A homily for the 21st Sunday in Ordinary Time, August 21, 2022
Is 66:18-21, Heb 12:5-7, 11-13, Lk 13:22-30
When we come across something fascinating or exciting or uplifting, do we keep it to ourselves?
Or do we share it with our families and friends — the old “you tell two friends, and they’ll tell two friends, and so on…” from the shampoo commercial? Do we start the fire of exponential growth?
What if something we find fascinating or exciting or uplifting flips the status quo on its head? Does that change what we decide to do?
From the earliest scriptural accounts of our God’s relationship with humankind, every divine instruction has challenged what the people knew as the status quo.
The Ten Commandments, though mostly given as Thou Shalt Not, demand that people stop being warlike and selfish. Which means people must be cooperative and generous, or at least communal, as well as reverent.
The prophets, who maintained a deep bond with the Almighty, and who spoke on God’s behalf, had as their often-derided obligation to shine a light on the wrongs and ills of society, and to cajole the people into returning to the right path with God as their North Star.
By extension, the people whom the prophets instructed and nudged became prophetlike, or perhaps prophets-lite, when they accepted and embraced God’s guidance. By the power of God’s Spirit, they told two people, and those told two people, and so spread the faith. The children of Abraham became as numerous as the stars in the sky or the sands on the shore.
Our passage from the prophet Isaiah today refers to some people as fugitives, a curious choice of word in this translation. We usually think of fugitives as people running from something, not running toward someone or somewhere or something. Here, though, these fugitives are running toward those who’ve not heard of the God of Abraham, who don’t know of the Almighty and Omnipresent Ultimate Reality.
As in most tales of calls to evangelization, these fugitives fan out across the known world with little more than themselves in tow. There’s no mention in this reading about baggage or holy parchments or sticks to pound the knowledge of God into people’s heads.
What these fugitives carry — what we carry — is faith. What these fugitives carry is strength of conviction, the strength to overcome obstacles and the strength to ignore ridicule.
What these fugitives carry — what we carry — is an invitation. A person-to-person invitation to a heart-to-heart conversation, a conversation in which God gets to know someone better and that someone gets to know God Who Is Love better.
Everyone is invited.
They are invited by word of mouth. They are invited by dint of exemplary living. They are invited by fugitives from the distractions of the world … fugitives like us.
Not everyone will accept. Some decline when they see God’s agenda — that they be good, be just, be kind, be unselfish — and some decline because they think the status quo is just fine. I got mine. Leave me alone.
That’s how free will works.
Those who accept may not make a lifetime commitment. Jesus asks us to walk through the narrow gate again and again. If we succumb to greed or gluttony from time to time, we may not always fit through.
Free will allows people to drift away, to be enticed by something they perceive as newer or more exciting. So for those who may wander off, a fresh invitation is always waiting.
Even those who accept and endeavor to stay true need help from time to time. God’s grace and the power of the Holy Spirit are always present to nourish and reinforce.
And all who accept the invitation, who accept divine nourishment through the Eucharist and embrace reinforcement through Word and Spirit, realize quite quickly that they have found something fascinating and exciting and uplifting — the kingdom of God.
And they feel an undeniable urge: They tell two friends…
