Feria Quinta infra Hebdomadam I in Quadragesima (III classis)
On Ezechiel 18:1–9 and Matthæus 15:21–28
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In the sober stillness of the first week of Quadragesima, Holy Mother Church places before us two luminous truths: the personal responsibility of the soul before God, and the triumphant perseverance of humble faith. The prophet Ezechiel and the Canaanite woman speak across the centuries with one harmonious voice: each soul stands before God, and mercy is granted to the one who seeks it with steadfast humility.
“The soul that sinneth, the same shall die” (Ezech. 18:4)
The Lord rejects the proverb of Israel: “The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the teeth of the children are set on edge.” No longer may the people excuse their sins by appealing to their fathers’ guilt. Each man bears responsibility for his own soul.
St. Jerome, commenting on this passage, writes that God “renders to every one according to his own works, not according to the sins of another” (Commentary on Ezechiel). The justice of God is neither arbitrary nor inherited blindly; it is personal, exact, and penetrating. Lent confronts us with this solemn reality. We cannot hide behind history, upbringing, or circumstance. The Judge sees the individual heart.
Yet this chapter of Ezechiel is not merely a declaration of justice—it is an invitation to conversion. The just man described by the prophet is not sinless in abstraction; he is one who “walketh in my commandments, and keepeth my judgments.” St. Gregory the Great notes that true justice consists not merely in avoiding evil, but in persevering in good works with constancy (Moralia in Job). Lent calls us not simply to regret past sins, but to an active and persevering righteousness.
The prophet’s teaching prepares the soil for the Gospel. If each soul is accountable, then each soul may also approach God directly. The door of mercy stands open—but one must knock.
“Have mercy on me, O Lord, Thou Son of David” (Matt. 15:22)
In the Gospel we behold a striking contrast: a Gentile woman, outside the covenant, crying out with a faith that surpasses many in Israel. Her daughter is grievously troubled. Her plea is urgent, maternal, and unembarrassed.
At first, Our Lord seems to ignore her. Then He declares that He was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel. Finally, He speaks words that test the very marrow of her humility: “It is not meet to take the bread of the children, and to cast it to dogs.”
St. John Chrysostom observes that Christ’s apparent harshness was medicinal, not dismissive. He delayed in order to “manifest the woman’s treasure” of faith (Homily 52 on Matthew). The silence of Christ is often the crucible of faith. Lent teaches us to endure that silence without retreat.
The woman does not protest her unworthiness. She does not argue her rights. Instead, she descends lower: “Yea, Lord: for the whelps also eat of the crumbs that fall from the table of their masters.”
St. Augustine marvels at this humility: “She confessed herself a dog, that she might be made worthy to receive the bread” (Sermon 77). By accepting her nothingness, she receives everything. Here is the paradox of grace. Pride bars the gate; humility opens it wide.
And then comes the triumphant word:
“O woman, great is thy faith: be it done to thee as thou wilt.”
Justice and Mercy in Harmony
The Lenten liturgy places these readings together deliberately. Ezechiel teaches that each soul bears its own burden of justice. The Gospel reveals that each soul may also claim mercy—if it approaches with persevering faith.
Personal responsibility does not lead to despair, but to urgency. We cannot blame another for our sins. Yet neither are we imprisoned by them if we turn to God.
The just man of Ezechiel walks uprightly. The Canaanite woman kneels humbly. Both are models for Lent:
- Upright conduct in the moral life.
- Humble persistence in prayer.
- Refusal to excuse sin.
- Refusal to abandon hope.
St. Bede the Venerable sees in the woman a figure of the Church gathered from the Gentiles, crying out to Christ in this present age (Commentary on Matthew). We too stand as petitioners, often feeling ourselves unworthy, sometimes experiencing divine silence. Yet if we persevere, grace is certain.
A Lenten Examination
Today’s liturgy asks us:
- Do I excuse my sins by blaming circumstances or others?
- Do I accept personal responsibility before God?
- When my prayers seem unanswered, do I persevere?
- Is my prayer marked by humility—or by hidden entitlement?
Quadragesima is the season to become both just and persistent: just in conduct, persistent in supplication.
Let us then pray with the Canaanite woman’s words upon our lips:
Domine, adjuva me.
“Lord, help me.”
For the soul that turns to God with humility shall not die—but shall live. And great shall be its faith.