There are nights when decisions feel too large for daylight. The Gospel tells us that before Jesus chose the Twelve, he withdrew to the mountain and spent the whole night in prayer (Luke 6:12). The dawn that followed was not only a new day; it was the beginning of a mission that would touch the sick, the tormented, and the forgotten, as “power came forth from him and healed them all” (Luke 6:19). Today’s readings draw us into that same pattern: rootedness in Christ, discernment in prayer, courage in mission, and compassion that looks like healing.
Rooted, Built, Established: A Different Center of Gravity (Col 2:6–8)
St. Paul urges believers to “walk in [Christ], rooted and built up in him … abounding in thanksgiving” (Colossians 2:6–7). Our age is crowded with explanations for everything—news cycles, self-help mantras, algorithms predicting desires we didn’t know we had. Paul calls some of these “empty” and “seductive” stories that captivate without converting (Colossians 2:8). When a narrative promises meaning but erodes mercy, or claims freedom but increases fear, it is a poor substitute for the living Christ.
St. Jerome, a fierce lover of Scripture, would insist that rooting ourselves means letting the Word set our inner compass. He famously wrote that ignorance of Scripture is ignorance of Christ—not to scold, but to rescue us from thin diets of opinion and outrage. A Christ-centered imagination is not a retreat from complexity; it is the deep soil in which both reason and compassion can thrive. The proof is gratitude: thanksgiving is the overflow of hearts that have found their true center (Colossians 2:7).
Baptized into Christ’s Victory Over the Powers (Col 2:11–15)
Paul describes baptism as a burial and a rising with Christ, the moment when God “forgave us all our transgressions” and “disarmed the principalities and powers,” triumphing over them by the Cross (Colossians 2:12–15). This is not abstract poetry. The “powers” include everything that deforms the image of God in us and in society—addictions that shrink the soul, ideologies that reduce persons to problems, systems that grind down the vulnerable. In Christ, the debt that shamed us is canceled; the tyranny that claimed us is unmasked.
St. John Chrysostom—whose preaching was as practical as it was bold—insisted that worship without works of mercy misunderstands the Cross. He warned against adorning the altar while neglecting Christ in the poor. The Cross lays claim to our habits, our budgets, our timelines. When Paul says the bond against us has been nailed there (Colossians 2:14), he also means that the bonds we put on others must be broken in the same place. Confession, reconciliation, and concrete acts of justice are not extras; they are the daily practice of Easter.
Chosen in Prayer to Bear Fruit That Lasts (John 15:16; Luke 6:12–16)
Before Jesus names the Twelve, he prays through the night (Luke 6:12). Afterward he calls specific people by name—some fishermen, a tax collector, even one who would later betray him (Luke 6:13–16). The Kingdom advances not by perfect résumés but by surrendered availability. “I chose you … to go and bear fruit that will last,” Jesus says (John 15:16). The path from anxiety to fruitfulness often runs through a quiet, stubborn fidelity to prayer.
Many listeners today face decisions that seem merciless: job uncertainty, caregiving burnout, the hidden grief of strained relationships, the suffocating pressure to perform. Night prayer—keeping watch with Jesus—does not erase the complexity, but it transfigures it. The Father’s will becomes less a maze to solve and more a relationship to trust. St. Polycarp, a bishop formed by the apostolic witness, urged believers to “stand firm” in what they had received; fidelity, not novelty, bears the most durable fruit.
The Compassion That Heals (Psalm 145; Luke 6:17–19)
“Compassionate toward all his works,” the Psalm sings (Psalm 145:9). In the Gospel, that compassion takes flesh: people press in from Judea, Jerusalem, Tyre, and Sidon to hear and to be healed (Luke 6:17–19). The hunger is physical, spiritual, communal. Jesus does not ration mercy. His presence generates wholeness.
Modern life multiplies aches: anxiety that tightens the chest, isolation that numbs the heart, fatigue that dulls prayer. To touch Jesus today is to draw near in the ways he gives himself—Word, Eucharist, neighbor. Compassion is not a feeling we wait to feel; it is a sacramental way of moving through the world. When we let ourselves be interrupted by another’s need, the Church becomes palpably credible again.
Saint Peter Claver: The Slave of the Slaves, Forever
On this memorial, the readings wear a particular face. St. Peter Claver (1580–1654), a Spanish Jesuit in Cartagena, Colombia, met the “principalities and powers” of his age in the dark holds of slave ships. He brought food, medicine, clothing, and tenderness to men, women, and children whose dignity had been denied. He learned their names and languages, baptized thousands, advocated for humane treatment, and challenged consciences hardened by profit. He signed his letters “Peter Claver, slave of the slaves forever.”
Claver’s courage was not an improvisation; it was the fruit of prayer and the sacraments. He lived Colossians 2: in Christ’s victory, he confronted a system that called itself legal but was morally bankrupt. He lived Psalm 145: he believed God’s compassion reached “all his works,” including those chained below deck. And he lived John 15:16: chosen to bear fruit that would last, he planted seeds of reconciliation and mercy whose harvest the Church still reaps in ministries for racial justice, migrants, and the trafficked.
Chrysostom’s challenge holds here: if Christ is real on the altar, he must be recognizable in the wounded. To honor Peter Claver is to let our worship spill into the docks, shelters, clinics, and courtrooms of our own time.
Practicing Today’s Word
- Night watch: Set aside a longer time of prayer this evening. Name your decisions to the Father. Ask for the grace to desire his will more than your own (Luke 6:12; John 15:16).
- Scripture rooting: Read Colossians 2:6–15 slowly. Note one “empty philosophy” that has been shaping your reactions. Replace it with a concrete Gospel conviction.
- Confession and cancellation: Schedule the Sacrament of Reconciliation. Let the Cross cancel what accuses you (Colossians 2:14), then cancel a debt you hold against someone else.
- Mercy made visible: Do one specific work of mercy for someone at the margins—learn a name, bring a meal, offer transportation, make a call on behalf of someone without a voice (Psalm 145:9; Luke 6:19).
- Justice and gentleness: Engage an issue of racial or social injustice with both clarity and charity. Let your advocacy be fueled by prayer and sustained by community, as in the witness of St. Peter Claver.
To walk “rooted and built up in [Christ]” is to step into a world where gratitude becomes our native language, courage our daily posture, and compassion our defining habit (Colossians 2:6–7; Psalm 145:8–9). From the mountain of prayer to the level ground of human need, the Lord still chooses, heals, and sends. May we bear fruit that lasts.