Thursday in the Third Week of Ordinary Time, January 29, 2026

Mark 4, 21-25

Jesus said to his disciples, “Is a lamp brought in to be placed under a bushel basket or under a bed, and not to be placed on a lampstand? For there is nothing hidden except to be made visible; nothing is secret except to come to light. Anyone who has ears to hear ought to hear.” He also told them, “Take care what you hear. The measure with which you measure will be measured out to you, and still more will be given to you. To the one who has, more will be given; from the one who has not, even what he has will be taken away.”

This short passage from Mark comes immediately after the parable of the sower, and it assumes that something decisive has already taken place: the word has been given. The question now is not whether God speaks, but what becomes of what has been heard.

Jesus begins with an image so ordinary that it almost resists interpretation: a lamp. In the ancient world, a lamp existed for one reason only — to give light. To bring a lamp into a house and then hide it under a basket or a bed would not merely be strange; it would contradict the lamp’s very purpose. The image is not about moralistic at first. It is about purpose: a lamp is for light.

So too the word of God. It is not given as a private possession, nor as a decorative object to be admired, nor as a secret code to be hoarded. It is given to give light. And if it is hidden, that hiding  cannot be its final state: “There is nothing hidden except to be made visible; nothing is secret except to come to light.” This is not a threat although to some it may sound like one. Instead, it is a statement about how reality works. Light presses outward. Truth moves toward being made known. What God reveals does not remain unmoving.

Yet Jesus immediately adds a warning: “Anyone who has ears to hear ought to hear.” Hearing, in the Gospel, is never automatic. Sound may strike the ear, but understanding requires consent. The ear must be attentive, receptive, willing to be changed by what it receives. This is why Jesus does not say, “Take care what you say,” but “Take care what you hear.” The danger lies not only in speaking falsely, but in listening carelessly.

What we allow ourselves to hear shapes us. Words do not simply pass through us; they lodge. They take root. They form habits of thought and expectation. To hear the word of God inattentively is not a neutral act. It dulls the ear. It trains the soul to treat revelation as background noise. And once that habit forms, even what was once clear begins to fade.

That is why Jesus introduces the image of measure: “The measure with which you measure will be measured out to you — and still more will be given to you.” Measure here is not quantity, but disposition. It refers to the interior openness with which one receives what is given. A narrow measure — careless listening, selective obedience, half-attention — receives little, even if much is offered. A generous measure — reverent listening, patient reflection, willingness to act — receives more than it expects.

This is not because God withholds arbitrarily, but because the soul itself expands or contracts according to how it listens. Attention enlarges the heart. Neglect shrinks it.

This explains the hard saying that follows: “To the one who has, more will be given; from the one who has not, even what he has will be taken away.” Jesus is not praising accumulation or condemning poverty. He is describing a spiritual law. What is used grows. What is neglected decays. Faith exercised deepens. Faith ignored thins out. Light welcomed becomes brighter. Light avoided dims.

This is why the Gospel never treats revelation as static. The word of God is alive: “The word of God is living and effectual” (Hebrews 4, 12). At the same time it does not force itself. It waits for a listener who will place the lamp on a stand — not by drawing attention to himself, but by allowing the light to do what light does: make things visible. Often that light first reveals disorder, clutter, or dust. That is uncomfortable. But it is also merciful. Only what is seen can be set right.

Taken together, this passage calls for a very specific posture: responsible hearing. Not curiosity alone. Not emotional reaction. Not admiration from a distance. But a kind of listening that accepts consequences. If I hear, I will be changed. If I hear, I will be entrusted with more. If I refuse to hear, I will slowly lose even the clarity I once had.

In that sense, the lamp is already lit. The only question is whether we are willing to let it stand where it belongs — exposed, illuminating, and quietly doing its work.