Every so often the Scriptures line up our daily anxieties—money, politics, grief—and place them gently beneath a brighter horizon: the Father’s steady care, the freedom of God’s children, and the call to love without exception. Today’s readings invite a conversion of heart that reaches all the way to our budgets and our borders, and a freedom that expresses itself in humble cooperation rather than stubborn posturing. Fittingly, the Church remembers Saint Clare, whose fierce love for Christ made her both utterly poor and abundantly rich, a sign that the Psalm’s promise of peace and provision still holds (Psalm 147:12-20).
What God Asks, What God Gives (Deut 10:12-22; Ps 147:12-20)
Moses distills religion to its living core: fear the Lord, walk in his ways, love and serve with all your heart and soul, and keep his commands “for your own good” (Deut 10:12-13). He then presses into the heart: “Circumcise your hearts… be no longer stiff‑necked” (Deut 10:16). The God who owns the highest heavens chooses a people not for privilege but for mission—“executing justice for the orphan and the widow,” and befriending the alien; therefore, “you too must befriend the alien” (Deut 10:18-19).
Saint Augustine would call this the re‑ordering of love. Disordered love curls us inward—toward security, tribalism, and self-justification—while rightly ordered love expands us outward to God and neighbor. For Augustine, grace is not a polite suggestion; it is the power that heals the will so we can love what we ought (see Confessions, City of God). Moses’ command is therefore a gift: God asks for the heart and supplies the grace to change it. Psalm 147 sings the same key: God strengthens, blesses, grants peace, and sends forth his Word swiftly to accomplish what we cannot (Ps 147:12-15).
This matters in the headlines and in our homes. When public debates harden around immigration, when news cycles train us to fear the stranger, Deuteronomy refuses to let worship become private sentiment. Befriending the alien is not an “extra”; it is a mark of having a circumcised heart (Deut 10:19). In workplaces where newcomers struggle with language, in neighborhoods where new families arrive with nothing familiar, God’s people demonstrate a different memory: “you were once aliens” (Deut 10:19). Our advocacy, hospitality, and practical help are not political performances; they are obedience to God’s own character.
Children, Free—and Willing to Pay (Mt 17:22-27)
In the Gospel, Jesus holds two truths together. First, he reveals the path ahead—betrayal, death, and resurrection—leaving the disciples “overwhelmed with grief” (Mt 17:22-23). Then, in what seems a mundane scene about the temple tax, he teaches the grammar of Christian freedom. The sons are free, he says, but “that we may not offend,” he provides—miraculously—the coin to pay for Peter and himself (Mt 17:24-27).
Saint John Chrysostom, ever the pastor, noticed the beauty of this restraint. Christ, who owes nothing, chooses not to scandalize. Freedom, for Chrysostom, is never an excuse to wound the weak. It is the space in which love becomes creative: submit where charity is served; resist where truth would be betrayed. Translate that into daily life: we navigate taxes, workplace policies, school fees, subscription costs, even neighborhood rules. Some demands are unjust and ought to be challenged; others are morally neutral but onerous. The Lord’s pattern suggests a question: will paying—or abstaining—build peace and open doors for witness, or will it harden hearts and close ears? Christian liberty is not a performance of defiance; it is the patient choosing of love.
And there is comfort here for anxious hearts. The same Jesus who announces the cross also places a coin in an unexpected fish (Mt 17:27). He does not promise a life without bills; he promises a Father who provides what love requires. Many carry the weight of rent, medical expenses, or tuition. Today, hear this: your dignity is not measured by financial ease; it is anchored in your adoption. The sons and daughters are free—and the Father sees.
The True Coin and the Image of the King
The odd detail of the coin in the fish invites a contemplative reading. Saint Gregory of Nyssa loved to trace how God draws us through visible signs into invisible truth. He often returned to the imago Dei—the image of God stamped upon the soul—and to epektasis, the ceaseless stretching of the heart toward the Infinite. Consider the coin: what bears an image belongs to the one imaged. If Caesar’s coin returns to Caesar (cf. Mt 22:21), then the coin that bears God’s image—your life—returns to God. Gregory would urge us to see in every “ordinary” provision an invitation to ascent: receive, then spend yourself for God.
In a culture where value is reduced to price, the Gospel reframes economy. The most precious currency you possess is not your time-as-money but your heart configured to Christ. Pay the world what love requires; render to God what bears his image—yourself, renewed daily by the swift Word who strengthens, blesses, and feeds (Ps 147:14-15, 19-20).
Saint Clare: Poverty That Enriches
Today’s memorial of Saint Clare of Assisi (1194–1253) shines a steady light on these texts. Drawn by Francis’s preaching, Clare embraced radical poverty, founded the Poor Clares, and anchored her community in Eucharistic adoration and joyful trust. In a famous episode, she faced an invading army by lifting the monstrance; not theatrics, but the conviction that Christ-with-us is protection enough. Her letters to Saint Agnes of Prague repeat a simple path: gaze upon Christ, consider him, contemplate him, and imitate him. For Clare, God’s providence was not an abstraction; it was bread on the table and peace in the heart.
She lived Deuteronomy’s command by choosing solidarity with the poor and depending on God’s justice. She embodied Matthew’s freedom by relinquishing her rights for love’s sake and paying every “tax” of inconvenience with joy. In a world crowded by consumer pressure and digital noise, Clare’s poverty is not deprivation but discernment: clearing space so love can be wholehearted. She teaches that peace at the borders begins with peace at the core—with hearts circumcised from grasping and trained to receive.
Practicing the Readings
- Ask for a changed heart. Pray with Deut 10:12-16. Name where your love is disordered—fear of the stranger, cynicism, rigidity—and ask for grace to love rightly, as Augustine counsels.
- Befriend the alien. Make the command concrete this week (Deut 10:19): introduce yourself to a newcomer at work or church, offer a ride, help with a form, learn a name and a story.
- Use freedom for peace. Before you dig in during a dispute—online or in person—ask Chrysostom’s question: will exercising my right here serve charity, or merely score a point? Choose the path that opens ears (Mt 17:27).
- Trust providence and plan generously. Place your financial worry before the Lord who provided the coin (Mt 17:27). Then decide one actionable mercy—support a local refugee ministry, sponsor groceries, or set a small recurring gift—to align your budget with God’s justice (Deut 10:18).
- Learn from Saint Clare. Simplify one habit this week—declutter a space, fast from a purchase, reduce screen time—to create room for adoration and attentive love.
Grief has its hour—the disciples felt it (Mt 17:23). But the Alleluia lifts our eyes: through the Gospel, God has called us “to possess the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ” (2 Thes 2:14). On that road, the Father circumcises hearts, the Son models freedom in love, and the Spirit hastens the Word that feeds and fortifies. May we spend the true coin today—our lives stamped with the image of the King—and, like Saint Clare, find that God is enough.