As Holy Mother Church leads us through the solemn threshold of Quinquagesima, she places before our eyes two luminous mysteries: the primacy of charity and the healing of blindness. In the Epistle (1 Cor. 13:1–13), the Apostle extols that queen of virtues without which all else is vanity; in the Gospel (Luke 18:31–43), the blind beggar of Jericho receives sight through persevering faith. Together they prepare us for Lent, teaching us what we must seek and how we must seek it.
“If I have not charity…”
St. Paul’s hymn to charity is no mere poetic interlude. It is the very marrow of Christian life. After enumerating tongues, prophecy, knowledge, and even martyrdom, he declares them empty without charity: “Si caritatem autem non habuero, nihil sum.” Not merely “I profit nothing,” but “I am nothing.”
St. John Chrysostom, in his Homilies on First Corinthians, observes that the Apostle places charity above miracles precisely because miracles may dazzle the eye but charity conforms the soul to God. “For nothing,” Chrysostom writes, “so makes us imitators of Christ as loving our enemies and doing good to those who hate us.” Gifts may pass away; charity alone abides because it is participation in the very life of God.
St. Augustine, preaching on this passage, insists that charity is not sentiment but rightly ordered love: “Ama et fac quod vis”—love, and do what you will. He explains that true love is poured into our hearts by the Holy Ghost (cf. Rom. 5:5). Thus charity is not self-generated enthusiasm but divine life dwelling within us. Where charity reigns, pride falls silent, envy withers, and patience flowers.
The Apostle further teaches that we now see “through a glass in a dark manner” (per speculum in ænigmate). St. Gregory the Great comments that in this life we contemplate divine realities as in a mirror dimly reflecting a face. But in the patria, faith will yield to sight, hope to possession—only charity remains. For charity is already the beginning of heaven.
Thus, on the eve of Lent, the Church asks: Of what avail are our fasts, disciplines, and penances if they do not inflame charity? Without love of God and neighbor, even ashes on our brow are but dust.
The Blind Man of Jericho: A Figure of the Soul
The Gospel presents a living parable. As Our Lord approaches Jerusalem to accomplish His Passion, He foretells His suffering. Yet the Apostles “understood none of these things.” Immediately thereafter, a blind man sits by the wayside.
St. Ambrose sees in this blind man the image of fallen humanity, sitting in darkness outside the city of peace. Hearing that Jesus passes by, he cries: “Jesu, Fili David, miserere mei!” Though deprived of bodily sight, he sees with the eyes of faith.
The crowd rebukes him; he cries out the more. St. Cyril of Alexandria remarks that the rebuking crowd represents worldly distractions and temptations that attempt to silence prayer. But perseverance conquers. Christ stands still.
Here lies a marvel noted by St. Augustine: “The Lord passed by, and the blind man cried out.” Augustine explains that Christ’s “passing by” signifies the fleeting opportunities of grace in this life. If we do not cry out now, when He passes in the preaching of the Gospel and the stirrings of conscience, we risk remaining in darkness.
When brought before Christ, the question comes: “What wilt thou that I do to thee?” The blind man answers simply: “Lord, that I may see.” No elaborate petition—only the desire for sight. And Christ replies: “Receive thy sight: thy faith hath made thee whole.”
From Blindness to Charity
The two readings converge. Spiritual blindness is healed by faith; yet faith must be perfected by charity. St. Paul reminds us that even faith capable of moving mountains is nothing without love. The blind man’s faith was not sterile—it issued in gratitude and discipleship: “And immediately he saw, and followed him, glorifying God.”
St. Bede the Venerable notes that once illumined, the man follows Christ on the way. Which way? The road to Jerusalem—to the Cross. True sight leads to participation in the Passion. Charity binds us to Christ crucified.
As Quinquagesima wanes and Ash Wednesday approaches, the Church invites us to recognize our blindness: our tepidity, our impatience, our lack of charity. Like the beggar, we must cry out. And like him, we must persevere despite interior and exterior rebukes.
Let us then examine our hearts:
- Do we practice almsgiving with genuine love, or with self-regard?
- Do we bear injuries patiently?
- Do we rejoice in the good of others?
For “charity is patient, is kind… seeketh not her own.” It is the measure by which our Lenten observance will be weighed.
A Prayer for Quinquagesima
O Lord Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on us who sit in darkness.
Grant us sight—not only of our sins, but of Thy love.
Inflame in us that charity which never fails,
That seeing Thee now by faith,
We may one day behold Thee face to face,
Where faith gives way to vision and hope to possession,
And charity alone endures forever.
Amen.