The grace of becoming little in order to become wise

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

The Lord's words that we have just heard in the Gospel passage challenge us as theologians or, perhaps better, invite us to make an examination of conscience. What is theology? What is our role as theologians? How can theology be done well?

We have heard that our Lord praises the Father because he concealed the great mystery of the Son — the Trinitarian mystery, the Christological mystery — from the wise and the learned, from those who did not recognize him. Instead he revealed it to children, the nèpioi, to those who are not learned, who are not very cultured. It was to them that this great mystery was revealed.

With these words the Lord describes in simple terms an episode in his life that already began at the time of his birth, when the Magi from the East ask those who are competent — the scribes, the exegetes — where the birthplace of the Saviour, of the King of Israel, is located. The scribes know because they are great specialists; they can say immediately where the Messiah is born: in Bethlehem! But they do not feel it concerns them. For them it remains academic knowledge that does not affect their lives; they stay away. They can provide information, but they do not assimilate it and it has no part in the formation of their own lives.

Then throughout the Lord's public life we encounter the same thing. It is beyond the learned to comprehend that this man, a Galilean who is not educated, can truly be the Son of God. It is unacceptable to them that God — the great, the one, the God of Heaven and earth — could be present in this man. They know everything, they know all of the great prophecies; they even know Isaiah 53, but the mystery remains hidden to them. Instead it is revealed to the lowly, starting from Our Lady to the fishermen of the Sea of Galilee. They know, just as the Roman centurion beneath the Cross knew: this is the Son of God.

The basic events of Jesus' life do not only belong to the past but are also present in various ways to all generations. And thus also in our time — in the past 200 years — we see the same thing. There have been great scholars, great experts, great theologians, teachers of faith who have taught us many things. They have gone into the details of Sacred Scripture, of the history of salvation but have been unable to see the mystery itself, its central nucleus: that Jesus was really the Son of God, that at a given moment in history the Trinitarian God entered our history, as a man like us.

The essential has remained hidden! One could easily mention the great names in the history of theology over the past 200 years from whom we have learned much; but the eyes of their hearts were not open to the mystery.

On the other hand, in our time there have also been "little ones" who have understood this mystery. Let us think of St Bernadette Soubirous; of St Thérèse of Lisieux, with her new interpretation of the Bible that is "non-scientific" but goes to the heart of Sacred Scripture; of the saints and blessed of our time: St Josephine Bakhita, Bl. Teresa of Calcutta and St Damien de Veuster. We could list so many!

But from all this the question arises: "Why should this be so?". Is Christianity the religion of the foolish, of people with no culture or who are uneducated? Is faith extinguished where reason is kindled? How can this be explained? Perhaps we should take another look at history. What Jesus said, what can be noted in all the centuries, is true. Nevertheless, there is a "type" of lowly person who is also learned. Our Lady stood beneath the Cross, the humble handmaid of the Lord and the great woman illumined by God. And John was there too, a fisherman from the Sea of Galilee. He is the John whom the Church was rightly to call "the theologian", for he was really able to see the mystery of God and proclaim it: eagled-eyed he entered into the inaccessible light of the divine mystery.

So it was too that after his Resurrection, the Lord, on the road to Damascus, touches the heart of Saul, one of those learned people who cannot see. He himself, in his First Letter to Timothy, writes that he was "acting ignorantly" at that time, despite his knowledge. But the Risen One touches him: he is blinded. Yet at the same time, he truly gains sight; he begins to see. The great scholar becomes a "little one" and for this very reason perceives the folly of God as wisdom, a wisdom far greater than all human wisdom.