Saint Peter Chanel, Priest, Martyr (Feast)
First Reading — 1 Corinthians 1:18–25
We preach a crucified Christ, the power and wisdom of God
The language of the cross may be illogical to those who are not on the way to salvation, but those of us who are on the way see it as God’s power to save. As scripture says: I shall destroy the wisdom of the wise and bring to nothing all the learning of the learned. Where are the philosophers now? Where are the scribes? Where are any of our thinkers today? Do you see now how God has shown up the foolishness of human wisdom? If it was God’s wisdom that human wisdom should not know God, it was because God wanted to save those who have faith through the foolishness of the message that we preach. And so, while the Jews demand miracles and the Greeks look for wisdom, here are we preaching a crucified Christ; to the Jews an obstacle that they cannot get over, to the pagans madness, but to those who have been called, whether they are Jews or Greeks, a Christ who is the power and the wisdom of God. For God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God’s weakness is stronger than human strength.
Responsorial Psalm — Psalm 116(117):1–2
O praise the Lord, all you nations,
acclaim him all you peoples!
Strong is his love for us;
he is faithful for ever.
Gospel — Mark 1:14–20
I will make you into fishers of men
After John had been arrested, Jesus went into Galilee. There he proclaimed the Good News from God. ‘The time has come’ he said ‘and the kingdom of God is close at hand. Repent, and believe the Good News.’
As he was walking along by the Sea of Galilee he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a net in the lake – for they were fishermen. And Jesus said to them, ‘Follow me and I will make you into fishers of men.’ And at once they left their nets and followed him.
Going on a little further, he saw James son of Zebedee and his brother John; they too were in their boat, mending their nets. He called them at once and, leaving their father Zebedee in the boat with the men he employed, they went after him.
Reflection
There is something unsettling about the cross if we take it seriously.
Not the symbol, not the familiarity of it—but what it actually reveals. A God who does not dominate, does not force, does not prove Himself by spectacle, but instead gives Himself away. Completely. Quietly. Without defence.
St Paul does not soften this. He names it plainly: what looks like foolishness is, in fact, the wisdom of God. And that should disturb us more than it comforts us. Because it exposes how often we measure our lives by a different standard—efficiency, control, visible progress, recognition. We say we believe in the cross, but we still build our lives around avoiding it.
The truth is, we prefer a God who makes sense to us.
A God who fits within our expectations of strength. A God who resolves things quickly. A God who confirms that we are already on the right path. But the cross refuses all of that. It does not affirm our instincts—it confronts them. As the Catechism makes clear, the wisdom of God overturns human wisdom precisely because salvation comes through what we would never choose for ourselves (cf. Catechism of the Catholic Church 272).
Then the Gospel becomes even more personal.
Jesus does not stand at a distance explaining this paradox. He walks into ordinary life and calls people out of it. Not the prepared, not the impressive—just fishermen. Working, mending, continuing as they always had. And into that normality comes a voice that changes everything: “Follow me.”
What is striking is not just the call—but the response. They leave. Immediately. Nets, security, identity, expectation—all of it. There is no visible guarantee, no roadmap, no clarity about what comes next. Only a person, and a call.
And this is where the discomfort deepens.
Because most of us want transformation without disruption. We want growth that does not require loss. We want clarity before obedience. But the pattern of the Gospel is the opposite. The call comes first. Understanding follows later—sometimes much later.
Saint Peter Chanel lived this in a way that strips away illusion. His mission did not look successful. There was no immediate fruit, no visible affirmation. And yet, he remained. He gave his life. What seemed like failure became the beginning of something that outlived him. This is not romantic—it is costly. But it is real.
The Catechism speaks of this participation in Christ’s sacrifice not as an optional path, but as the shape of Christian life itself (CCC 618). Not because suffering is good in itself, but because love, when it is real, inevitably becomes self-giving.
So the question is not whether the cross makes sense.
It doesn’t—at least not in the way we want it to.
The real question is whether we are willing to trust a wisdom that does not centre on us. Whether we are willing to follow before we fully understand. Whether we are ready to let go of what defines us, in order to receive something we cannot yet see.
Because the call of Christ is not an improvement to your current life.
It is an invitation to let it be redefined.
One line to carry today:
You don’t need to understand the call—only to decide whether you will follow it.
No comments:
Post a Comment