“If he listens to you, you’ve won over your brother.”
There is a passage in this Gospel that we might be tempted to gloss over too quickly: “If your brother has sinned…” Even before mentioning the sin, Jesus speaks of the brother. And that is the whole point. The one who has done wrong, the one who has hurt me, the one whose behavior disappoints me—he remains a brother. His fault is real, but it does not define him entirely. He is greater than what he has done. Jesus’ perspective invites us never to confuse a person with his mistake.
It’s difficult, because hurt often narrows our perspective. We see nothing but the words that hurt us, the actions that offended us, the attitude we can no longer tolerate. Little by little, an entire story is reduced to a single reproach. Jesus asks us to resist this narrow-mindedness: before being the one who wronged me, the other person is someone whom God loves and whom He still entrusts to me as a brother.
“Go talk to him one-on-one.” The first word is an action: go. Don’t stay stuck in your resentment. Don’t necessarily wait for the other person to make the first move. It’s not about denying what happened, but about not letting the hurt alone determine the future of the relationship.
Sometimes we do exactly the opposite: we talk about the person to lots of people—except to the person themselves. We seek out listeners who will confirm our disappointment, witnesses who will prove us right. And when we finally meet the person in question, the trial has already taken place in their absence! Jesus offers another way: a word spoken to the other person, in private, with the desire to find a common path forward.
But before speaking, it’s worth asking: What am I really looking for? To vent my anger? To prove that I’m right? To make the other person realize just how wrong they are? Or to help them understand what’s causing the hurt and move past it? The same words can stem from very different motivations. A truth spoken to humiliate does not yield the same results as a truth spoken with the other person’s well-being in mind.
Fraternal correction, then, also begins with inner work. I must ask the Lord to purify my intention, to calm that part of me that wants to punish. I must also remain open to listening. Perhaps I haven’t understood everything. Perhaps there is some suffering, difficulty, or misunderstanding that I’m unaware of. Listening doesn’t absolve me of responsibility, but it allows me to speak to a real person—not to the character my disappointment has created.
Jesus then explains the purpose of the whole process: “You have won back your brother.” He does not say: You have won the argument, you have triumphed, you have proven your superiority. True success isn’t about one person coming out on top and the other being defeated. It’s about restoring brotherhood. You can be right on every point and still lose your brother because of the way you speak to him.
However, this Gospel is not naive. Jesus anticipates a refusal to listen. One person’s goodwill is not always enough to restore the relationship. He therefore suggests involving one or two others, and then the community. Involving others prevents the situation from becoming a stalemate where each person simply repeats their own version of events. It introduces discernment and shared responsibility.
This also reminds us that charity does not mean silence at all costs. Certain situations must be addressed, and boundaries must be set. Maintaining the appearance of harmony does not always serve the cause of peace. And when it comes to violence or abuse, this call for discretion cannot justify secrecy or replace the protection of individuals and the involvement of the appropriate authorities. Brotherhood is never built at the expense of the safety of the most vulnerable.
The teaching on the pagan and the tax collector is demanding: it acknowledges that communion can truly be broken. We cannot pretend that everything is fine when all dialogue is refused. But this distance does not give us the right to look down on others. In the Gospel, even the tax collectors themselves are not beyond the reach of Jesus’ mercy. Recognizing a rupture, therefore, does not require us to give up hope.
Then Jesus speaks of binding and loosing. In this context, these words help the community grasp the weight of its responsibility. Our words and decisions are not without consequences. They can trap someone in their past or open a path to conversion. This requires great humility: we are not to treat others as we please, but to seek, together, what is right before God.
It is precisely at that moment that Jesus introduces prayer. It is not a pious add-on to a difficult process. It transforms the very spirit of that process. Praying together means accepting that none of us alone is the measure of truth. It means asking for something other than the victory of our own point of view: the light to understand, the courage to acknowledge our faults, and the patience to give the other person time to change.
Finally, there is this promise: “Where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I among them.” We love to hear these words in our prayer gatherings. But in this passage, they also shed light on wounded relationships. Jesus promises his presence to those who seek, in his name, a path of truth and communion.
He is “in the middle.” This place is precious: at the center of our relationship, there is not just my grievance, nor just the other person’s fault. There is Christ, who calls us both to conversion.
A Christian community, then, is not a community where no one ever disappoints anyone else. It is a community where we learn not to give up on one another too quickly, to speak the truth without hurting others, and to acknowledge our faults without losing hope in ourselves. Brotherhood is a gift, but it is also a daily task.
Lord, when I must speak, grant me words that enlighten without humiliating. When I must listen, free me from the need to justify myself immediately. And when the path seems blocked, keep enough faith within me to believe that You can still reach us, even when we no longer know how to find our way.
