ALL OR NOTHING

V/ My eyes are turned to you, O Lord.

R/ You are the joy and gladness of my youth.

V/ Grant me the Wisdom that sits by your throne.

R/ That I may dwell as a child in your presence.

Let us pray. Lord, in your loving design, you have drawn me here to encounter you in your Word and, in you, to find myself. Empower me by your Wisdom, that this meditation may be a font of transformation and freedom, bearing fruit for my salvation and that of the whole Church. Amen

ALL OR NOTHING

By Fr Clement Obiorah, OCD

6th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year A

Sirach 15:15-20; Psalm 118(119):1-2,4-5,17-18,33-34; 1 Corinthians 2:6-10; Matthew 5:17-37

Today, we are invited to look inward at the source of light: the Word of God and its completion in Jesus Christ. The Psalmist exclaims, “Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light for my path” (Ps 119:105). This is not merely a poetic sentiment about selective guidance for difficult choices; it is a call to a devoted life of discerning the “first movements” in the soul. As St. John of the Cross teaches in The Ascent of Mount Carmel, these initial, involuntary stirrings do not hinder our union with God, provided they “do not receive one’s consent”. It is about allowing the Word to nurture and transform us from the inside out by guarding the threshold of our will.

In the first reading, Sirach places a stark choice before us: “He has set fire and water before you; put out your hand to whichever you prefer” (Sirach 15:16). Life and death are set before us. As human beings, we possess the excellent trait of adaptation; we are wired to survive and adjust to our surroundings. However, this very drive can become a vehicle for evil or for good when we are met with challenges. We can adapt by compromising, by slowly lowering our standards until we are spiritually lukewarm, even whilst diligent to certain prescriptions of duty, or we can adapt by rising to the challenge with heroic virtue.

This battle happens at the fundamental level of the heart. The “fundamental option” for good is not a compromise with the spirit of the age, but a rigorous asceticism of the heart—a discipline of guiding its desires. In The Precautions, St. John advises against the enemy of the flesh, warning us never to perform works merely for the satisfaction they bring, nor to abandon them simply because they lack delight.

In the Gospel, Jesus reveals Himself as the fulfilment of the Law. He does not abolish the old commands; He deepens them, moving from the external action or duty to the internal disposition. It is no longer enough simply not to kill; we must not harbour the root of murder—anger—in our hearts. It is not enough simply not to commit adultery; we must guard our eyes and hearts against lust. Jesus achieves the intended liberation and transformation of our being by striking at the root of our actions. He is the true Wisdom of the Father, for “in the Son of God are hidden all the treasures of the wisdom and knowledge of God.”

The Law, often seen as a burden, is meant to be a pedagogue, a guide. As we allow the Spirit to direct us, the external law becomes internalised. We move from the fear of punishment to the freedom of love. This is the formative path of the contemplative approach to the law: to let the Law of God so permeate our hearts that it is no longer an imposition from the outside, but the natural pulse of our own being.

Ultimately, we strive for that state described by the great mystic St. John of the Cross in his Sketch of the Mount, where the person “becomes himself a law unto himself”. This is not a spirit of rebellion, but the perfect docility to heeding the promptings of love and common sense. When love is the law of the heart, the “all” of God replaces the “nothing” of sin, and we become true dwellings pleasing to Him.