2 Cor. 11:19–33; 12:1–9 — Luke 8:4–15
As Holy Church advances through the austere and instructive days of Septuagesima’s season, she sets before us a striking contrast: the Apostle who glories in weakness, and the seed of the Word that must suffer burial to bear fruit. The violet vestments, the silenced Alleluia, and the sober tone of the liturgy dispose us to contemplate not earthly triumph, but supernatural fecundity born of humiliation.
I. The “Folly” of the Apostle
Saint Paul speaks with a holy irony. “You gladly suffer the foolish,” he tells the Corinthians, “being yourselves wise.” He is compelled—almost against his will—to recount his sufferings: stripes, prisons, shipwrecks, perils from false brethren. This is not the boasting of pride, but of paradox.
Saint John Chrysostom remarks that Paul calls it “folly” because he is forced to speak of himself, yet his true aim is to exalt the grace of Christ, not his own merit. The Apostle’s catalog of afflictions reveals not his strength, but his conformity to the Crucified.
The world measures authority by power, eloquence, and visible success. But in the Church of Christ, apostolic authority is sealed by suffering. As Saint Gregory the Great teaches, the shepherd must first be wounded before he can heal; he must know tribulation so as to guide souls through it.
Paul’s final “boast” is especially telling: he recounts being lowered in a basket through a window to escape Damascus. Not a glorious triumph, but a humiliating flight. The Apostle of the Gentiles begins his mission not with applause, but with weakness.
II. “My Grace Is Sufficient”
In the twelfth chapter, Paul ascends—reluctantly—to the heights of mystical experience. He speaks of being “caught up to the third heaven.” Yet even here he veils his language. As Saint Augustine observes, Paul mentions these sublime visions sparingly, lest men cling to the extraordinary rather than to charity and humility.
Immediately, the narrative descends again: “There was given me a sting of my flesh, an angel of Satan to buffet me.” The Fathers differ on the precise nature of this “thorn,” yet they are united in seeing its purpose: to preserve humility.
Three times Paul pleads for deliverance. The Lord replies, not by removing the trial, but by revealing its meaning:
“My grace is sufficient for thee: for power is made perfect in infirmity.”
Here lies the heart of Sexagesima’s teaching. God does not always take away the cross; He transforms it into an instrument of sanctification. Divine power shines most clearly when human strength fails.
Saint Augustine beautifully comments that the physician sometimes leaves the wound unhealed for a time, not from neglect, but to prevent a worse sickness—namely, pride. Thus the Apostle learns to glory not in visions, but in infirmities. His weakness becomes the dwelling place of Christ’s power.
This is the Christian paradox: to lose is to gain; to be humbled is to be exalted; to suffer is to reign.
III. The Seed and the Soil
The Gospel of the Sower illumines the Epistle. The Word is cast generously, yet not all ground bears fruit.
Our Lord Himself explains: the seed by the wayside is snatched away; that on the rock withers for lack of root; that among thorns is choked by cares and pleasures; only the good soil yields fruit “in patience.”
Saint Bede the Venerable notes that the same seed is sown everywhere—the difference lies not in the Word, but in the heart that receives it. The Word is living and efficacious; it is we who are variable.
The rocky soil represents those who receive the Word with joy but lack endurance. How closely this relates to Saint Paul’s teaching! Without the acceptance of suffering, faith cannot mature. Tribulation is not an accident of discipleship; it is its proving ground.
The thorny soil is especially fitting for this pre-Lenten season. Cares, riches, and pleasures choke the Word. Saint Gregory warns that earthly anxieties are subtle thorns—they do not immediately kill the plant, but slowly suffocate it. The soul may remain outwardly religious while inwardly divided.
Only the good soil bears fruit—and this fruit comes “in patience.” The Latin in patientia suggests steadfast endurance. The Christian life is not a burst of enthusiasm, but a long fidelity through seasons of dryness, humiliation, and hiddenness.
IV. Sexagesima’s Lesson
Holy Church, like a wise mother, prepares us for Lent by teaching us these truths:
- The Apostle’s authority is sealed by suffering.
- Mystical heights require the ballast of humility.
- Grace is sufficient, even when the thorn remains.
- The Word bears fruit only in a heart purified by endurance.
The season strips us of triumphalism. The violet reminds us that we are pilgrims. The omission of the Gloria and Alleluia teaches restraint. We are being ploughed like the field in the Gospel.
And perhaps that ploughing is painful.
But the field must be broken before it can bear fruit.
Let us, then, not despise our infirmities. Let us not resent the “thorn” permitted by Providence. Rather, with the Apostle, let us say:
“Most gladly therefore will I glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may dwell in me.”
If we receive the Word in humility, guard it in patience, and allow suffering to deepen its roots, then—even in hiddenness—we shall bear fruit unto eternal life.
May the Blessed Virgin Mary, the most perfect soil of the Divine Word, obtain for us hearts made fertile through humility and steadfast in trial.
“He that hath ears to hear, let him hear.”