Wednesday in the 34th Week of Ordinary Time, November 26, 2025
Luke 21, 12-19
Jesus said to the crowd: “They will seize and persecute you, they will hand you over to the synagogues and to prisons, and they will have you led before kings and governors because of my name. It will lead to your giving testimony. Remember, you are not to prepare your defense beforehand, for I myself shall give you a wisdom in speaking that all your adversaries will be powerless to resist or refute. You will even be handed over by parents, brothers, relatives, and friends, and they will put some of you to death. You will be hated by all because of my name, but not a hair on your head will be destroyed. By your perseverance you will secure your lives.”
There is a certain solemn tenderness in Christ’s voice when he speaks about persecution. He does not thunder; He does not threaten. Instead, he opens his disciples’ eyes to the truth of what it means to follow him in a world that resists grace. The scene in Luke’s Gospel comes just after Jesus has praised the widow who gave all she had — a moment of pure and beautiful surrender. Immediately after that small, luminous story, Jesus turns to the coming trials. It is as though he is saying: “Do not be afraid when the world does not understand you. You belong to me, and I see everything.”
The Lord begins with plain honesty: “They will seize and persecute you.” There is no romantic gloss here. The Christian life is not an escape from trouble, nor a hiding place from conflict. It is a road that eventually brings the disciple into the places where the world most resists God. From the earliest Apostles to the quiet believers of our own day, anyone who seriously tries to live the Gospel will collide with the interior and exterior forces that push against the light. Even those who have never faced open persecution know this in a quieter way: the pressure to remain silent, to avoid speaking the name of Christ, to soften our witness for fear of being judged, dismissed, or excluded.
Yet Jesus sees further than the fear, and he interprets the suffering through the lens of God’s purposes: “It will lead to your giving testimony.” What looks like disaster becomes mission. What appears as accusation becomes proclamation. The world thinks it is silencing the Church, but in God’s plan, the very moment of pressure becomes the moment of witness. In the Acts of the Apostles, prison doors open, governors hear the Gospel, and hearts are converted not despite suffering but through it.
And then Jesus gives one of the most astonishing promises in the Gospel: “You are not to prepare your defense beforehand.” This does not mean Christians should be careless or uninformed, but rather that when the crucial moment comes, our safety does not lie in rhetorical skill or clever reasoning. Our security lies in the Lord himself. We forget how near he is — how present, how intimately involved in the life of the believer. He is not merely watching from heaven; he is speaking through his disciples with his own voice: “I myself shall give you a wisdom in speaking.” This is not just assistance. It is participation. Christ speaks in his martyrs. Christ breathes in his confessors. Christ strengthens those who stand in his name.
And yet Jesus does not hide the human cost. Some, he says, will be betrayed by their own families. Some will be put to death. The Gospel does not spare us from the painful truth that love for Christ can divide even households, not because Christ desires division, but because human hearts are free either to welcome or reject his grace. The cost of discipleship can cut into the closest bonds. But even here, Jesus speaks with the tenderness of One who knows suffering from the inside. He himself was betrayed, abandoned, denied, and finally killed. He never asks of His disciples anything he was unwilling to bear first.
Then comes the mystery: “You will be hated by all because of my name, but not a hair on your head will be destroyed.” How can both be true? Christians have indeed lost their lives for Christ. So what does Jesus mean? He means that the world can wound the body, but it cannot touch the soul surrendered to God. It can take life, but not destroy it. The disciple’s life is ultimately held in the hands of the Father. Even death — the last and deepest fear — becomes a door into the kingdom.
Finally, Jesus gives the key to everything He has said: “By your perseverance you will secure your lives.” The Christian vocation is not brilliance, nor popularity, nor worldly success. It is perseverance — steady, faithful endurance in Christ. A heart that holds firm through trials becomes a vessel capable of eternal life. Perseverance does not mean stoic self-reliance. It means remaining in the Lord who remains with us. It is the slow, strong virtue that matures in us through daily fidelity, through steadfast hope, through quiet trust in the God who never abandons his own.
In the end, perseverance is simply the decision to stay near Jesus — in joy and in pain, in clarity and in darkness, in triumph and in apparent defeat. And when we do, He fulfills his promise: not a hair of our head is lost, and our lives are secured in the Heart of the One who has conquered death.