A homily for the Third Sunday in Ordinary Time, January 23, 2022
Neh 8:2-4a, 5-6, 8-10, 1 Cor 12:12-14, 27, Lk 1:1-4; 4:14-21
I was in high school at the end of The Sixties. Christian Brothers Academy, Lincroft, New Jersey, Class of 1973. Yes, I’m that old.
Times back then were tumultuous: The war in Vietnam. Oppressed minority citizens rioting in our cities for their God-given civil rights. The slaughter at Kent State. Watergate.
Many Catholic clergymen refusing to breathe in the fresh air from windows thrown open by Vatican II.
And no one over 30 could be trusted.
For many of us then — and to a degree now — massive monolithic institutions with rules and regulations and other norms had to be approached with a wary eye, with one hand outstretched in peaceful greetings but the other holding on to a means of defense and escape, literal or figurative.
Government, business, church: All got the hairy eyeball as we scoured the Earth for Truth. Because we suspected the institutions were keeping Truth from us.
So also getting the hairy eyeball from late-teen young men was the (probably 40ish, though he seemed ancient) CBA chaplain who was tasked with making liturgy relevant. And hip.
He wasn’t hip. But his ideas were.
He and other religion teachers pitched Mass as a party, a prom, even.
There’s music and occasionally there’s dance. There are warm greetings and family connections. There’s cheering; can you give me an Amen?
There’s food and drink — bread and wine that is transubstantiated into the Body and Blood of Christ, the great nourishment for our souls.
There’s a guest of honor.
There’s Truth.
There should be joy and laughter.
Which remains a challenge 50 years later.
Which remains a challenge 2,500 years later.
As we heard today from the Book of Nehemiah, a prophet who bridged religious and civil leadership 450 years before Christ, having a relationship with Almighty God is something to cheer. Following God’s ways, God’s Commandments, the laws of Nature is not a punishment but a gift, because every one of God’s ways is meant for our own good and for the good of all of Creation.
For the entire universe, or universes, even.
Listen again to God’s Wisdom, as relayed through Nehemiah, the prophet-governor of Persian Judea:
Then Nehemiah, that is, His Excellency, and Ezra the priest-scribe and the Levites who were instructing the people said to all the people:
“Today is holy to the LORD your God. Do not be sad, and do not weep”— for all the people were weeping as they heard the words of the law.
He said further: “Go, eat rich foods and drink sweet drinks, and allot portions to those who had nothing prepared; for today is holy to our LORD. Do not be saddened this day, for rejoicing in the LORD must be your strength!”
Rejoicing in the Lord.
Rejoicing in the Lord.
For the Israelites who were looking toward a new holy temple in Jerusalem, the Lord in whom they were supposed to rejoice was distant, speaking only through prophets and seers, as far as they knew. That Lord was powerful but scary, filled with justice but easily angered, as far as they could see.
So Nehemiah’s people needed some persuading, or at least reassuring, that God wanted them to be happy. God promised that joy would sustain and strengthen them.
And even as he was enjoining everyone to whoop it up, Nehemiah reminded the Chosen People of their duty to the less fortunate among them — [to] allot portions to those who had nothing prepared — thereby fulfilling their obligations of charity and hospitality under the law.
It turned out that God’s Law and God’s Truth were pretty cool after all.
So, when we hear the words of the law, 2½ millennia later, do we weep? Or do we rejoice?
When we participate in the celebration of the Mass, do we indeed celebrate?
How far have we come since the days of Nehemiah and the days on Earth of Jesus?
Ever since Jesus walked along the shores of the Sea of Galilee, we believers have felt confident that our prayers are heard and answered. Our prayers are conversations with our Creator, our Redeemer, our Sustainer, and not just incense smoke rising or chants floating out into the ether.
We who were baptized into the family of God as adopted sisters and brothers of Jesus — who himself was baptized in the Jordan River by his cousin John — we can feel a kinship and a more personal relationship with Emmanuel, God-With-Us, the Messiah who sacrificed his human life so we would have the promise of eternal life.
Our kinship with The Christ and the grace of the Holy Spirit should inspire us to stay on right paths, to follow the Law of Love, to act joyfully with charity and justice in God’s name.
Our receiving of the Eucharist — a physical connection with the Ultimate Reality, with the source of Love and Truth — should be reason enough for us to (almost) turn backflips.
And yet we look down, we tense up, we almost seem afraid as we sit and stand and walk to the altar. So serious.
Yes, we Catholics tend to be more staid than some of our sisters and brothers in more evangelical denominations, more reserved than believers in traditions that got their start in Southern states, for example.
But we can be reverent without being somber or even funereal. We can honor God with a smile behind our anti-COVID masks. We can lighten up a little, or perhaps a lot.
And when we allot a portion to our fellow children of God, when we embrace and serve the people society has pushed to the margins, when we see the suffering Christ and feed them, shelter them, comfort them, be present to them, then there is cause for rejoicing as well.
We should feel, and then share, God’s love the way we feel the light and warmth of the sun on our faces. And rejoice.
How ’bout one of them Amens, please.
