Monday of week 20 in Ordinary Time
First Reading
Ezekiel 24:15–24
The word of the Lord was addressed to me as follows, ‘Son of man, I am about to deprive you suddenly of the delight of your eyes. But you are not to lament, not to weep, not to let your tears run down. Groan in silence, do not go into mourning for the dead, knot your turban round your head, put your sandals on your feet, do not cover your beard, do not eat common bread.’ I told this to the people in the morning, and my wife died in the evening, and the next morning I did as I had been ordered.
The people then said to me, ‘Are you not going to explain what meaning these actions have for us?’
I replied, ‘The word of the Lord has been addressed to me as follows, “Say to the House of Israel: The Lord says this. I am about to profane my sanctuary, the pride of your strength, the delight of your eyes, the passion of your souls. Those of your sons and daughters whom you have left behind will fall by the sword. And you are to do as I have done; you must not cover your beards or eat common bread; you must keep your turbans on your heads and your sandals on your feet; you must not lament or weep. You shall waste away owing to your sins and groan among yourselves. Ezekiel is to be a sign for you. You are to do just as he has done. And when this happens, you will learn that I am the Lord.”’
Responsorial Psalm
Deuteronomy 32:18–21
You have forgotten God, who gave you birth.
You forget the Rock who begot you,
unmindful now of the God who fathered you.
The Lord has seen this, and in his anger
cast off his sons and his daughters.
You have forgotten God, who gave you birth.
‘I shall hide my face from them,’ he says
‘and see what becomes of them.
For they are a deceitful brood,
children with no loyalty in them.
You have forgotten God, who gave you birth.
‘They have roused me to jealousy with what is no god,
they have angered me with their beings of nothing;
I, then, will rouse them to jealousy with what is no people,
I will anger them with an empty-headed nation.’
You have forgotten God, who gave you birth.
Gospel Acclamation
Alleluia, alleluia!
Happy the poor in spirit:
the kingdom of heaven is theirs!
Alleluia!
Gospel
Matthew 19:16–22
There was a man who came to Jesus and asked, ‘Master, what good deed must I do to possess eternal life?’ Jesus said to him, ‘Why do you ask me about what is good? There is one alone who is good. But if you wish to enter into life, keep the commandments.’ He said, ‘Which?’ ‘These:’ Jesus replied ‘You must not kill. You must not commit adultery. You must not bring false witness. Honour your father and mother, and: you must love your neighbour as yourself.’
The young man said to him, ‘I have kept all these. What more do I need to do?’ Jesus said, ‘If you wish to be perfect, go and sell what you own and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.’ But when the young man heard these words he went away sad, for he was a man of great wealth.
Reflection
Ezekiel’s loss is among the most disturbing prophetic signs in Scripture. His wife is called “the delight of your eyes”, language that makes the tenderness of their relationship unmistakable. She is not presented as an anonymous figure. Ezekiel loves her, and her death enters directly into his personal life.
God commands Ezekiel not to perform the customary public rituals of mourning. He may groan in silence, but he must not weep publicly, remove his turban, take off his sandals or accept the traditional food of mourners. His actions are so unusual that the people immediately ask what they mean.
The reading should not be handled as though personal grief were unimportant to God. Scripture repeatedly permits lament, and Christ himself weeps at the tomb of Lazarus. The Catechism recognises that death brings sorrow and separation even while Christian faith gives reason for hope (CCC 1006–1009). Ezekiel’s silence is not a universal command against mourning. It is a specific prophetic sign given to Israel at a moment of approaching catastrophe.
Jerusalem’s inhabitants considered the sanctuary “the pride of your strength, the delight of your eyes, the passion of your souls”. They treasured its presence, but their attachment to the building had become disconnected from faithfulness to the God who dwelt there. They assumed the existence of the sanctuary guaranteed their security even while they violated the covenant it represented.
The temple was holy, but it was not a magical object. Its sacredness came from God’s presence, not from human ownership. Israel could not preserve the temple as a source of national confidence while refusing the justice, obedience and worship required by the Lord.
When the sanctuary was destroyed, the people would experience a shock so overwhelming that ordinary mourning would be inadequate. Like Ezekiel, they would groan in silence. The destruction would expose the false confidence upon which they had built their lives.
Ezekiel’s painful sign therefore raises a difficult question: what have we made indispensable to our identity? A church building, religious role, relationship, career, reputation or financial position may be genuinely good. Yet a good thing becomes spiritually dangerous when we expect it to provide the security that belongs to God alone.
The response from Deuteronomy names the deeper problem: “You have forgotten God, who gave you birth.” Israel’s sin is not merely a lapse of memory. The people continue to know that God exists, but they no longer organise their lives around that truth. They forget him by transferring their trust, attention and loyalty to “what is no god”.
Idolatry often begins without formally rejecting God. We may continue to pray, attend Mass and identify ourselves as believers while quietly depending upon wealth, status or control for our deepest sense of safety. God is not denied in theory; he is displaced in practice.
The song describes God as the Rock who begot his people and the One who gave them birth. Israel’s entire existence is received from him. Forgetting God therefore means forgetting the source of one’s own life. The people behave as though their identity, security and future could be sustained without the One from whom everything came.
This helps us understand God’s jealousy. Divine jealousy is not insecurity or possessiveness. God desires the faithful love of his people because idols cannot give them life. His opposition to idolatry is part of his opposition to everything that enslaves and diminishes those whom he created.
The Gospel brings this question of misplaced security into one person’s encounter with Jesus. The young man is sincere. He approaches Christ because he desires eternal life, and nothing in the passage suggests that his observance of the commandments is dishonest. He has pursued a morally serious life.
Jesus begins by affirming the commandments. The path towards life cannot be separated from obedience to God or love of neighbour. The young man has not reached spiritual maturity by avoiding murder, adultery, false witness and dishonour. These commandments remain essential.
Yet the man senses that something is incomplete: “What more do I need to do?” His question opens the deepest part of his life to Christ. Jesus responds not with another regulation but with a personal invitation: sell what you own, give to the poor, and “come, follow me”.
The centre of the command is not simply the sale of property. It is the call to follow Jesus. The young man’s wealth has become the obstacle preventing that movement. He wants eternal life, but he wants it added to a life whose existing centre remains untouched.
Christ sees that the man’s possessions are not merely things he owns. They have become the structure through which he understands safety, possibility and identity. To follow Jesus, he must entrust that structure to God.
The Catechism teaches that Christ proposes the evangelical counsels to every disciple according to one’s vocation. The command given personally to this man expresses the call to freedom from attachment to riches and to the poverty of heart necessary for entering the kingdom (CCC 2544–2547).
Not every Christian is commanded to dispose of every possession in precisely the same way. The Church recognises legitimate ownership and the responsibilities involved in supporting families and serving the common good. But no disciple is exempt from the deeper demand: possessions must remain instruments of love rather than masters of the heart.
The instruction to give the money to the poor prevents the surrender from becoming abstract. Jesus does not tell the young man merely to abandon wealth. What he releases must become relief for those in need. Detachment from possessions and love of neighbour belong together.
The Catechism teaches that the goods of creation are intended for the whole human race, even while legitimate private ownership remains recognised. Those who possess goods are called to regard them not only as their own but also as resources capable of benefiting others (CCC 2402–2404).
The tragedy is contained in the final sentence: the young man goes away sad. Jesus does not reject him; the man withdraws from the invitation. He discovers that he cannot receive what he most desires without releasing what he trusts most.
His sadness reveals the division within him. He recognises something true in Christ’s words, but his wealth has too strong a claim upon his freedom. He retains his possessions, yet leaves without the joy he sought.
The First Reading and Gospel meet at the point of loss. Ezekiel loses “the delight of his eyes”, and Jerusalem is about to lose the sanctuary it considers the centre of its security. The young man is asked to relinquish the possessions around which his life has been arranged.
These losses are not identical. Ezekiel does not choose his wife’s death, while the young man is invited to make a voluntary surrender. We should not reduce grief to detachment or imply that bereavement is merely a lesson about possessions. Nevertheless, both readings expose what happens when the structures supporting our lives are shaken.
The question is not whether we should love people, places or good things. Ezekiel’s love for his wife is not condemned. The problem arises when a created good is asked to carry the weight of ultimate security. No person, institution or possession can bear that burden without eventually disappointing us.
The sanctuary became an idol when Israel trusted its existence while forgetting God. Wealth became an obstacle when the young man preferred it to the freedom of following Christ. In both cases, what was good became spiritually destructive because it occupied the place belonging to God.
The Gospel Acclamation points towards the freedom needed: “Happy the poor in spirit: the kingdom of heaven is theirs.” Poverty of spirit is not contempt for material creation or romanticising deprivation. It is the truthful recognition that everything is received and that God alone is the foundation of our life.
The poor in spirit can possess goods without being possessed by them. They can love deeply without claiming ownership over another person’s life. They can value sacred places without confusing the building with the God worshipped there. Their security lies not in permanent control but in faithful dependence upon the Father.
This freedom does not make grief painless. Faith does not remove the ache of losing someone who is the delight of our eyes. It does, however, prevent loss from becoming proof that God has ceased to be present. Christian hope rests in the God who raises the dead, not in pretending that death does not wound us.
The Catechism teaches that the desire for true happiness frees us from excessive attachment to the goods of this world and finds fulfilment in the vision and life of God (CCC 2548–2550). This freedom grows gradually as grace reorders our loves rather than destroying our capacity to love.
Christ’s invitation to the young man remains open before us: “Come, follow me.” The precise surrender required will differ from person to person. For one, it may involve money; for another, status, resentment, control or the need to appear successful. The sign of attachment is often the sadness or resistance we feel when Christ touches it.
We are not asked to surrender simply for the sake of emptiness. Jesus promises treasure in heaven and offers his own companionship. The Christian does not relinquish lesser securities to be left with nothing, but to receive a life centred upon Christ.
Ezekiel’s sign warns us against postponing this reordering until everything is taken from our hands. The Gospel invites us to begin freely. We can allow Christ to show us what has become too important, place it at the service of love and discover that following him is not the loss of life but its liberation.
One line to carry today:
Christ does not ask for one more possession in my life; he asks to become the One around whom my life is ordered.
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