This week, as I was leaving the orthopedic surgeon’s office, I overheard a man say,
“I used to be Catholic, but my knee got so bad, I became Baptist so I didn’t have to kneel anymore.”
I don’t know if he was joking
or if that was his truth.
But it stayed with me.
Because kneeling has never really been about the knees.
It has always been about the heart—
a heart that bends before God even when the body can’t,
a heart that remembers who the Lord is
and who we are not.
Scripture warns us not to love the world or the things of the world—
not because creation is evil,
but because the world is loud.
It dazzles us with what feels good for a moment
but leaves us empty in the end.
That kind of love slowly stiffens the soul
until it can no longer kneel,
even if the knees still work.
Then we meet Anna—
an elderly widow who never left the temple.
Her body was worn by years,
but her heart stayed bowed before God.
Day and night she prayed, fasted, waited.
And when the Child finally came,
she recognized Him at once.
A lifetime of inner kneeling
had trained her eyes to see what others missed.
And Jesus—
growing up quietly in Nazareth,
becoming strong, filled with wisdom,
wrapped in the favor of God.
No noise.
No spectacle.
Just steady growth in the hidden places.
All of this leads us to one simple truth:
God is not measuring how well our knees bend,
but how willing our hearts are to bow.
To loosen our grip on the world’s distractions.
To stay faithful in the ordinary.
To keep watch like Anna.
To grow quietly like Jesus.
And just so it’s clear—
the Church does not require anyone to kneel
if they are physically unable.
There is no sin, no fault, no loss of reverence
when age, injury, disability, or pain
asks the body to remain seated or standing.
God sees the heart long before He sees the posture.
Because holiness isn’t found in how much we can do,
but in how much room we make
for God to work in us.
Prayer
Lord, teach my heart to kneel before You,
even when my body cannot.
Quiet the noise of the world
and loosen its grip on my soul.
Give me the steady faith of Anna,
the hidden strength of Jesus in Nazareth,
and the grace to recognize Your presence
when it comes softly into my life.
Bend my heart toward You,
shape my days with Your wisdom,
and make room within me
for Your holy work to unfold.
Amen.
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