Dominica in Quinquagesima – II. classis
As Holy Mother Church leads us to the very threshold of Septuagesima’s fulfillment and the austere gate of Lent, she places before us two luminous passages: Saint Paul’s hymn to charity (1 Cor. 13:1–13) and Saint Luke’s account of the healing of the blind man near Jericho (Luke 18:31–43). The harmony between them is not accidental. In these final days before the purple deepens into Lenten severity, the Church calls us to examine whether our works, penances, and knowledge are animated by that without which all is nothing: caritas.
“If I Have Not Charity, I Am Nothing”
Saint Paul speaks with solemn absoluteness: eloquence, prophecy, faith that moves mountains, even martyrdom itself—without charity—profit nothing. This is not a poetic exaggeration. It is a spiritual law.
Saint John Chrysostom, marveling at Paul’s words, notes that the Apostle “does not simply say that charity is great, but that without it the greatest things are nothing.” Charity is not one virtue among many; it is the soul of all virtue. Without it, the body of good works lies lifeless.
Saint Augustine teaches that charity is the weight that carries the soul toward God: “My love is my weight; by it I am carried wherever I am carried.” If that weight is absent, the soul drifts aimlessly, even if it appears adorned with religious accomplishments.
Why does the Church place this epistle before Lent? Because fasting without charity becomes pride. Almsgiving without charity becomes self-display. Knowledge without charity becomes coldness. As Saint Gregory the Great warns, “Good works without charity are like sacrifices without fire.” The altar is prepared, but the flame is absent.
Thus, before ashes are placed upon our heads, the Church asks: is there fire upon the altar of your heart?
“Jesus, Son of David, Have Mercy on Me!”
In the Gospel, Our Lord foretells His Passion with solemn clarity. The Apostles understand nothing. Immediately thereafter, a blind beggar cries out persistently, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”
Here the Fathers see a mystery. Those who have physical sight fail to understand; the blind man sees more clearly than they. Saint Bede the Venerable comments that the blind man represents the human race sitting in darkness, unable to behold the light of truth until Christ passes by in mercy.
But why does the Church pair this with the hymn to charity?
Because true sight is born of love.
The blind man’s cry is not merely a request for physical healing. It is an act of faith inflamed by charity. Though rebuked by the crowd, he cries out all the more. Charity perseveres. Charity “beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.”
Saint Cyril of Alexandria observes that the blind man “followed Christ after he had received sight,” signifying that enlightenment leads to discipleship. Charity does not end in consolation; it ends in following Christ toward Jerusalem—toward the Cross.
On the Threshold of the Passion
The Gospel begins with Christ’s solemn announcement of His suffering: betrayal, scourging, mockery, crucifixion. And what is the interior meaning of this suffering? It is the supreme revelation of charity.
“Greater love than this no man hath,” says the Lord elsewhere, “that a man lay down his life for his friends.” Saint Paul’s hymn finds its fulfillment on Calvary. Charity “seeketh not her own.” Charity “endureth all things.” Charity “never falleth away.”
Saint Augustine beautifully connects the two readings when he says that charity is the eye by which we see God. Without it, we are blind even if we possess theological knowledge. With it, even a beggar by the roadside can recognize the Son of David.
Thus Quinquagesima Sunday asks us: are we blind, though learned? Are we noisy cymbals, though orthodox? Have we perhaps mistaken religious activity for the love of God?
A Lenten Disposition
As Lent approaches, the Church does not first command us to fast more strictly. She commands us to love more deeply.
Let our prayer in these days echo the blind man’s cry:
“Lord, that I may see.”
That I may see my sins.
That I may see Thy love.
That I may see my neighbor not as a burden, but as a soul redeemed by Thy Blood.
And let us remember the Apostle’s closing words: “Now there remain faith, hope, and charity, these three: but the greatest of these is charity.”
Faith will give way to sight.
Hope will give way to possession.
But charity alone will endure into eternity.
Standing at the edge of Lent, Holy Church gently but firmly teaches us: if we would follow Christ to Jerusalem, we must do so with hearts set aflame. For only charity can walk with Him to the Cross—and only charity will rise with Him in glory.