wording of the same teaching: “Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me, and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me” (Matthew 10:37).
Jesus had already given this radical call several times in Luke’s Gospel (5:1-11; 9:23-27, 57-62; 12:51-53). To follow him requires an undivided heart, a wholehearted “yes.” No human attachment, not even the love of one’s own life, can take precedence.
This does not mean disciples cease to love their families. Rather, it orders love rightly: we love God first, and from that love flows the true love of neighbor.
Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple.
The second condition of discipleship is the willingness to carry one’s cross.
Jesus’ total commitment to his mission resulted in his own suffering and death; his followers must be prepared for the same.
Suffering is part of the human condition. However, suffering accepted with faith is no longer mere tragedy; it becomes redemptive. Through the cross, we are united to Christ and sanctified.
As Saint Josemaría Escrivá wrote: “Let us bless pain. Love pain. Sanctify pain. … Glorify pain!” (The Way, 208).
Which of you wishing to construct a tower does not first sit down and calculate the cost to see if there is enough for its completion? Otherwise, after laying the foundation and finding himself unable to finish the work the onlookers should laugh at him and say, ‘This one began to build but did not have the resources to finish.’
Jesus goes on a brief tangent to warn his audience against shallow enthusiasm.
Just as one would plan carefully before building, so too must a disciple weigh the demands of following Christ. Discipleship requires perseverance and sacrifice, not half-hearted commitment.
Or what king marching into battle would not first sit down and decide whether with ten thousand troops he can successfully oppose another king advancing upon him with twenty thousand troops? But if not, while he is still far away, he will send a delegation to ask for peace terms.
If prudence guides ordinary human decisions, how much more should one count the cost of discipleship? To follow Christ is to embrace the cross with deliberate generosity, not as an afterthought.
In the same way, anyone of you who does not renounce all his possessions cannot be my disciple.”
The third condition of discipleship: detachment from possessions. As with family ties and even life itself, possessions must be placed at the service of God’s kingdom.
In summary, total commitment to Jesus requires the willingness to give up comfort, security, and stability. These values are opposite, of course, from worldly values.
At first glance, it may appear that discipleship is about loss, but in reality, it’s about gaining the greatest treasure: Christ himself.
The willingness to relinquish all possessions is required in order to possess and be possessed by Christ.
Connections and Themes
Priorities. The readings this week press us to examine what holds first place in our lives. The Book of Wisdom reminds us that our own reasoning is fragile and often clouded by earthly concerns; only God’s Spirit can teach us what truly matters. In the gospel reading, Jesus sets the bar unmistakably high: discipleship requires that our loyalty to him come before even the closest family bonds, before possessions, and before our own plans. Paul’s letter to Philemon gives us a living example of how such reordered priorities look in practice. Instead of holding on to Onesimus as a useful slave, Philemon is urged to receive him as a beloved brother — a costly reorientation that puts the demands of Christ above social convention and personal benefit. Together, these passages reveal that discipleship is not simply about adding faith to an already busy life, but about letting the Spirit reorder all of our priorities around Christ.
The cost of true discipleship. Throughout these weeks of Ordinary Time, we have been contemplating the meaning of discipleship. Sunday after Sunday, Jesus has been teaching us what it looks like to follow him: humility, generosity, vigilance, and faithfulness. Today that teaching reaches a sharp point. In the gospel reading, Jesus tells the crowds that anyone who would be his disciple must take up the cross, renounce possessions, and be prepared to lose even family ties for his sake. Choosing Jesus is never a choice for comfort or security — it is a choice for the cross.
That cross takes many forms in daily life. Disciples are called to travel the high road, even when the world offers an easier path: to forgive offenses that cut deeply; to live simply so that others may simply live; to shoulder responsibility for the moral character of our society, even when it is unpopular or costly. The first reading reminds us that such choices are not obvious to human reasoning; our hearts and judgments are often weak. Only the Spirit can show us the right path.
This way of living is demanding, and the world does not reward it. We may even lose the little we have. Yet in taking up the cross, we discover the wisdom that endures and the life that Christ alone can give.
Sunday Readings 