Saint John of Kanty—Professor by Title, Poor by Choice

A priest and university teacher whose way of living quietly surprised people.

John was born in 1390 in Kety, Poland. He was a priest and a teacher at the University of Krakow, at a time when being a professor already meant a comfortable life.

He lived simply because he gave everything away.

Whatever came to him did not stay long. Money moved on. Food was shared. Clothes were passed to someone else. He kept almost nothing, not because he planned it that way, but because giving was his habit.

That is why he looked poor.
That is why his life stayed light.

He taught. He followed his daily routine. He lived without storing, saving, or building comfort around himself. Life flowed through him, not into him.

People sometimes mistook him for someone with nothing. In truth, he just did not keep more than he needed.

Saint John of Kanty shows a rare way of living—where simplicity is not a goal, but the natural result of generosity.

⌨ ᴛʸᵖⁱⁿᵍ ᴏᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ʙˡᵘᵉ ᵈᵃʳᵉᵐ ᵐᵘˢⁱᶜ ᵇˡᵒᵍ

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Hate to Love

Jesus says something that sounds impossible: “Hate your parents? Hate your own life?” It feels harsh, but behind those words is the hard truth that makes love real.

The Hard Truth That Makes Love Real

If you’ve read the Bible, you may have stumbled on this line: “If anyone comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even their own life—such a person cannot be my disciple” (Luke 14:26).

“Hate your parents? Hate your own life? That sounds crazy.”

So what did He really mean?

Jesus wasn’t attacking family. He was making a point: even the strongest love you know can’t take first place over Him.

At first, it feels impossible. But He wasn’t saying “hate” as in anger or disrespect. He was saying: don’t let even your closest ties pull you away from what’s most important.

Because love bends when it takes the wrong shape. It turns into control. Into jealousy. Into fear of losing. That’s not real love—it’s love gone heavy.

Picture it like a ladder. Family, friends, even yourself—those are the steps. But if God isn’t the top, you stop halfway. You think it’s enough. But it gets tiring. It doesn’t reach higher.

Take this example: a father who steals to feed his children. On the surface, it looks like love. His kids even defend him, saying, “He only did it so we could eat.” But that’s misdirected love. It breaks God’s truth for the sake of family. It feels justified, but it isn’t. That kind of love may solve hunger for a day, but it plants harm that lasts far longer.

When God isn’t the center, love becomes fragile. It may shine for a while, but it slips into possession, jealousy, or fear—and in the end, it chokes the very people it tries to hold.

Without God, love burns out. It clings. It demands too much. It asks people to fill a space only He can fill. And no one can carry that weight.

With God first, love breathes. You can hold without choking. Give without drowning. Care without turning anyone into a “god.”

That’s why Jesus used a hard word. Not to tear family apart. But to wake us up.

So what’s the takeaway? Real love only survives when God is above everything else. That’s the only way it stays pure, strong, and free.

𝚃𝚢𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙾𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚕𝚞𝚎 • 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗆.𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗂𝖼.𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀