In the spirit of the Traditional Roman Rite
“For the letter killeth, but the spirit quickeneth.” (2 Cor. 3:6)
As we enter this Monday after the Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost, the Church gives us to contemplate St. Paul’s teaching to the Corinthians on the superiority of the New Covenant and Our Lord’s profound parable of the Good Samaritan. The convergence of these texts—read within the sober and recollected rhythm of the traditional Roman Liturgy—invites a deep reflection on the nature of grace, charity, and the living fulfillment of the Law in Christ.
The Ministration of the Spirit (2 Cor. 3:4–9)
St. Paul contrasts the old covenant—the law written on stone tablets—with the new covenant written by the Spirit on the hearts of men. The Apostle does not despise the Law; indeed, he speaks of the Mosaic dispensation as “glorious.” But he affirms with all the certitude of divine inspiration that the ministry of the Spirit surpasses it in glory, for it brings not death but life.
St. John Chrysostom, commenting on this passage, explains:
“The Law was given to cure their idolatry, but it was not sufficient to give them life. It was as a torch in the daylight; whereas now, in Christ, the sun itself has risen. Grace is not only illumination but transformation.” (Homilies on the Epistles of Paul)
St. Augustine teaches that this passage expresses the truth that,
“The Law without grace is a letter that killeth, because it shows the sickness but gives no remedy; it declares what is right, but gives no power to do it. But when the Spirit is given, the law is written in the heart, and man loves what he must do.” (De Spiritu et Littera, ch. 21)
This is the foundation of the Christian life: not the cold fulfillment of commands, but the supernatural charity infused by the Holy Ghost, who enables the soul to love God and neighbor. The Spirit vivifies not merely by instruction but by transformation. And this transformation—this divina mutatio—is precisely what the Gospel parable illustrates.
“Go, and do thou in like manner” (Luke 10:23–37)
In today’s Gospel, Our Lord, having blessed the eyes of His disciples for seeing and ears for hearing, proceeds to answer a question that had the guise of piety but bore the poison of self-justification: “And who is my neighbour?”
He answers not with an abstract principle but with a parable that has echoed through centuries as a model of divine charity: the Good Samaritan. In this figure—so often admired even by those outside the Church—we are to see not only an ethical exhortation, but Christ Himself.
Origen, among the earliest Fathers to offer a spiritual reading of this parable, sees Christ as the Samaritan:
“He who was neighbor to the man wounded by robbers is He who had mercy on him—not the priest, not the Levite, who represent the old Law, but the Samaritan, an image of Christ, who came to heal what the Law could not.” (Homilies on Luke, 34)
St. Ambrose deepens this mystical interpretation:
“The man going down from Jerusalem to Jericho is Adam, descending from the heights of paradise to the wounds of mortal life. The robbers are the devil and his angels. The priest and the Levite pass by, powerless to save. But Christ, the Samaritan, binds the wounds, pours in oil and wine—that is, the balm of the sacraments—and places the man on His own beast, symbolizing His Incarnation. He brings him to the inn, the Church, and pays the price for his care: His own Blood.” (Expositio Evangelii secundum Lucam, Book VII)
In light of this, we see that today’s Epistle and Gospel are not two separate threads but one seamless garment of grace. The Law could not descend to the wounded man, for it was bound by its own ceremonial and judicial limitations. But Christ, the Word made Flesh, fulfills the Law and renders it living, not by abolishing it but by completing it with divine charity.
Commemoratio: S. Ægidii Abbatis
Today we also commemorate St. Giles, the humble abbot of the desert, who lived a hidden life of prayer, solitude, and miraculous charity. His obscurity in the world made him glorious in heaven. The Gospel today is lived silently in the cloister as much as on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho.
Like the Good Samaritan, St. Giles took pity on the wounded—especially the spiritually wounded—through intercession and self-denial. He reminds us that active charity flows from contemplative union with God, and that the soul who lives by the Spirit becomes itself a source of healing for others.
Concluding Reflection
The teaching of St. Paul and the parable of Our Lord converge in a single truth: the letter of the Law alone cannot save. The Law shows us our wounds, but only grace can heal them. Only the Spirit gives life, and only in Christ do we find the true fulfillment of both justice and mercy.
Let us, then, ask for the Spirit to write the Law anew upon our hearts, that we may not merely know the command to love, but live it. May we be, in the words of St. Gregory the Great, “not only hearers of the command, but true followers of the Samaritan, imitators of the Master.”
“Go, and do thou in like manner.”