Courageous Fidelity in Modern Times

Some days Scripture feels like a mirror held up to our age, revealing both the forces that press us into conformity and the grace that can make us stand out with clear, healing light. Today’s readings travel from the coerced assimilation under Antiochus to the urgent cry of a blind beggar on the road to Jericho. Between them runs a single thread: fidelity that refuses to be silenced; fidelity that receives sight, life, and the courage to love. On this memorial of Saint Elizabeth of Hungary, that thread is woven into a life: a princess who learned to see Christ in the poor, and who chose the Gospel over every pressure to blend in.

The Seduction to Sameness

First Maccabees recounts a familiar temptation: “Let us go and make an alliance with the Gentiles… since we separated from them, many evils have come upon us.” What begins as the desire to avoid suffering becomes a rationale for surrender. Antiochus Epiphanes imposes a program of cultural flattening; “that all should be one people”; and the people are urged to cover the marks of the covenant, burn the sacred texts, and sacrifice at strange altars.

The point is not hostility toward culture or fear of neighbors; the Church treasures authentic inculturation. The danger is capitulation to any spirit; political, commercial, or ideological; that asks disciples to hide the marks of belonging to God. Then as now, the “abomination” is not an exotic ritual but the quiet enthronement of false gods where the true God should be honored: career without conscience, pleasure without covenant, politics without truth, religion without love.

There is a line in Maccabees that reads like a heartbeat of hope: “Many in Israel were determined… they preferred to die rather than to be defiled.” Fidelity under pressure is never abstract; it is chosen in paychecks and group chats, in algorithms and boardrooms, in classrooms and kitchens. Holiness, in other words, is not withdrawal from the world, but the refusal to be for sale within it.

The Law That Gives Life

Psalm 119 answers the pressures of uniformity with a paradox: “Give me life, O Lord, and I will do your commands.” Obedience is not a cage but a current of life; it is not moralism but communion. God’s commands shape a heart capable of love that endures when expediency gets fashionable.

There is a real indignation in the psalm against wickedness, but even that indignation is not the final word. The psalmist’s repeated plea for life reorients zeal away from contempt and toward conversion. In a time when outrage is a commodity, the disciple seeks something rarer: a heart kept supple by God’s Word, strong without harshness, courageous without cruelty.

The Cry That Won’t Be Shushed

On the road to Jericho, a blind man hears a commotion, learns that Jesus is passing by, and shouts for mercy. He is rebuked; told to be quiet, to keep his need respectable. Instead, he cries out all the more. Jesus draws him near and asks, “What do you want me to do for you?” The man answers simply: “Lord, please let me see.” Sight is given; salvation is named. He follows.

The Gospel asks a searching question: What prevents us from voicing our true need before Christ? Noise, shame, cynicism, the opinions of the crowd; all of these conspire to keep our deepest petitions unspoken. Jesus’ question is not rhetorical. He invites clarity. When the request is named, grace finds its path. And healing does not return the man to his old routines; it births a new vocation: he follows and glorifies God, and others find their praise stirred by his witness.

Saint Elizabeth of Hungary: Charity With Clear Sight

Elizabeth (1207–1231) was a princess who loved the poor not in theory but with the abrasiveness of the Gospel. Married to Louis of Thuringia, she used her position to feed the hungry and clothe the naked, to welcome lepers others avoided, to build a hospital in Marburg. Court officials found her scandalous; decorum does not always smile on mercy. After her husband’s death, Elizabeth embraced even greater simplicity, joining the Franciscan spirit and pouring out her life until it was spent at just twenty-four.

Tradition tells of bread hidden under her cloak that became roses when questioned by those who disapproved. Whether miracle or parable, the point is luminous: what looks imprudent to the world is beautiful before God. Elizabeth refused to “cover the mark” of her baptismal identity. She recognized Christ’s face; clearer than any royal seal; in the poor. She lived the Gospel’s logic: once you have seen Him, you cannot go back to pretending not to see.

Practicing Covenantal Clarity Today

Concrete fidelity grows from concrete practices. A few to consider:

• Name your petition. Each morning answer Jesus’ question in a sentence: “Lord, I want to see… where?” In a relationship, a decision, a wound, a habit? Let the petition be direct.
• Keep a visible sign of belonging. Wear a small cross, make the Sign of the Cross before meals, place Scripture where you see it first and last each day. Resist the social impulse to “cover the mark.”
• Audit your altars. Where do time, attention, and money gather in your life? Reclaim some of that worship through Sabbath practice, regular confession, and planned almsgiving.
• Choose one work of mercy weekly. Visit someone who is sick or isolated; cook for a family straining under bills; serve at a shelter; learn the name of a person you tend to pass by.
• Persist in prayer when shushed. When distractions or discouragement say “be quiet,” respond with a short cry, often: “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.”
• Let the law give life. Read a small portion of the Gospels daily. Obedience grows where listening is habitual.

Light for the Road Ahead

“I am the light of the world,” says the Lord; “whoever follows me will have the light of life.” Fidelity amid pressure, obedience that breathes, a petition that is honest, mercy that costs something; together these open our eyes and steady our steps.

Saint Elizabeth’s witness and the blind man’s courage meet in a simple prayer that can shape the day: Jesus, Light of the world, let me see; and, seeing, let me follow. Give life, O Lord, and I will do your commands. May that be true in hidden choices and public witness alike, until others; seeing what God has done; cannot help but give praise.