Where Is My Real Library?
Today’s homily asked a question that landed more deeply than I expected:
Am I the axe that thinks it is the woodcutter?
The first reading presents the king of Assyria boasting in his own power:
“By my own power I have done it,
and by my wisdom, for I am shrewd.”
He speaks as though every victory came from himself. There is no gratitude, no acknowledgment of God, no awareness that even his strength, intelligence, and opportunity were gifts.
Then comes the piercing image:
“Will the axe boast against him who hews with it?”
The axe truly cuts. Its edge matters. Its movement is real. But it does not lift itself. It does not choose the tree. It does not supply the strength behind the blow.
That image forced me to examine my own life.
Where have I assumed that movement meant success?
Where have I believed that because I recognized something, planned something, endured something, or accomplished something, the glory belonged to me?
Where have I forgotten to thank God?
Our Gifts Are Good
Christian humility does not mean pretending we have no talents.
God gave us minds, abilities, personalities, creativity, strength, and intelligence. As the priest said in the homily, God delights when we use the minds He gave us.
The problem is not intelligence.
The problem is forgetting the source.
Our gifts become disordered when they turn inward and begin serving pride, self-sufficiency, control, or the need to prove ourselves. But when they are properly ordered, those same gifts become praise.
The mind can glorify God.
Work can glorify God.
Creativity can glorify God.
Study can glorify God.
Even ordinary competence can become thanksgiving when we remember:
I am using what God first gave me.
The axe is not degraded by admitting there is a woodcutter. It finally understands the meaning of its movement.
Saint Bonaventure’s Library
The homily then told the traditional story of Saint Thomas Aquinas visiting Saint Bonaventure.
Thomas, one of the greatest theologians in the history of the Church, wanted to know the source of Bonaventure’s wisdom. He asked to see his library.
Bonaventure did not point to shelves of books.
He pointed to a crucifix.
That answer is almost humorous in its simplicity.
Thomas asks, in effect, “Where did you learn all this?”
Bonaventure answers:
Look at Him.
Not because books are useless.
Not because Scripture is unimportant.
Not because study has no value.
But because all Christian knowledge must eventually kneel before the Cross.
The Cross is the place where wisdom becomes visible.
There we see power without domination.
Truth without cruelty.
Suffering without hatred.
Obedience without servility.
Love without self-protection.
The crucifix reveals what no credential, achievement, or human system can fully explain.
It reveals the heart of God.
I Expected the Answer to Be a Book
That may be what struck me most.
I expected the story to end with the Bible, Scripture, or some great theological work.
Instead, Bonaventure pointed to Christ crucified.
That correction matters.
We can read endlessly, gather information, study theology, listen to homilies, and fill our minds with good things. But Christian wisdom is not simply knowing more.
It is learning how to stand before God.
The Gospel says that the mysteries of the Kingdom are revealed not merely to the clever, but to the little ones.
Childlike faith is not ignorance.
It is receptivity.
It is the willingness to say:
“Lord, teach me what I cannot master.”
The learned person can still be a little one.
The intelligent person can still kneel.
The gifted person can still receive everything as gift.
The Psalms Teach Us How to Pray
This has also connected with a lesson I have been learning through praise.
We often think we already know how to pray.
We know how to ask.
We know how to explain.
We know how to complain.
We know how to tell God what is wrong.
But sometimes we do not know how to say thank You.
The Psalms teach us.
They give us words when gratitude feels too vague. They show us how to praise, lament, repent, trust, wait, and rejoice.
It is as though God says:
“Bring Me everything, but let Me teach you how to bring it.”
The Psalms do not deny suffering. Many begin in distress.
But they repeatedly lead the soul toward remembrance:
This hurts, but I remember who You are.
That remembrance changes prayer.
Complaint becomes lament.
Lament becomes trust.
Trust becomes praise.
Praise becomes rest.
God does not shame us for not knowing how to pray well. He gives us the words.
That is mercy.
There Is Room for Us With God
One of the most beautiful things I am beginning to understand is how much room there is for us with God.
He is not asking us to stop being human.
He is not threatened by our intelligence, emotion, personality, work, or creativity.
He asks that all of it be brought into right order.
There is room with God for intelligence without pride.
Emotion without slavery.
Sorrow without despair.
Joy without grasping.
Work without self-glorification.
Silence without fear.
Weakness without shame.
Holiness is not becoming less human so that God will accept us.
It is becoming fully human with Him.
The Cross Is the Real Library
Lately, I have been learning to sit with God more quietly.
To praise instead of immediately complaining.
To stop forcing interpretations.
To stop believing that every open door must be walked through.
To stop assuming that movement itself proves I am going in the right direction.
An old note from earlier in my conversion said:
All doors are open.
At the time, I thought that sounded wise.
Now I see the missing center.
A door may be open and still not be mine.
A door may be possible but not prudent.
A door may teach me something simply because God asks me to look inside and then turn around.
Knowledge may open a door.
Only humility can walk through it rightly.
And Christ does not merely show us the road.
He says:
“I am the way.”
That is why the Cross remains the real library.
We may read many books, gain knowledge, develop skill, and use every gift God has given us.
But when we reach the deepest shelf, we find a crucifix.
And the lesson remains the same:
Look at Him.
Wednesday Formation
This week, the examination is simple:
Where have I acted like the axe was the woodcutter?
Where have I used God’s gifts without remembering God?
Where have I mistaken intelligence for wisdom?
Where have I complained when I could have praised?
Where is my real library?
The answer is not to stop thinking, working, studying, building, or creating.
The answer is to return every gift to its source.
To use the mind God gave us.
To receive the words of the Psalms.
To remain little before Him.
And to let the Cross teach us what no achievement ever can.
I may know something, but I am not the source.
I may act, but I am not the sovereign.
I may open a door, but Christ must lead me through it.
I may be the axe, but God is the One who gives the strength.