The Memorial of Saints Cosmas and Damian
Rejoice, young man, in your youth, And let your heart cheer you in the days of your youth, And walk in the ways of your heart, And in the sight of your eyes; But know that for all these things God will bring you into judgment. Therefore remove sorrow from your heart, And put away evil from your flesh; For youth and the dawn of life are vanity.
Remember also your Creator in the days of your youth, Before the evil days come, and the years draw near, When you will say, "I have no pleasure in them;" Before the sun, the light, the moon, and the stars are darkened, And the clouds return after the rain; In the day when the keepers of the house shall tremble, And the strong men shall bow themselves, And the grinders cease because they are few, And those who look out of the windows are darkened, And the doors shall be shut in the street; When the sound of the grinding is low, And one shall rise up at the voice of a bird, And all the daughters of music shall be brought low; Yes, they shall be afraid of heights, And terrors will be on the way; And the almond tree shall blossom, And the grasshopper shall be a burden, And desire shall fail; Because man goes to his everlasting home, And the mourners go about the streets; Before the silver cord is severed, Or the golden bowl is broken, Or the pitcher is broken at the spring, Or the wheel broken at the cistern, And the dust returns to the earth as it was, And the spirit returns to God who gave it. "Vanity of vanities,"says the Preacher. "All is vanity!"
You turn man to destruction, saying, "Return, you children of men." For a thousand years in your sight are just like yesterday when it is past, Like a watch in the night.
You sweep them away as they sleep. In the morning they sprout like new grass. In the morning it sprouts and springs up. By evening, it is withered and dry.
So teach us to count our days, That we may gain a heart of wisdom. Relent, Lord! How long? Have compassion on your servants!
They were all astonished at the majesty of God.
But while all were marveling at all the things which Jesus did, he said to his disciples, "Let these words sink into your ears, for the Son of Man will be delivered up into the hands of men." But they didn't understand this saying. It was concealed from them, that they should not perceive it, and they were afraid to ask him about this saying.
Saints Cosmas and Damian were twin brothers and physicians in third-century Syria who offered their medical care freely to anyone who needed it — a practice so unusual it earned them the nickname "the silverless ones." They were martyred for their faith around 303 AD, and the Church has honored them ever since as patrons of doctors and healers.
There's a thread running through all three of today's readings, and it has to do with time — how we hold it, how we waste it, how it slips through our fingers like water.
Qoheleth, the Preacher of Ecclesiastes, isn't being morbid when he catalogs the failures of old age — the trembling hands, the dimming eyes, the body slowly winding down. He's being honest. And there's real mercy in that honesty. The invitation isn't to despair but to wake up *now*, while we still can. "Remember your Creator in the days of your youth" isn't just advice for young people — it's a word for anyone who still has a day ahead of them.
The Psalm echoes this. A thousand years pass before God like a single night watch. We are grass. And yet — notice how the Psalm doesn't stop there. It pivots toward petition: *teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.* The brevity of life isn't a verdict. It's an invitation to pay attention.
And then Luke shows us the disciples, marveling at Jesus, completely missing what he's trying to tell them about his coming death. The wonder is real, but it's incomplete. Jesus says, essentially: *let this sink in.* Don't just admire. Listen.
Cosmas and Damian understood this. They didn't hold their gifts loosely — they gave them away entirely.
So here are the questions to carry into the day:
What is it in your life that you keep meaning to attend to — spiritually, relationally — that you keep deferring?
Where might wonder be keeping us at a safe distance from something harder and truer that God is trying to say?
And what would it look like, today, to offer something freely — without keeping score?