A reflection on Luke 9:43b–45 and Ecclesiastes 11:9–12:8 for Saturday of the 25th Week in Ordinary Time.
There is something rather sad about today’s Gospel. Jesus tells his disciples that he is going to be handed over to men, but they do not understand what he means, and they are afraid to ask him. They have been following him, listening to his teaching, witnessing extraordinary things, and yet, when he speaks about something that unsettles them, they fall silent.
I wonder why they were afraid to ask. Perhaps they did not want to appear foolish in front of the others, or perhaps they sensed that understanding his words would mean confronting something they were not ready to face. It is much easier to remain comfortably confused than to ask a question when we suspect the answer might change everything.
I find myself feeling rather sympathetic toward those disciples. There have been times when I have wanted faith to be straightforward, when I have longed for clear answers and reassuring certainties. Yet the older I grow, the more I realize that faith does not always become simpler with age, and some of the questions that trouble us most do not have answers that fit neatly into a catechism.
Perhaps that is why today’s reading from Ecclesiastes speaks to me. Its author reminds us to remember our Creator while we are young, before the difficulties of old age arrive and the familiar pleasures of life begin to fade. It is hardly the most cheerful reading in Scripture, but there is something refreshingly truthful about its refusal to pretend that life goes on forever.
When we are young, time can seem almost limitless. There will always be another opportunity to do the things we have postponed, repair a damaged relationship, follow a dream, or deepen our relationship with God. As the years pass, however, we become increasingly aware that time is a gift we cannot hold on to indefinitely.
I do not hear Ecclesiastes as an invitation to become gloomy about growing older. Rather, I hear a gentle but persistent reminder not to waste the life we have been given. We are invited to enjoy its goodness, recognize its fragility, and pay attention to what truly matters before we discover that we have spent too much of our lives worrying about things that matter very little.
And perhaps this is where Ecclesiastes and the Gospel meet.
The disciples are afraid to ask Jesus what he means, while Ecclesiastes reminds us that our time is limited. How often do we allow fear to prevent us from asking the questions that matter, having the conversations we need to have, or acknowledging truths we would rather avoid?
I think this can be especially difficult within the Church. Many Catholics have grown up believing that asking too many questions is somehow a sign of weak faith, or that raising concerns about Church teaching and leadership means we are being disloyal. We can become so anxious about appearing faithful that we forget that genuine faith requires us to bring our whole selves before God, including our doubts, disappointments, and unanswered questions.
Women, in particular, know what it is to have their questions dismissed or their concerns treated as inconvenient. How often have women been encouraged to accept decisions made by others without being given the opportunity to participate meaningfully in those decisions? How often have people who have experienced exclusion or hurt within the Church been told to be patient, obedient, or silent when what they really needed was someone willing to listen?
I love the Church, but I do not believe that love requires us to pretend that every question has already been answered or that every decision made in the name of authority is beyond examination. If anything, love should make us more willing to ask difficult questions, because we care enough about the Church and the people within it to want something better.
The disciples’ silence is understandable, but it is also a missed opportunity. They are standing beside Jesus himself, the one who has repeatedly shown patience toward those who struggle to understand, and still they are afraid to ask him what he means. I wonder how much they might have learned if they had found the courage to speak.
Of course, asking questions does not guarantee that we will receive the answers we want. Sometimes the answer may be difficult, and sometimes we may have to live with uncertainty for a long time. But there is a difference between accepting that we do not understand everything and deciding that we should stop asking altogether.
There is another aspect of today’s Gospel that troubles me. Jesus is speaking about his approaching suffering, yet the disciples seem unable to enter into what he is trying to tell them. Perhaps they are so overwhelmed by the extraordinary things they have witnessed that they cannot imagine their beloved teacher becoming vulnerable, rejected, and powerless.
We can be rather like them. We are often drawn to the parts of faith that offer reassurance, beauty, and a sense of belonging, while finding it harder to face the suffering of those whose experiences challenge our comfortable understanding of the world. Sometimes we do not ask questions because we are afraid of the answers, but sometimes we do not ask because we are afraid of what listening might require of us.
What would happen if we were less concerned about having the right answers and more willing to hear the questions people are actually asking? What might change if we listened carefully to someone who has stopped coming to Mass, a woman who feels that her gifts are not welcome, or a person who has been wounded by the very community that should have offered them a home?
Perhaps we would discover that some of the most important questions facing the Church are being asked by people we have become accustomed to overlooking.
Psalm 90 asks God to teach us to number our days so that we may gain wisdom of heart. I find that a particularly beautiful prayer as I grow older, because wisdom is not simply about accumulating knowledge or becoming more certain of our opinions. Perhaps it is also about recognizing how much we do not know, becoming less defensive, and finding the courage to listen with an open heart.
We have only so much time to love, to learn, to repair what has been broken, and to become the people God calls us to be. It would be a pity to spend that time pretending to understand everything when there is still so much we need to ask.
Today’s Gospel leaves the disciples afraid to question Jesus, but their story does not end there. They will continue to misunderstand, stumble, and struggle, yet they will also grow into people capable of proclaiming the Gospel with remarkable courage.
That gives me hope. Perhaps faith is not measured by how confidently we can explain everything, but by our willingness to remain close to Christ even when we do not understand, trusting that our questions need not separate us from him.
Prayer
Loving God, give us the courage to bring our questions to you, even when we are afraid of the answers. Teach us to listen with open hearts, to welcome those whose voices have been silenced, and to trust that our doubts need not separate us from your love.
As the years pass, help us to recognize what truly matters and to use the time you have given us wisely. May we never become so certain of our own understanding that we stop seeking your wisdom, or so comfortable in our faith that we fail to hear the suffering of others. Stay close to us in our uncertainty, Lord, and lead us ever more deeply into your truth and love. Amen.