A Reflection for Monday of the Eleventh Week in Ordinary Time
Find today’s readings here.
Now is a very acceptable time—and a day of salvation? Really? There’s little about now that feels acceptable—let alone very acceptable.
Now is war in Gaza.
Now is the threat of all-out war between Israel and Iran.
Now is the invasion of Ukraine.
Now is armed conflict in South Sudan.
Now is civil unrest in the United States.
Now is desperate fear as ICE raids escalate.
Now is National Guard troops deployed.
Now is communities living in fear.
Now is protests in the streets.
Now is families torn apart.
And these are only a few examples of the times now. Too many wars, too many lives are forgotten—buried beneath louder headlines and greater geopolitical stakes. But people’s cry for salvation is real, urgent and far too often ignored.
So when I hear, “Now is a very acceptable time; now is the day of salvation,” it sounds ironic. Absurd. Almost offensive.
But Paul isn’t speaking about a time much different from ours—or from a place of comfort or power. He writes while languishing in a prison cell, a fellow “minister of God”—beaten, rejected, forgotten. He knew the irony of his own words.
This is no abstract reflection. Paul writes from experience, naming the cost of discipleship:
Through much endurance: in afflictions, hardships, constraints, beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, vigils, fasts…
Paul doesn’t romanticize suffering; it is woven into the brutal fabric of his Christian witness. Ancient Rome was no stranger to corruption or cruelty. It too was a world of widening divides, public spectacles of violence, and a ruthless grip on the vulnerable—systems of power that silenced the weak, rewarded the merciless, enslaved populations and crucified those deemed expendable.
Suddenly, Paul’s words begin to comfort and inspire me. Salvation is not neat. It is forged in the crucible.
It’s from that aching truth of wounded witness that the Gospel calls us deeper.
It’s not poetic or soft. It’s a call to live vulnerably in a world addicted to control and retribution. Jesus invites us not to retaliate, but respond in love.
Pope Leo introduced himself to the world with these words from the Vatican balcony:
I would like this greeting of peace to resound in your hearts, in your families, among all people, wherever they may be, in every nation and throughout the world. Peace be with you!
It is the peace of the risen Christ. A peace that is unarmed and disarming, humble and persevering. A peace that comes from God, the God who loves us all, unconditionally.
In a world armed with fear and suspicion, it is the power of this peace that we are called to bear.
And if, in these days after Pentecost, the Spirit is truly at work in us, it must break down the walls we build—of fear, of prejudice, of despair. It must lead us to disarmed hearts, open hands and courageous steps toward those who suffer.
Today’s readings don’t promise comfort. They call for conversion.
Now is not neat. But now is where salvation begins.
Now is a very acceptable time and a day of salvation—because it reminds us of what we are not, and what we are not yet.
We are not made for violence. We are not meant to build walls or drop bombs or withhold mercy. We are not yet the people of peace, mercy and courage God calls us to become.
That tension—that longing—to become what we are not yet, is holy. It opens us to grace.
That is what makes this moment very acceptable: Not its ease, but its urgency. Not its peace, but its possibility.
Now is a very acceptable time. Now is the day of salvation.
