A Little While

Fr. Scott Haynes

Meditation on John 16:16–22

"A little while and you will see me no longer; and again a little while and you will see me." (John 16:16)

Fr. Scott Haynes

Meditation on John 16:16–22

"A little while and you will see me no longer; and again a little while and you will see me." (John 16:16)

In these mysterious words spoken at the Last Supper, Christ prepared His disciples for the Passion and Resurrection. He hinted at the impending sorrow that would befall them, yet also promised the return of joy. It is the language of love that stretches across the cross and resurrection, the rhythm of suffering and hope, absence and return.

"A little while and you will not see me, and again a little while and you will see me." (John 16:16)

This passage is both cryptic and profoundly personal. The disciples themselves were confused by it, whispering to each other in anxious tones. Christ’s words appear like riddles, but they echo the divine mystery of time within eternity. “A little while”—yet what does that mean for the human heart, which measures time by its wounds and its joys?

St. Augustine hears in this "little while" the entire stretch of human sorrow in history, from Christ’s Ascension to His Second Coming. He writes:

“This little while is this whole present time, in comparison with that eternity in which we shall see.”¹

Thus, the first meaning of “you will not see me” can be applied to His death, and the “you will see me” to His resurrection. But more broadly, it refers to the hiddenness of Christ in the age of the Church, followed by the joy of His final return in glory.

St. Jerome, emphasizing the literal context, focuses on the shift from sorrow to joy in the experience of the apostles. He affirms that this passage reflects Christ’s understanding of human frailty, especially in suffering:

“The Lord in His mercy prepares His disciples for the horror of the Passion by announcing it beforehand, that sorrow might not consume them wholly.”²

This sensitivity of Christ is striking. He knows the heart’s breaking point. He knows the dread that creeps in when heaven feels silent and when God seems absent. And He tells us: “You will weep and lament, but the world will rejoice.” (John 16:20)

In this weeping, St. Gregory the Great sees a spiritual pattern. The Church weeps when the world rejoices, for its love is not in the world but in the Crucified. The paradox is laid bare: those who live for the world rejoice when the Just One suffers, while the children of the Kingdom mourn—but only for a time:

“As long as we are in this mortal life, we weep; but after the little while of this life, our sorrow will be turned into joy.”³

St. John Chrysostom in his homilies points to the immense gentleness of Christ, who does not leave His disciples in desolation. The metaphor of the woman in labor (John 16:21) is Christ’s own image to describe this transition. Suffering is not pointless pain; it is birth pangs. The new life of resurrection is coming:

“He compares the affliction of His disciples to the travail of a woman, to show that sorrow brings forth joy… not simply that joy follows, but that it is born of that sorrow.”⁴

What a profound mystery: our deepest Christian joys are born through suffering. Not after suffering, but from within it—just as resurrection flows not merely after death but through it. In this way, Christ did not remove sorrow, but transfigured it.

The joy He promises is not passing. He does not say, “You will rejoice,” only—but adds, “No one will take your joy from you.” (John 16:22) This is the promise of the resurrection. It is the invincible joy of the one who has met the Risen Lord. It is the joy of Mary Magdalene at the empty tomb, of Thomas when he cries, “My Lord and my God,” of Peter when forgiven and sent forth to shepherd the flock.

This joy cannot be stolen by sickness, persecution, or even death. For it is not a joy based in feeling but in the Person of Christ, the risen and living Lord.

In the pain of our own lives, this Gospel becomes a promise. When God feels absent, when suffering seems without meaning, we must hear again the words: “A little while.” That “little while” may feel like a lifetime, but in the light of eternity it is indeed short. And through it, God is doing something marvelous—birthing joy, if we but trust and wait.

St. Anthony of Padua, a preacher of burning love, reminds us that even in darkness, Christ is near:

“In tribulation, God is closer to us than in consolation, for it is then that He carries us in His arms.”⁵

Let us remember, then, that sorrow is not the end. Our God is not merely the Crucified, but the Risen One. And the Cross, painful though it is, always blossoms into Easter joy.

"You will be sorrowful, but your sorrow will turn into joy." (John 16:20)

Let us wait with hope, and love the “little while,” for He who comes will not delay.

Footnotes

1. Augustine of Hippo, Tractates on the Gospel of John, 101.4, in Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, First Series, Vol. 7, ed. Philip Schaff (Buffalo, NY: Christian Literature Publishing Co., 1888), 377.

2. Jerome, Commentary on Matthew, Book IV, in Patrologia Latina, Vol. 26, 37–38.

3. Gregory the Great, Moral Reflections on the Book of Job, 28.43, trans. Brian Kerns (Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 2014), 2:172.

4. John Chrysostom, Homilies on the Gospel of John, 79.2, in Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, First Series, Vol. 14, ed. Philip Schaff (New York: Christian Literature Publishing Co., 1889), 291.

5. Anthony of Padua, Sermones Dominicales et Festivi, II.36, in Opera Omnia (Padua: Antoniana, 1979), 312.

In these mysterious words spoken at the Last Supper, Christ prepared His disciples for the Passion and Resurrection. He hinted at the impending sorrow that would befall them, yet also promised the return of joy. It is the language of love that stretches across the cross and resurrection, the rhythm of suffering and hope, absence and return.

"A little while and you will not see me, and again a little while and you will see me." (John 16:16)

This passage is both cryptic and profoundly personal. The disciples themselves were confused by it, whispering to each other in anxious tones. Christ’s words appear like riddles, but they echo the divine mystery of time within eternity. “A little while”—yet what does that mean for the human heart, which measures time by its wounds and its joys?

St. Augustine hears in this "little while" the entire stretch of human sorrow in history, from Christ’s Ascension to His Second Coming. He writes:

“This little while is this whole present time, in comparison with that eternity in which we shall see.”¹

Thus, the first meaning of “you will not see me” can be applied to His death, and the “you will see me” to His resurrection. But more broadly, it refers to the hiddenness of Christ in the age of the Church, followed by the joy of His final return in glory.

St. Jerome, emphasizing the literal context, focuses on the shift from sorrow to joy in the experience of the apostles. He affirms that this passage reflects Christ’s understanding of human frailty, especially in suffering:

“The Lord in His mercy prepares His disciples for the horror of the Passion by announcing it beforehand, that sorrow might not consume them wholly.”²

This sensitivity of Christ is striking. He knows the heart’s breaking point. He knows the dread that creeps in when heaven feels silent and when God seems absent. And He tells us: “You will weep and lament, but the world will rejoice.” (John 16:20)

In this weeping, St. Gregory the Great sees a spiritual pattern. The Church weeps when the world rejoices, for its love is not in the world but in the Crucified. The paradox is laid bare: those who live for the world rejoice when the Just One suffers, while the children of the Kingdom mourn—but only for a time:

“As long as we are in this mortal life, we weep; but after the little while of this life, our sorrow will be turned into joy.”³

St. John Chrysostom in his homilies points to the immense gentleness of Christ, who does not leave His disciples in desolation. The metaphor of the woman in labor (John 16:21) is Christ’s own image to describe this transition. Suffering is not pointless pain; it is birth pangs. The new life of resurrection is coming:

“He compares the affliction of His disciples to the travail of a woman, to show that sorrow brings forth joy… not simply that joy follows, but that it is born of that sorrow.”⁴

What a profound mystery: our deepest Christian joys are born through suffering. Not after suffering, but from within it—just as resurrection flows not merely after death but through it. In this way, Christ did not remove sorrow, but transfigured it.

The joy He promises is not passing. He does not say, “You will rejoice,” only—but adds, “No one will take your joy from you.” (John 16:22) This is the promise of the resurrection. It is the invincible joy of the one who has met the Risen Lord. It is the joy of Mary Magdalene at the empty tomb, of Thomas when he cries, “My Lord and my God,” of Peter when forgiven and sent forth to shepherd the flock.

This joy cannot be stolen by sickness, persecution, or even death. For it is not a joy based in feeling but in the Person of Christ, the risen and living Lord.

In the pain of our own lives, this Gospel becomes a promise. When God feels absent, when suffering seems without meaning, we must hear again the words: “A little while.” That “little while” may feel like a lifetime, but in the light of eternity it is indeed short. And through it, God is doing something marvelous—birthing joy, if we but trust and wait.

St. Anthony of Padua, a preacher of burning love, reminds us that even in darkness, Christ is near:

“In tribulation, God is closer to us than in consolation, for it is then that He carries us in His arms.”⁵

Let us remember, then, that sorrow is not the end. Our God is not merely the Crucified, but the Risen One. And the Cross, painful though it is, always blossoms into Easter joy.

"You will be sorrowful, but your sorrow will turn into joy." (John 16:20)

Let us wait with hope, and love the “little while,” for He who comes will not delay.

Footnotes

1. Augustine of Hippo, Tractates on the Gospel of John, 101.4, in Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, First Series, Vol. 7, ed. Philip Schaff (Buffalo, NY: Christian Literature Publishing Co., 1888), 377.

2. Jerome, Commentary on Matthew, Book IV, in Patrologia Latina, Vol. 26, 37–38.

3. Gregory the Great, Moral Reflections on the Book of Job, 28.43, trans. Brian Kerns (Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 2014), 2:172.

4. John Chrysostom, Homilies on the Gospel of John, 79.2, in Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, First Series, Vol. 14, ed. Philip Schaff (New York: Christian Literature Publishing Co., 1889), 291.

5. Anthony of Padua, Sermones Dominicales et Festivi, II.36, in Opera Omnia (Padua: Antoniana, 1979), 312.