Office Of Readings | Tuesday, Lent Week 3 | From The Sermons Of Saint Peter Chrysologus | Prayer, Fasting, Mercy
‘What prayer knocks for on the door, fasting successfully begs and mercy receives.’
Saint Peter Chrysologus
Saint Peter Chrysologus (c. 380–450), Archbishop of Ravenna, was one of the most influential preachers of the early Church. His title ‘Chrysologus’—meaning ‘Golden-Worded’—was given to him because of his eloquence and ability to communicate deep theological truths in a concise and accessible way.
Chrysologus served as bishop during a time of theological controversy and social unrest in the western Roman Empire. The Church was navigating disputes over Christ’s nature, while many believers lived in an empire in decline, marked by economic hardship and moral corruption. In this setting, Saint Peter Chrysologus preached a faith that was not abstract but deeply practical. His emphasis on prayer, fasting and mercy speaks directly to the needs of his time and of ours. Spiritual devotion should not be disconnected from realities of daily life and needs of others.
Saint Peter Chrysologus’ homily, in this reading, highlights interdependence of three essential Lenten practices. He insists that fasting, when separated from prayer and mercy, becomes fruitless. Likewise, prayer without fasting lacks discipline, and mercy without prayer loses its spiritual depth. He presents these three as a unified whole, illustrating how they sustain and give life to one another.
Biblical Foundation Of Prayer, Fasting And Mercy
Chrysologus’ teaching is deeply rooted in Scripture. The idea that fasting must be accompanied by works of mercy is found in Isaiah 58, where the prophet condemns fasting that is only external and calls for a fast that frees the oppressed, feeds the hungry, and clothes the naked. Jesus reinforces this in Matthew 6, where Jesus teaches about prayer, fasting, and almsgiving as essential aspects of righteousness.
One of the most direct scriptural parallels to Chrysologus’ homily is found in the Book of Tobit:
‘Prayer is good when accompanied by fasting, almsgiving, and righteousness.’ (Tobit 12:8)
This passage affirms that these three disciplines must be practiced together. Prayer connects us to God, fasting purifies our hearts, and mercy extends God’s love to others. Chrysologus thus aligns himself with both the Old Testament prophetic tradition and Christ’s teachings in the New Testament.
Theological Meaning | Imitation Of Christ
At its core, this homily is a call to imitate Christ. Jesus himself embodies prayer, fasting, and mercy in his life and ministry:
- Prayer: Jesus frequently withdrew to pray, demonstrating the necessity of communion with the Father (Luke 5:16).
- Fasting: Jesus fasted for forty days in the wilderness, preparing himself for his mission (Matthew 4:2).
- Mercy: Jesus’ entire ministry was marked by compassion—healing the sick, forgiving sinners, feeding the hungry.
Chrysologus invites the faithful to follow this example. He does not present prayer, fasting and mercy as optional devotions but as essential to the Christian life. True fasting is not merely abstaining from food but renouncing selfishness; true prayer is not only asking for favours but seeking to align our will with God’s; true mercy is not just giving alms but living with a heart transformed by love.
Warning Against Hypocrisy And Empty Religious Practice
Chrysologus also issues a strong warning: religious practice that is not accompanied by love of neighbour is meaningless. He states:
‘If you want God to know that you are hungry, know that another is hungry. If you hope for mercy, show mercy. If you look for kindness, show kindness.’
This echoes Christ’s rebuke of the Pharisees, who focused on outward religious observance while neglecting justice and mercy (Matthew 23:23). It also aligns with the warnings found in Isaiah 58 and the teachings of the early Church Fathers, such as Saint Basil the Great, who said:
‘The fast is good if it leads to acts of charity.’
By linking prayer, fasting, and mercy, Chrysologus ensures that faith is not reduced to an individualistic or superficial practice but remains a path to genuine conversion.
Role Of The Church Fathers In Shaping Lenten Theology
Chrysologus’ homily is part of a larger patristic tradition that emphasized the unity of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. Saint John Chrysostom, for example, wrote:
‘Do not say: ‘I fast.’ Rather, show me your works.’
Similarly, Saint Augustine taught that fasting without acts of love is useless:
‘Do you wish your prayer to fly toward God? Give it two wings: fasting and almsgiving.’
By situating Chrysologus’ homily within this broader context, we see that his insights are not isolated but part of a rich theological heritage that continues to shape Lenten spirituality.
Practical Application | How We Can Live Out This Teaching
Chrysologus’ message is just as relevant today as it was in the fifth century. His homily challenges us to reflect on our own Lenten observances:
- Prayer: Do we pray only for ourselves, or do we intercede for those in need?
- Fasting: Do we fast simply out of obligation, or do we use it to grow in self-discipline and compassion?
- Mercy: Do we limit mercy to occasional acts of charity, or do we cultivate a spirit of generosity in our daily lives?
His homily calls us to move beyond a minimalistic approach to Lent and embrace a deeper, more integrated way of living out our faith.
From The Sermons Of Saint Peter Chrysologus | Prayer, Fasting, Mercy
There are three things, my brethren, by which faith stands firm, devotion remains constant, and virtue endures. They are prayer, fasting and mercy. Prayer knocks at the door, fasting obtains, mercy receives. Prayer, mercy and fasting: these three are one, and they give life to each other.
Fasting is the soul of prayer, mercy is the lifeblood of fasting. Let no one try to separate them; they cannot be separated. If you have only one of them or not all together, you have nothing. So if you pray, fast; if you fast, show mercy; if you want your petition to be heard, hear the petition of others. If you do not close your ear to others you open God’s ear to yourself.
When you fast, see the fasting of others. If you want God to know that you are hungry, know that another is hungry. If you hope for mercy, show mercy. If you look for kindness, show kindness. If you want to receive, give. If you ask for yourself what you deny to others, your asking is a mockery.
Let this be the pattern for all when they practice mercy: show mercy to others in the same way, with the same generosity, with the same promptness, as you want others to show mercy to you.
Therefore, let prayer, mercy and fasting be one single plea to God on our behalf, one speech in our defence, a threefold united prayer in our favour.
Let us use fasting to make up for what we have lost by despising others. Let us offer our souls in sacrifice by means of fasting. There is nothing more pleasing that we can offer to God, as the psalmist said in prophecy: A sacrifice to God is a broken spirit; God does not despise a bruised and humbled heart.
Offer your soul to God, make him an oblation of your fasting, so that your soul may be a pure offering, a holy sacrifice, a living victim, remaining your own and at the same time made over to God. Whoever fails to give this to God will not be excused, for if you are to give him yourself you are never without the means of giving.
To make these acceptable, mercy must be added. Fasting bears no fruit unless it is watered by mercy. Fasting dries up when mercy dries up. Mercy is to fasting as rain is to earth. However much you may cultivate your heart, clear the soil of your nature, root out vices, sow virtues, if you do not release the springs of mercy, your fasting will bear no fruit.
When you fast, if your mercy is thin your harvest will be thin; when you fast, what you pour out in mercy overflows into your barn. Therefore, do not lose by saving, but gather in by scattering. Give to the poor, and you give to yourself. You will not be allowed to keep what you have refused to give to others.
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‘Death,’ says His Grace, ‘throws it all apart. For we are not as we should be. Faith requires our adjustment to God’s truth. God’s triumph in a very real sense requires in us the loss of our everything. Which, as with Mary at the other end of Jesus’s life, is God’s truth.’ The Gospel reading is of John 11: 1-45, which is a long passage, and His Grace’s homiletic theme commences in textual wilderness. Our brokenness – in this place – a family home. Our faith, our doubt, our death… The irruption – death, doubt, fear – within our precious scenes and our most intimate places. Our domesticity. His Grace speaks from the chair, as is a bishop’s prerogative, and says: ‘So much is obscure in the Gospels. We’re always reaching through them. We’re never there. Really, we never are. Our knowledge, our understanding, of the Gospels is never complete, and with each reading comes a new revelation. There are always new riches there. Just as there are between all of us, between myself and you. The Gospels are living texts. This is a part of the conversation we have with our own Christianity. It is a part of who we are in our relationship with Jesus. We are in this sense always on the brink. ‘So yes, there is plenty that doesn’t seem to make sense. As one of the order of bishops, we would be lying if we said that weren’t the case. They are not easy texts to encounter, if by that word we may signify something more than a superficial glancing off against, but rather a profound search for the word of God. The Gospels are written by people who had their own ideas, and often didn’t know what had really happened. Luke is quite explicit on this point. His is an investigation, from the explicitly claimed point of view of an historian, rather than that of a first-hand witness, who attempts, so he says, to set out an orderly account, out of the chaos, the sheer muddle, that has been handed down to him. It is possible to imagine Luke researching and composing his account after many years, when there has arisen a desire to know what exactly happened, and this implies a certain call to faith and certain demands of historicity, to historical exactitude. So in these different ways, the people of the first years of Christian faith are in the dark. There is also a decisive need to define the life of Jesus. And people didn’t get Jesus. The whole meaning of Christianity is only now beginning to take root throughout the composition. So much needs to be evangelized. The light shines almost in tentative fashion like that first star, which drew the wise men from the east to our Lord’s cradle. ‘John’s is widely held to be a very late Gospel. There are others who say that John’s Gospel might have been the first to acquire its true shape, because it most fully expresses Jesus, as we know him to be, as members of the Catholic Church. We don’t really know when any of this is being written, but we get a feel in John of a Gospel refined over many years, through a community. So there’s a lot going on there that I’d like you to think about. ‘What I would like to suggest to you is that, while within the Gospels we are often confronted with clues, guesswork, stories that have been handed down through so many people, and so in this sense we might find ourselves to be in the wilderness, this is the very desolate space itself to which we must give ourselves in order to experience Christ’s full redemption in our lives. I suggest it is for God’s glory that we do so. ‘As we become aware of ourselves, in this seminary, we find ourselves in a very secure, comfortable setting, and there are signs of Easter everywhere. Within the very fabric of these buildings, our Lord is risen; our Lord lives. But now this is our Lenten journey, where death enters, where death breaks us. We are to ride into Jerusalem in triumph, and then we are to be utterly broken, all hope gone, our hope extinguished. And really, I suggest to you, it is only by inhabiting this thought, as if we don’t know Easter is there, that our new life can follow, just when we have given up all hope, when every promise that Jesus made to us seems to have been cancelled. ‘And here now we have the story of Lazarus. I should like to suggest to you that we have a very powerful call now. In our very comfortable space, our domesticity, with all this comfort, where so very little might seem to happen each day, so it might seem to you, there is a disturbance within all of this comfort, and that is a disturbance within ourselves, and that is our call to Jesus. I think it is correct to say that our most comfortable places break in the light of Jesus from the inside, in order that we may take the necessary steps to be with Jesus. ‘Faith is not comfortable. I think that we can all receive the message of the rolling away of the rock from the tomb of Lazarus to say something of vital importance to ourselves concerning our openness to God’s love. The rock we roll away can come in all sorts of guises, but we know when we are blocked, and I firmly believe if we are truthful then we know where those blocks might be. ‘Next Sunday, which will be Palm Sunday, we process as it were to Jerusalem, to begin our Holy Week. Now as I speak to you we are on the brink. Even now, I suggest it might be very good for all of us to lay aside what we think we know, to fall apart a little, and so […]
