Whoever does not take up their cross is not worthy of me. Whoever welcomes you welcomes me (Mt 10:37-42)

Gospel of Jesus Christ according to Saint Matthew

Matthew 10:37–42

³⁷Anyone who loves their father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; anyone who loves their son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me. ³⁸Whoever does not take up his cross and follow me is not worthy of me. ³⁹Whoever saves their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life for my sake will save it. ⁴⁰Whoever receives you receives me, and whoever receives me receives the one who feels me. ⁴¹He who receives a prophet in the capacity of a prophet will receive a prophet's reward, and he who receives a righteous person in the capacity of a righteous person will receive a righteous person's reward. ⁴²And whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones because he is one of my disciples, truly I tell you, he will by no means lose his reward.»

At that time, Jesus said to his Apostles: «Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me. Whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me. Whoever does not take up their cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Whoever finds their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life for my sake will find it. Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. Whoever welcomes a prophet because he is a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward, and whoever welcomes a righteous person because he is righteous will receive a righteous person’s reward. And whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones because he is my disciple—truly I tell you, he will certainly not lose his reward.»

Losing one's life to find it: the disciple's startling logic

When Jesus redefines love, the cross, and reward at the heart of the apostolic mission

There are words of Jesus that make you tremble. Not with a pleasant tremor—more like the tremor of someone receiving a truth too great and too sharp to be absorbed all at once. «Whoever finds their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life for my sake will find it.» This is the kind of sentence that leaves you breathless. This passage from Matthew 10, often heard in Sunday liturgy without being fully explored, is actually one of the high points of Jesus’ missionary discourse. It touches on everything: filial love, the cross, the identity of the disciple, welcoming others, and even a glass of cold water. Yes, a simple glass of water. This article is for anyone seeking to understand what following Jesus truly means—not in theory, but in the flesh of everyday life.

We will begin by situating this text within its literary and missionary context in Matthew. Then we will analyze its structure and internal tensions, particularly the paradoxical logic of life lost and found. Next, we will explore three major themes: the Christocentric radicalism of attachment, the theology of the cross as a path and not as a crushing force, and finally, the chain of welcome that connects the small glass of water to the Father himself. We will conclude with patristic and spiritual resonances, concrete suggestions for meditation, and a prayer that attempts to express in human terms what this text demands of us.

The Great Missionary Speech: Contextualizing the Excerpt

To understand Matthew 10:37-42, we must go back to the beginning of chapter 10. Matthew presents Jesus sending his twelve apostles on a mission. This is the Lord's second major discourse in this first Gospel—after the Sermon on the Mount (chapters 5 to 7). Whereas the Sermon on the Mount defines the inner conditions of life in the Kingdom, the missionary discourse of chapter 10 defines its external, relational, and conflictual conditions.

Matthew writes for a Jewish-Christian community in turmoil. The first recipients of this Gospel lived in a time—probably between 80 and 90 CE—when the separation between the synagogue and the Christian community was already complete or in the process of becoming so. They experienced rejection, family division caused by faith, and the risk of being «sheep among wolves» (Mt 10:16). This context is crucial: Jesus is not speaking from a comfortable pulpit to a tranquil audience. He is preparing men and women for the cost of proclaiming the Gospel.

The passage we are studying (Mt 10:37-42) comes at the final juncture of this discourse. The preceding verses (Mt 10:34-36) have already set the tone: «I did not come to bring peace, but a sword.» Jesus had just quoted the prophet Micah (Mic 7:6) to say that faith can divide even the most united families. This is not an incitement to family breakdown, but a clear-eyed observation: wherever the Gospel penetrates, it reveals attachments, loyalties, and hidden priorities. And sometimes, it creates fractures where everything was thought to be solid.

It is in this tense atmosphere that our passage emerges. Jesus moves from diagnosis (the potential division) to demand (the necessary choice), then to promise (the certain reward). The progression is remarkable: we move from the cost of the mission to its fruit, from renunciation to fullness, from the cross to acceptance. And this progression is not linear—it is dialectical, almost musical, with tensions that are resolved only at a higher level.

The Alleluia, borrowed from the First Letter of Peter (1 Peter 2:9), which liturgically frames this passage, adds a fundamental dimension: «Chosen offspring, royal priesthood, holy nation.» Peter here echoes the categories of Exodus (Exodus 19:6) to emphasize that the community of disciples is not a club of enthusiastic volunteers, but a people summoned by God, a vocation received, a dignity bestowed. This verse from 1 Peter is like the hermeneutical keystone of the whole: while Matthew 10 demands, 1 Peter 2 reminds us that the demand does not fall upon isolated individuals, but upon a people already loved, already chosen, already called from darkness to light. We give what we have received. We journey toward what we already are.

The structure of the passage: a three-story architecture

A text structured like a staircase

At first glance, Matthew 10:37-42 may seem like a collection of disparate sentences. But upon closer examination, an architecture emerges—robust, intentional, and pedagogically effective.

First floor: the requirement of directed love (vv. 37-38)

Jesus first raises the question of loyalty. He uses a radical comparison: "more than I." He doesn't say "you shouldn't love your parents" or "family has no value." He says: if you love them more than me, You are not worthy of me. The Hebrew underlying this type of expression—which the Gospel writers sometimes translate differently—often refers to a prioritization of values rather than absolute exclusion. Luke, in his parallel version (Lk 14:26), uses the verb "to hate"—a Semitic form of hyperbole meaning "to prefer less." Matthew softens the expression but retains the essence: love for Christ must be the primary love, the one that governs all others.

Then comes the cross. «Whoever does not take up their cross and follow me is not worthy of me.» This is one of the first occurrences of the word «cross» in the Gospels—and it precedes the Passion. Matthew and his readers know what the cross means in concrete terms: the Roman instrument of execution, the punishment reserved for non-citizens, slaves, and rebels. Jesus is not speaking metaphorically of a cold or a difficult neighbor. He is speaking of a death accepted out of love.

Second floor: the paradox of life (v. 39)

This is the theological heart of the passage. «Whoever finds their life will lose it; whoever loses their life for my sake will find it.» In Greek, the word used is psyche — which can be translated as «soul,» «life,» «self.» This paradox is attested in all four Gospels in slightly different forms (Mark 8:35; Luke 9:24; John 12:25), making it one of the logia The best-attested passages in the Synoptic tradition. Jesus says something extraordinarily subversive for any culture, any era: clinging to oneself, protecting oneself, preserving oneself—that is precisely what destroys. But giving oneself, taking risks, committing oneself—that is where life springs forth.

Third floor: the welcoming chain and the reward (vv. 40-42)

The tone shifts. We move from the realm of demands to that of promises. Jesus establishes a remarkable chain: welcoming a disciple is welcoming Jesus. Welcoming Jesus is welcoming the One who sent him. Welcoming a prophet is receiving a prophet's reward. And finally—the discreet culmination of the passage—giving a simple glass of water to one of these little ones means not losing one's reward. The chain extends down to the smallest of things. And the smallest is transfigured.

Loving Rightly: Christocentrism as a Reorientation of All Love

The Cross of Love Reordered

Here's what might be jarring about this text: Jesus seems to be asking for a kind of coldness towards those we love most. Parents, children—the people closest to our hearts. Is he really saying that we should love them less?

No. But he said something even more difficult.

Human love, left to its own devices, tends to close in on itself. Filial love can become possessive. Parental love can become suffocating. Marital love can become exclusive in the worst sense of the word. These loves are beautiful—with a real beauty, given by God. But they need to be guided, permeated, and ordered by a greater love to become fully themselves. This is where the Christocentrism of Jesus comes into play.

When Jesus says "more than me," he isn't claiming a place on some emotional podium. He's saying something fundamental: if you love me first, then you can love others with God's freedom—without possessiveness, without fear, without needing them to fill what only God can. Christ-directed love doesn't diminish other loves; it liberates them from their bondage.

Think of a parent who loves their children "more than anything." This isn't automatically a good thing. It can mean that they live vicariously through them, that they place a burden on them that they shouldn't have to carry, that they are unable to let them go. Now imagine that same parent whose primary love is God: they can love their children with true generosity, without using them to fill their own voids. This is the logic of Jesus. Christ-centered love doesn't diminish human love—it heals it.

The dignity of the disciple

Jesus uses the expression "not worthy of me" three times (Mt 10:37-38). This repetition is deliberate. It creates a solemn rhythm, like a litany that lays out the conditions of belonging. But note: "worthy" (in Greek axios) does not mean "to deserve" in the sense of a successful performance. It refers to the idea of being in accordance with, or corresponding to, something. A weight worthy of a scale is a weight that corresponds exactly to what is being measured.

To be worthy of Jesus is to be in harmony with him—in our choices, in our life's direction, in our priorities. It's not an impossibly high moral standard; it's an invitation to consistency. And this consistency isn't produced by our efforts alone. That's precisely why 1 Peter 2:9 precedes: "A chosen people, a royal priesthood." We don't become worthy through performance—we are already chosen, and we are called to live according to this dignity we have received.

The dignity of the disciple is first and foremost a grace. Jesus' demands do not fall upon poor humans left to their own devices. They fall upon the called, the chosen, the beloved. This changes everything.

Taking up one's cross: a theology of living consent

The cross is not an accident

One of the most widespread errors in popular spirituality is to confuse "cross" with "involuntary trials." As if Jesus were saying, "When things go wrong in your life, that's your cross, accept it." There's some truth to that, but it's not the primary meaning.

Jesus said, «He who takes his cross" — the verb is active. One takes The cross. We do not suffer it. There is an act of will, a free consent, a decision to embrace something heavy not because we cannot do otherwise, but because we choose to love to the end.

In the historical context of Jesus, the image of the condemned man carrying his cross to the place of execution was a reality his listeners could visualize. They didn't need a metaphor to understand: he was speaking of someone walking toward their own death with the wood of their execution on their shoulders. Choosing this—or at least consenting to it out of love—is the heart of the apostolic logic.

But this cross is not an end in itself. That would be masochistic. The cross is a path — a path that leads somewhere. And the destination is not annihilation, but resurrection. The disciple takes up his cross and follows me — Follow-through is inseparable. We walk behind someone who went through there before us, and who came out alive.

Paradoxical loss as the foundation of life

«"Whoever finds their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life for my sake will find it."»

This verse (Mt 10:39) is probably one of the densest formulations in the entire New Testament. It contains in a single sentence a complete anthropology, a soteriology, and a mysticism.

First, let's consider anthropology: human beings are driven by a desire for self-preservation, self-protection, and building their lives on something stable. This desire is natural; it is not inherently bad. But when it becomes the central driving force of existence—when everything revolves around "finding my life," securing it, controlling it—then, paradoxically, that life shrinks, ossifies, and is lost.

Then there's soteriology: "because of me." The loss Jesus speaks of is not just any loss. It's not asceticism for asceticism's sake, nor sacrifice for sacrifice's sake. It's a willingly accepted loss. for someone, out of love for a person. This is where Christian spirituality radically distinguishes itself from all forms of nihilism or stoicism: one does not lose oneself in nothingness, one loses oneself in Someone.

Finally, the mysticism: "will keep it." The Greek verb sōzō The word used here is the same one that means "to save." He who loses his life because of Christ—the save. There is a fullness of being that can only be attained through this paradoxical passage. Like a grain of wheat that must die to bear fruit (Jn 12:24 — John will remember this), like a river that can only reach the sea by flowing into something greater than itself.

A concrete example: someone who gives up a brilliant career to care for a sick relative—"loses their life" in the worldly sense. But something within them is fulfilled, deepened, opened to a dimension that no amount of professional success could have provided. This isn't an automatic rule or a spiritual calculation. It's a mystery. But it's a mystery that many have experienced.

The chain of hospitality: from the grand to the small, from Father to the glass of water

The mystical reciprocity of hospitality

The last part of our text (Mt 10:40-42) effects a radical shift in the center of gravity. We move from the intimate (family ties) to the external (reception of the other), and we discover that these two dimensions are in reality two sides of the same coin.

«"Whoever welcomes you welcomes me; and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me."»

This sentence constructs what theologians call a "chain of representation." The apostles are sent in the name of Jesus. They do not speak in their own name. They carry someone else. And this other—Jesus—is himself the one sent by the Father. Thus, to welcome a disciple is to welcome a divine presence in a chain of representation that goes back to the source of all things.

This has immense practical implications. It means that the way we receive—or reject—a witness to the Gospel says something about how we receive God himself. This is not a comfortable metaphor: it is a spiritual reality that Jesus states with almost legal precision. Welcoming the messenger is welcoming the message, which is welcoming the Messenger, which is welcoming the Father.

The prophet, the righteous one, the little one

Jesus then expanded this principle into three categories: the prophet, the righteous person, and "one of these little ones." This is not by chance. We descend an apparent hierarchy—from the prophet (charismatic figure, public speaker) to the righteous person (moral figure, exemplary life) to the little one (marginal figure, without title or prestige). And the promise of reward is attached to each.

But it is on "one of these little ones" that Jesus places the ultimate emphasis. "Truly I tell you, he will by no means lose his reward." The double emphasis ("amen" + the emphatic negation) signals that this is the crucial point. A glass of cool water. A basic, almost instinctive gesture. Not a sermon, not a charitable foundation, not a heroic sacrifice. A glass of water. Given to someone humble, in his capacity as a disciple.

The condition is important: «in his capacity as a disciple.» This is not an abstract act of philanthropy—it is an act performed in recognition of the other person’s belonging to Christ. We give someone a glass of water because we recognize them as a bearer of Christ, even if they are poor, unknown, or unremarkable. This is the quiet culmination of the entire theology of welcome in this text.

From the big to the small: the silent revolution

This downward movement—from the Father to Christ, from Christ to the apostles, from the apostles to the prophet, from the prophet to the righteous, from the righteous to the lowly—is itself a revelation of the nature of God. God is not only above. He is also below. He is in the small glass of water. He is in the insignificant person I pass by during my week and whom I might very well not even notice.

Matthew returns to this theme with even greater force in chapter 25, in the parable of the Last Judgment: «Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me» (Matthew 25:40). The connection between the two texts is clear and deliberate. Chapter 10 plants the seed; chapter 25 harvests it.

What's fascinating is that this logic overturns any hierarchy of value. In our world, what counts is the grand gesture, the visible sacrifice, the noisy gift. Jesus says: the glass of cold water counts too. It will not lose its reward. There are no "small gestures" in the Kingdom—there are only gestures performed or not performed with love, in recognition of the other as a bearer of Christ.

Living this text today

In family life

The question of the priority of love posed in Matthew 10:37 is immediately relevant to anyone in a family relationship. It invites an honest re-examination: who guides my life? Who or what is my magnetic north?

This is not an invitation to be careless with one's family. It is an invitation to love with God's freedom—without love for another becoming a dependency, a pressure, or an instrument of control. A father or mother who has found their anchor in God can let their children go without smothering them with love. A grown child whose first love is Christ can care for their aging parents without being consumed by guilt or resentment.

It is about restoring human love to its rightful place: beautiful, important, sacred — but not absolute.

In professional and social life

The logic of "losing one's life to keep it" (Mt 10:39) is a revolution in the world of work and social engagement. It invites us to distinguish between success, which is built by accumulating, and fruitfulness, which is built by giving.

In concrete terms: does my work serve something greater than myself? Am I capable of investing myself in a project without seeking all the glory? Can I work for the good of a community, an institution, a Church, without first asking myself what I gain from it?

The logic of the disciple is that of prior giving — not the calculation of profit, but the logic of the seed sown in the ground.

In ecclesial and missionary life

The chain of welcome in Matthew 10:40-42 has direct implications for the life of Christian communities. Does my parish, my prayer group, my religious community—truly welcome? Do we welcome the unknown prophet who brings a disturbing message? Do we welcome the righteous person who lives differently? Do we welcome the humble person who brings nothing outwardly?

The water glass test is universal and implacable: it does not concern major institutional decisions, but ordinary gestures of attention, recognition, and presence.

Echoes in tradition: from Paul to the mystics

Paul and the apostolic kenosis

The Apostle Paul lived Matthew 10:39 even before Matthew committed it to writing. His letter to the Philippians is the best illustration of this: «I consider all these things rubbish, that I may gain Christ» (Philippians 3:8). Paul literally lost his former life—his career as a brilliant Pharisee, his reputation, his certainties—in order to «keep» it in Christ. His apostleship is not about managing a religious career; it is a permanent kenosis, an emptying of self that becomes fullness.

In 2 Corinthians 4:7-12, Paul goes even further: «We have this treasure in earthen vessels.» The treasure of the Gospel shines only in broken vessels—and that’s intentional. Because that’s where we see that the power is not human, but divine.

Saint Ignatius of Antioch and the crushed grain

Ignatius of Antioch, a martyr at the beginning of the 2nd century, took the logic of the cross to its ultimate conclusion. In his letter to the Romans, he begs the Roman community not to intervene to save him from martyrdom: «I am God’s wheat, and I must be crushed by beasts to become the pure bread of Christ.» This is Matthew 10:39 lived out in the flesh. Ignatius «found his life» in Christ to such an extent that he could allow himself to be lost in his biological state.

This is not fanaticism—it is the logic of the grain of wheat taken to its ultimate conclusion. And the fruit is us: we who read his letter twenty centuries later.

Thérèse of Lisieux and the "little way"«

Teresa of Avila and Thérèse of Lisieux represent two complementary variations on our text. But it is the little Thérèse who is most useful to us here, because she made of Mt 10:42 — the glass of cool water — a complete spiritual program.

His "little way" is precisely this: the conviction that small acts done with great love are as precious in God's eyes as great, heroic deeds. Joyfully picking up a pin, gently bearing with an annoying sister, smiling when one feels like complaining—these are his "glasses of cool water." And Jesus said, "He will not lose his reward."«

This spirituality is neither naive nor patronizing. It is founded on a precise and profound reading of the Gospel: greatness lies not in spectacular gestures, but in the love that animates them. And this love can inspire the simplest actions as well as the most heroic.

The patristic tradition: Origen and the hierarchy of hospitality

Origen, in his commentary on Matthew, dwells at length on Matthew 10:40-42. He sees in the chain of welcome a revelation of the nature of the Mystical Body of Christ. To welcome the disciple is to welcome Christ—but Christ is also in the disciple. Here, Origen develops a pneumatology of welcome: it is the Spirit present in the believer who is recognized and received in the welcoming of the other.

John Chrysostom, for his part, emphasizes the social and concrete dimension of reward: it is not merely eschatological—it is already present in the act of welcoming itself. Those who welcome a prophet are enriched by the prophet's words. Those who welcome a righteous person are transformed by the righteous person's example. Reward is not separate from the act: it resides within it.

Lectio divina

Meditation prompts

A lectio divina in five parts

Stage 1 — Slow reading. Take Matthew 10:37-42 and read it silently, very slowly. Let each verse sink in. Don't try to understand yet. Just listen.

Stage 2 — Identification. Which verse stops you, resists you, or particularly touches you? Perhaps the "more than I" of parents and children—because it stirs something vivid within you? Perhaps the "losing one's life"—because you wonder what you are losing or keeping? Perhaps the glass of water—because it reminds you of someone to whom you should have given one?

Stage 3 — The confrontation. Ask yourself an honest question: in what area of my life am I "finding my life" in a way that leads to losing it? Where am I clinging to something that should be let go?

Time 4 — The Promise. Read Matthew 10:42 again. «He will not lose his reward.» Let this promise touch you. What small thing have you done recently that you thought was useless or insignificant? Offer it up mentally to the Lord.

Stage 5 — The sending. Before closing your Bible, name one concrete thing you want to do differently in the coming days, in light of this passage. Not a grand plan—just one action. A glass of cool water.

What this text has to say to our world

The challenge of contemporary individualism

Our era values above all personal authenticity, self-fulfillment, and the realization of one's desires. "Be yourself," "take care of yourself," "don't live for others"... These are cultural slogans that contain a grain of truth — but which can also become a form of confinement.

The paradox of Matthew 10:39 is precisely anti-individualistic without being forcedly communitarian. It says: the life you build for yourself, for yourself alone, with yourself as your ultimate horizon—that life is lost. Not because God punishes it, but because human beings are not made to be their own center. They are made for relationship, for giving, for love directed toward someone else.

Contemporary psychology also joins this intuition by a different route: studies on happiness consistently show that the happiest people are not those who have most "realized their self", but those who have given the most — to causes, to people, to a community.

The challenge of families fractured by faith

The reality of family division, as described by Jesus (Mt 10:34-37), is experienced today by thousands of families in which a member has converted, or conversely, has abandoned the faith of their parents. How can we read this text without using it as a weapon—"Jesus said I could be separated from my family for him"?

You have to read carefully. Jesus did not cause not the family division — it predicted as a possible consequence of faith, not as an end in itself. And even within this division, love remains the rule: there is no scorn, no broken relationships, no use of faith as a badge of superiority. The cross of family division, when it arrives, is borne—it is not brandished.

The challenge of secularization: who is "the little guy" today?

In a context of rapid dechristianization, the question of "one of these little ones as a disciple" takes on a new dimension. The disciples of Christ are becoming less and less visible in society. There is sometimes a culture of deliberate invisibility—so as not to cause a disturbance, so as not to draw attention to themselves.

But this text reminds us that being a disciple means being a bearer of Christ for others. And others may welcome us—or not. This reciprocity of welcome presupposes a certain visibility of faith: not a faith displayed, but an embodied, recognizable faith, which allows the other to offer their glass of water "in their capacity as a disciple.".

Prayer: Lord, teach us to lose justly

A prayer echoing Matthew 10:37-42 and 1 Peter 2:9

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Lord Jesus, You call us «chosen offspring», «royal priesthood», «holy nation».

We find it hard to believe. We see ourselves mostly as ordinary people with ordinary loves, ordinary fears, ordinary attachments.

But you're still talking to us. And what you're saying bothers us.

You ask us if we love you more than Our fathers and mothers, more than our sons and daughters. And we answer honestly: we don't always know. There are mornings when we do, and evenings when it's much less certain.

So, Lord, ordain what we love. Do not destroy our loves—heal them of their bondage. Teach us to love our loved ones with the freedom that only your love can give.

You speak to us of the cross. Not as a punishment, but as a path you opened before us. Teach us to bear what we bear not as a destiny endured, but as a consent given out of love.

Where we cling too tightly to our lives, our reputations, our comfort, the image we want to project—come, Lord. Come loose our grip. Teach us to let go just enough so that your life can enter.

You speak to us of those who will welcome us. And of those whom we will welcome. Of the prophet, the righteous one, and of that little one whom we risk not seeing.

Give us eyes to see the little ones. Give us hands free enough to offer a glass of water without thinking about what will be returned.

And if we ourselves are the little ones — the invisible, the untitled, the voiceless — remind us that you said: «No, he will not lose his reward.»

We will not lose our reward. Because you do not lose what you have held in your hands.

And you held us. And you hold us.

Amen.

A text that leaves no one in peace

There are Gospel texts that can be read while remaining a spectator. Matthew 10:37-42 is not one of them.

From the very first words — «more than me» — something is set in motion within us. A question arises, often an uncomfortable one: what, concretely, comes before Christ in my real life choices? Not in my theoretical convictions, not in my fine speeches — in my real, daily, embodied choices.

This text leads us from the cost of the mission to its fruitfulness. It tells us that the cross is not the absurdity of a masochistic religion, but the path of a life that expands. It tells us that a glass of fresh water counts as much as heroic martyrdom—as long as it is given with love, in recognition of the other as a bearer of Christ.

And he tells us, essentially, something extraordinarily simple and extraordinarily difficult: you are not made to preserve yourself. You are made to give of yourself. And it is in this giving that you find yourself.

This is not an ideology. It is an experience — an experience that thousands of Christians have had before us, and that we can have in turn, to our own extent, in our ordinary lives.

Practices

• Identify this week a family relationship where your love has become possessive or dependent, and pray to release it to God without breaking it.
• Name one concrete thing you cling to for fear of losing your life, and decide to hold on to it less tightly.
• Perform a small act of kindness each day towards an invisible or marginalized person in your circle without expecting recognition.
• Reread 1 Peter 2:9 in the morning for a week, as an affirmation of your dignity before any spiritual performance.
• Choosing a time of day to deliberately "waste your life": giving your time, energy, or attention to something or someone that gives you no benefit.
• Pray for someone who welcomed you into your faith, and someone you could have welcomed into theirs but didn't see.
• Share this text with someone and invite them to identify with you what their "glass of fresh water" of the week is.

References

Primary Sources

• Matthew 10:37-42 The Jerusalem Bible, Cerf, 2000 (French liturgical reference edition).
• 1 Peter 2:9 — New Segond Bible, Universal Bible Alliance, 2002.
• Luke 14:25-27; Mark 8:34-35; John 12:24-26 — parallel passages for the theology of the cross and the grain of wheat.
• Ignatius of Antioch, Letter to the Romans, IV, 1 — on crushed grain and martyrdom.

Secondary sources and comments

• Ulrich Luz, Matthew 8–20: A Commentary (Hermeneia), Fortress Press, 2001 — a reference exegetical commentary on missionary discourse.
• Raymond E. Brown, Introduction to the New Testament, Doubleday, 1997 — for the Matthean context and the Jewish-Christian community.
• Origen, Comment on Matthew, Series X — for the theology of welcome and of the Mystical Body.
• John Chrysostom, Homilies on Matthew, Homily 35 — for the social and ecclesial dimension of the reward.
• Therese of Lisieux, Story of a Soul, Cerf, 1972 — for the «little way» as an existential exegesis of Mt 10:42.
• Hans Urs von Balthasar, Glory and the Cross, volume IV, Cerf, 1986 — for the theology of kenosis and apostolic mission.

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