The readings today gather the heart into a single, clear flame: Hear, O Israel. Love the Lord with all. Remember who rescued you. Cry out for help when your strength fails. And trust that even the smallest real faith can move what seems immovable. In a world where attention is fragmented and burdens feel mountainous, the Shema (Deuteronomy 6:4-13), the psalmist’s cry (Psalm 18:2-4, 47, 51), and the healing in Matthew (17:14-20) sketch a path that is both bracing and tender: wholehearted love, grateful memory, and a mustard-seed confidence in Christ.
A Love That Orders Our Days (Deuteronomy 6:4-13)
“Hear, O Israel! The Lord is our God, the Lord alone! Therefore, you shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength” (Deut 6:4-5). These words are not a slogan but a blueprint for an integrated life. Moses presses love into daily habits: “Speak of them at home and abroad, whether you are busy or at rest… Write them on the doorposts of your houses” (Deut 6:7-9). The command assumes practicality: love becomes visible in routines, reminders, and the atmosphere of a home.
In a culture of constant alerts, the Shema invites a counter-discipline. Rather than letting the day be carved up by whatever pings us next, we can let love of God be the fixed star that orders work, rest, and relationships. The Scripture’s insistence on teaching children is not about pressure but formation—shaping desires so that God is not an afterthought but the quiet axis around which everything else turns.
Remembering in a Land of Plenty
Moses warns that abundance can breed amnesia: “When you eat your fill, take care not to forget the Lord” (Deut 6:11-12). When things go well, gratitude can slip into entitlement; when life is busy, faith can become background noise. St. Clement of Rome, writing to a fractured Corinth, recognized how forgetting God’s gifts quickly becomes forgetting one another. His First Epistle calls the Church back to humility, concord, and good works, reminding believers that God’s order is not a burden but a bridge to peace. For Clement, memory heals: remember God’s faithfulness, remember those who led you in the faith, remember the poor—then unity and zeal return.
So much modern anxiety runs on a fuel of scarcity and self-curation. The Shema counters with an economy of gift: you stand in a land you did not build (Deut 6:10). Gratitude softens hard edges, steadies the mind, and opens the heart to generous service. The psalm gives words for this posture: “I love you, O Lord, my strength, O Lord, my rock, my fortress, my deliverer” (Ps 18:2-3).
When Love Meets the Limits of Our Strength (Psalm 18)
“I am safe from my enemies” (Ps 18:4) is not triumphalism but trust. Many carry invisible enemies: fatigue, grief, debt, loneliness, intrusive thoughts. The psalmist does not deny danger; he names God as refuge within it. To whisper throughout the day, “I love you, Lord, my strength” (Ps 18:2), is to push back against the lie that everything depends on us. Love of God is not a feeling we muster; it is a response to the One who already holds us, especially when we have nothing left to hold.
Mustard-Seed Faith in a Heavy World (Matthew 17:14-20)
A father kneels and begs for his tormented son (Matt 17:14-15). The disciples try and cannot heal him. The boy is brought to Jesus, who rebukes the demon; “from that hour the boy was cured” (Matt 17:18). When the disciples ask why they failed, Jesus answers, “Because of your little faith… If you have faith the size of a mustard seed… Nothing will be impossible for you” (Matt 17:20).
St. John Chrysostom, the “golden-mouthed” interpreter of Scripture, saw here both a diagnosis and a promise. The diagnosis: our confidence slips from Christ into technique, reputation, or restless action. The promise: even the smallest authentic trust, joined to persevering prayer, draws upon the inexhaustible strength of God. Chrysostom insisted that genuine faith becomes tangible in works of mercy; it does not shout at mountains, it serves beside them—and somehow, the mountains begin to move.
The “mountains” many face are not only spiritual oppression but addiction, resentment, divided families, and the relentless undertow of anxiety. Faith does not bypass therapy, medicine, or accountability; it infuses them with hope and endurance. When we cannot heal those we love, we can do what the father did: bring them to Jesus in persistent intercession and patient presence. Sometimes the mountain lifts dramatically; often it moves a few inches a day. Either way, Jesus is not measuring the volume of our feeling but the direction of our trust.
A Witness in the Shadow of Death: Saint Teresa Benedicta of the Cross
Today offers the optional memorial of Saint Teresa Benedicta of the Cross—Edith Stein (1891–1942), philosopher, Jewish daughter of a devout mother, seeker of truth, convert through reading St. Teresa of Ávila, Carmelite nun, and martyr at Auschwitz. The Alleluia acclamation announces: “Our Savior Jesus Christ has destroyed death and brought life to light through the Gospel” (2 Tim 1:10). Edith lived—and died—inside that proclamation.
Her life bridges the Shema and the Cross. Formed by the prayer “Hear, O Israel,” she discovered in Christ the fulfillment of Israel’s God, and in Carmel she gave her whole mind and heart to the Crucified. She once observed, “Whoever seeks the truth seeks God, whether he is conscious of it or not.” In an age of disinformation and cynicism, her witness dignifies honest searching. In a time marked by rising antisemitism, her story summons Christians to a vigilant, active love of our elder brothers and sisters in faith.
Edith’s manner of moving mountains was neither dramatic nor loud. She taught, listened, wrote, prayed, and quietly offered her life. Her strength was not self-invention but surrender to the God who “is our rock” (Ps 18:3). In her, mustard-seed faith became a shelter for many.
Practicing the Shema, Living the Mustard Seed
- Begin and end the day with the Shema/Great Commandment (Deut 6:4-5). Let it be the organizing word for your schedule.
- Place a short Scripture where you will see it often—on a doorframe, desk, or phone lock screen (Deut 6:9).
- When anxiety spikes, pray slowly: “I love you, Lord, my strength” (Ps 18:2). Breathe with the words until your pace steadies.
- Identify one “mountain” this week. Bring it to Jesus daily. Pair prayer with one concrete step—an apology, a call to a counselor, an act of almsgiving (Matt 17:20).
- Practice memory: list three unearned gifts God has given; offer thanks. Gratitude is the enemy of forgetfulness (Deut 6:10-12).
- Seek unity: if online debates have soured your heart toward others in the Church, adopt Clement’s medicine—repentance, humility, and good works that restore concord.
- Honor Saint Teresa Benedicta by learning about her life and praying for those enduring religious hatred, for Jews and Christians together to bear witness to the God of life (2 Tim 1:10).
The Lord alone is God. He is our rock and refuge. In Christ, death itself has been emptied of its final word. So let love of God order the hours, let gratitude guard memory, and let the smallest seed of trust be planted again. Mountains still move. Not because our faith is big, but because our Savior is.