When we practise Lectio Divina, we are not simply studying Scripture with our minds. We are listening, waiting, and receiving the living Word spoken to us by the Lord Himself through the daily readings. This is why I often invite people to place an empty chair in front of them as they begin, to help focus their faith and activate it on the presence of Jesus in the room. The purpose of this simple gesture is to remind us that we are not engaged in an exercise of intellectual comparison, but in a living encounter with Christ who wishes to speak to us through His Word, through today’s two readings.

A common experience in Lectio Divina is to pray with two (or sometimes three) passages of Scripture. For those at the beginning of the practice, this can often be puzzling. The natural question arises: how do the two texts work together? The answer is not that we, with our clever minds, try to force them into saying the same thing. Nor is it a matter of noticing similar words, expressions, or themes. Rather, it is the Lord Himself, through the Holy Spirit, who allows the texts shine by highlighting a passage or word, here and there.

I usually describe this as going back and forth between the passages until, mysteriously, they begin to converge. At that point, we no longer hear two separate thoughts or ideas but one Word spoken through both. This is not the product of reasoning or deduction; it is an act of receiving. It is the moment when Christ’s voice is heard in the harmony of daily readings. I also emphasise that we are not trying to identify the common theme chosen by the liturgist who composed the Lectionary. It is true that on Sundays the first reading and the Gospel are usually linked by a shared theme, but Lectio Divina is not about analysing that connection. Rather, it is about receiving the single light which the Lord Himself sheds upon the two texts as we pray with them. Sometimes I use the image of a highlighter: it is as though, as we read the passages again and again, the Lord Himself comes with His highlighter—the Holy Spirit—and marks certain words or verses. Suddenly they speak to us, they come alive, and we know that He is addressing us personally through them. I often say too that the two texts sift one another, setting aside whatever is not light, whatever the Lord does not use. In this way, many beautiful thoughts or insights may remain in the background, while what is essential shines forth more clearly.

For many, this description still remains difficult to grasp. That is why I wish to offer here a further clarification. Sometimes, indeed, the two texts echo the same theme—mercy, forgiveness, or love,…—and this is beautiful to receive. Yet often the experience is more subtle. Each text on its own may feel incomplete, but when brought together they reveal a single reality, a unified message from God.

In other words, the texts are not simply saying the same thing (my usual expression), as if repeating one another. Rather, they speak together one thing. They do not compete but harmonise; they enrich one another forming a single light. What might seem partial, incomplete or obscure in one passage finds its clarity and depth in the other. The Word of God comes to us whole only when both texts are allowed to speak in union.

This way of understanding the interplay of texts in Lectio Divina (they speak together one thing) can be liberating. It shifts our focus from looking for repetition to waiting for harmony. It reminds us that the message is always one—Christ Himself speaking to us—but that He often chooses to speak through the weaving together of passages. The Spirit joins them, like two streams meeting to form one river.

If this way of expressing the mystery helps you in your prayer, then take it to heart. If not, continue as you are doing, for the essence remains the same: the Lord uses His Word to communicate personally with us. Whether the texts appear to echo or to unite, what matters is that they lead us to the living encounter with Christ, who is always the centre and fullness of the message.