A homily for the Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time, June 28, 2020
2 Kgs 4:8-11, 14-16a, Rom 6:3-4, 8-11, Mt 10:37-42
We know that Scripture, the Word of God as written down by (mostly) men inspired by the Holy Spirit, has gone through numerous translations. Countless translations, actually, from the original. With tweaks to keep certain images and references understandable if not totally relevant to the day in which they’re proclaimed or read.
And although we believe that not much has been lost in translation, and definitely none of the underlying interwoven truth, there can be no doubt that approximations have crept in when one highly nuanced language has 15 words while another squishes them all into one.
Which is why today’s Gospel is challenging to hear, let alone absorb. Because, in the version we heard, Jesus seems to be demanding an either-or rather than a both-and, and that’s not what we’ve come to expect from him.
“Love me and ignore your parents and friends” etc. and so on seems harsh and unreasonable, and, these days, highly unrealistic. Choose between far-off Heaven or immediate, needy Earth? Is that really what Matthew says Jesus is saying? Really?
Amid the COVID-19 lockdowns and stay-at-homes, we’ve focused on our immediate families under the same roofs and on family and friends we can connect with electronically.
These are the folks whose love and support have gotten us, so far, through these unprecedented and unnerving times. These are the folks who have gotten us through Sundays without Mass and Mondays with masks.
When the walls felt as if they were closing in and the days were dark and gloomy, parents and siblings and friends and coworkers six feet or six miles away have been the folks who provided the sunshine.
How can Jesus be saying either-or?
He’s not.
Not as long as we believe — as we do — that every one of us can be, must be Christ to one another.
Suffering servant.
Indefatigable caregiver.
Hand of comfort.
Source of hope for better days.
And he’s not, as long as we accept the challenge to accept and embrace the Christ within each other, physically distanced or otherwise.
We must give and allow others to give to us, in whatever ways we can at the time, on behalf of the Christ we are called to be.
Pause for a second and think about how you envision Jesus. About where you believe him to be.
When you think of Jesus, is he seated at the right hand of the Father, glorious and radiant, making sure the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father and him to flood all of humanity with wisdom and grace?
Is he the wandering preacher, welcomed in some towns in Judea by people who gather by the thousands and tens of thousands to learn about the Law of Love, about how this Law of Love is the fulfillment of The Law and The Prophets that built Israel?
Is he the prophet scorned in his hometown in Galilee, marginalized to the point that he almost was chased over the edge of a cliff?
Is he suffering, bleeding, exhausted, his bones showing through his scourged skin as he drags hundreds of pounds of wood — and himself — to Golgotha?
Which Jesus do you see?
These Jesuses are among us, too. All of them.
Do we see them? All of them?
Are we listening to what they have to say? Are we chasing them to the margins of society or are we extending a hand to pull them from the edge of some figurative or literal cliff? Have we set a place at our table for them, found a place for them to lay their weary heads?
I agree that it’s not always possible, it’s not always practical, it’s not always safe to actually throw open our doors and invite in strangers in need. But our heritage of hospitality can be manifested through social outreach and charity, and even more importantly, through efforts to bring about more just and equitable institutions in our nation and world.
Are we listening when protesters in the streets declare that Black Lives Matter? That certain organizations or agencies are built on the backs of people whose humanity has been stolen partially or completely? Truly listening to not only the complaints but to the suggested remedies?
Or are we hearing only the noise and letting it drown out the reason?
If we are able, are we assisting people who’ve been hurt harder than we are by the coronavirus health and financial crisis?
Jesus asks us to share his burden, take up his cross. In a more mature relationship with Jesus, one built on understanding how the Law of Love actually works and not one of blind obedience, we recognize that human imperfection and our weakness in resisting temptations often seal off our ears and our hearts. Though we may see the Christ in need, are we listening and understanding what those needs are? We have five senses and intellect and imagination, all of them gifts from God. When we use them to help lift others — and, often, ourselves — we acknowledge those gifts and thank God for them.
We’re all connected; we’re all still connected, even six feet apart. Even though all three readings today promise us some degree of reward for embracing and serving the Christ we encounter, we should remember that doing good and being good are rewards in themselves.
Jesus is asking for both-and.
