Second Wednesday of Lent
4 March 2026
But It Shall Not Be So Among You
As Lent continues, the readings keep tightening their focus. The last two days we were shown the danger of faith becoming performance—religion reduced to appearances. Today, the Church moves one step deeper and exposes what often lies underneath that performance: the desire to control, to protect status, and to be secure at the expense of others.
The first reading from Jeremiah is raw and unsettling. The prophet has spoken God’s word faithfully, and the response is not repentance but resistance. The people say, in effect: Let us silence him. Let us attack his credibility. Let us undermine his influence.
Jeremiah has become inconvenient. And his prayer reveals something important—not perfection, but honesty. He cries out to God from a place of vulnerability, not power. He does not defend himself by force. He brings his pain and suffering to the Lord.
Jeremiah shows us what happens when faith is lived truthfully rather than strategically: it provokes opposition.
That prepares us for the Gospel, where Jesus once again speaks plainly about where He is headed. He predicts His suffering, His condemnation, His death. The road is clear. And yet, almost immediately, the disciples reveal that they are still measuring greatness by the wrong standard.
The request is breathtaking in its timing. Who will sit at your right and your left?
Jesus does not rebuke them for desiring greatness. He redefines what greatness is. “You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them.” After all, they want the “greatness” that they see, the occupation and the abuse of the ones in authority of Israel now.
Power dominates. Authority asserts itself. Status is protected.
“But it shall not be so among you.”
That single sentence is one of the most radical statements in the Gospel. Jesus is not adjusting the system. He is overturning it.
Greatness in the Kingdom is not displayed upward, but downward. Authority is exercised not through control, but through service. Leadership is revealed not in being served, but in giving oneself away.
And Jesus does not present this as an ideal. He presents it as His own identity: “The Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.”
They were wanting a leader who would turn the tables on the authority they saw. To take retribution. And to pass that kingdom to themselves. But Jesus is not preoccupied with that at all.
This is where the Lenten thread becomes unmistakable. Faith becomes performance when it is used to secure position. Faith becomes power when it is used to protect self-interest. Faith becomes salvation only when it conforms us to Christ.
The psalm quietly reinforces this truth: “To the upright I will show the saving power of God.” Uprightness here is not moral posturing. It is alignment. A life aligned with Christ bends in the same direction He does—toward service, sacrifice, and self-gift.
The prayers of this day echo that same movement. We ask God to school us in good works—not impressive works, but faithful ones. We ask Him to undo the bonds of sin—not merely forgive them, but loosen the grip they have on how we relate to one another. We ask for fullness of fraternal charity—not surface harmony, but genuine communion.
Because the temptation Jesus confronts today is not ancient. It is perennial. We want faith to protect us. We want religion to justify us. We want discipleship without surrender.
But Lent insists on clarity.
If our faith makes us more demanding, we are measuring wrongly. If our faith makes us more defensive, something is misaligned. If our faith makes us less willing to serve, it is drifting from Christ.
Jesus does not say that suffering will be avoided. He says that meaning will be found in giving oneself away. That is the reversal at the heart of the Gospel.
And it is why Lent keeps pressing the same quiet question: Who am I becoming as I follow Christ?
Because the path to glory does not bypass service. It passes straight through it.