Freedom We Don’t Know We Need

 Readings 021226 

We like to think we are free.
Free to choose, free to act, free to shape our own lives.
But the longer I walk with God, the more I realize something uncomfortable:

We are far less free than we are prepared to admit.

There are chains we don’t see because we’ve worn them so long they feel like part of us.

Some chains come from the world around us—
the values we absorbed without noticing,
the expectations of our culture,
the voices that taught us what success, strength, and worth should look like.

Some chains come from our past—
old hurts that still whisper,
rejections that still sting,
memories that still shape how we walk into a room.

And some chains come from within—
our compulsions,
our false guilt,
our need to please,
our fear of disappointing others,
the unresolved places in our relationships and in our own hearts.

We don’t choose these chains.
But we do carry them.
And they divide us.

A divided heart cannot be free.

Scripture shows this again and again:
the heart that clings to anything other than God becomes fractured and restless.
But the heart that clings to God in humility becomes capable of receiving mercy.

That is the great truth running through today’s readings:

God desires an undivided heart, and He pours out saving grace wherever He finds humility and trust.

James says it simply:
“Humbly welcome the word planted in you.”

Not “master it.”
Not “prove yourself worthy of it.”
Just welcome it.
Let it take root.
Let it do the slow work of freeing you from the inside out.

And then we meet the woman in the Gospel—
a Greek, a Syrophoenician, an outsider in every possible way.

She has no covenant,
no pedigree,
no religious credentials,
no claim on Jesus.

But she has the one thing that matters:
an undivided, humble, persistent, trusting heart.

She knows she has no leverage.
She knows she cannot earn what she is asking for.
She knows she has nothing to offer but her need.

And that is enough.

Her freedom begins the moment she stops pretending she has any.
Her daughter is healed not because she is worthy,
but because she is open.

And that is the invitation for us today:

To stop pretending we are free.
To stop pretending we are whole.
To stop pretending we are self‑sufficient.

To bring God the heart we actually have—
the tired heart,
the divided heart,
the wounded heart,
the heart that clings to too many things.

Because the moment we turn toward Him in humility,
the moment we welcome His word,
the moment we trust Him more than our fears—
grace rushes in.

And the chains we thought were permanent
begin to loosen.

Prayer

Lord, take the chains I no longer see
and free the places in me that are divided.
Soften the hurts I still carry,
and quiet the fears that keep me from You.

Give me the humble heart that welcomes Your word,
the trusting heart that leans on Your mercy,
the open heart that lets grace rush in.

Make me whole in You alone.
Amen.

God's Justice Widens the Frame

 Readings 021126 

I don’t know if I see real justice in the world.
I see what some call justice,
but it is justice for the sake of winning,
not justice for the sake of truth.
I see anger in the streets,
force from the government,
voices shouting past one another—
and none looks like the justice God desires.

And maybe that’s why the Gospel matters so much today.
Because there’s a moment in every disciple’s life
when God widens the frame—
when the small truth we were holding
opens into something larger,
something more generous
than we ever expected.

Scripture shows it again and again.
God revealing Himself
not just to the insiders,
but to shepherds, to foreigners,
to the poor,
to the ones the world forgets.

And that’s the invitation:
to let God stretch our vision
the way He stretched theirs.
To see that grace is never a private treasure.
It’s a gift that wants to move outward,
a gift that grows only when shared.

And here is the deeper truth:
God’s justice is in all true justice.
Not the loud kind,
not the destructive kind,
not the kind that humiliates or harms.
True justice begins with this simple belief—
every person carries the image of God.
Every life has dignity.

True justice seeks the common good—
the flourishing of all.
It rejects the chaos that tears down society
and the power that crushes the vulnerable.
The common good needs order,
but it also needs compassion.
It needs laws,
but also mercy.
It needs security,
but never at the cost of human dignity.

Justice also carries two companions:
solidarity, which reminds us we belong to one another,
and subsidiarity, which reminds us that power must serve people,
not dominate them.

This is where Jesus’ words guide us:
“Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s,
and to God what is God’s.”
Give the world what belongs to the world—
your honesty, your responsibility, your civic duty.
But give God what belongs to God—
your conscience, your compassion,
your commitment to the dignity of every person.

So how do we render justice in a world like ours?
We refuse violence from any side.
We refuse to dehumanize anyone.
We let the Gospel—not politics—shape our conscience.
We stand with the vulnerable,
we lift up the lowly,
and we let our faith take flesh
in mercy, in solidarity,
in the simple courage
to show up for one another.

Because when God widens the frame,
He isn’t just revealing more of Himself.
He’s revealing who we’re meant to become.

Prayer

Lord, Widen the frame of my heart
until I see as You see.
Where the world shouts for victory,
teach me the quiet work of truth.
Where anger rises, plant Your mercy.
Where power crushes, lift the lowly.
Let Your justice—gentle, steadfast, shared—
take flesh in me today,
that I may honor Your image in every person.

Amen