You must be kidding

A homily for the Twenty-Second Sunday in Ordinary Time, Aug. 30, 2020

Jer 20:7-9,  Rom 12:1-2, Mt. 16:21-27

Let’s start with a little confession: I don’t talk about Jesus all that much. Not really.

I’ll say “Praise God!” or “Praise Jesus!” sometimes when some little good thing happens in my life, but it’s almost a reflex and not a reflection.

No, I won’t start a conversation about any person of the Holy Trinity, though I will talk at length if I’m asked or otherwise engaged in a conversation.

That may seem strange, when you point out I’m an ordained clergy member, a preacher and teacher and online (and occasionally live) homilist. But it’s true.

Please permit me to ramble a bit about where I come from on this.

I was in high school and college in the late 1960s through the mid-1970s, during the height of the “Jesus Freak” period. I’d call it a fad, but I don’t know exactly what was in everyone’s hearts, so I won’t dismiss the era out of hand.

This was when the Doobie Brothers (a band named by and for pot-smoking hippies) sang that “Jesus Is Just Alright With Me.” (We’ll pick that apart shortly.) This was when people routinely pointed and jabbed their index fingers at the sky to designate that Jesus is The One Way to Heaven. This was when people routinely asked each other on the sidewalks and byways if they had been Born Again and had embraced Jesus as their Personal Lord and Savior.

This was when I started spending a lot of time avoiding the topic of Jesus in any conversation. This is when I turned taciturn about our Creator, Redeemer and Sanctifier. Despite my deep and continuing love for God.

The lyrics by Arthur Reid Reynolds are at once simple and insipid. “Jesus is just alright with me” — does that really mean you’re cool with having Jesus in your life, or that Jesus finds you acceptable? The verse the Doobies added — “Jesus: He’s my friend” — implies you’ve accepted Christ, but a good friendship is two-way, so, yes, it could go either way.

Those lyrics a half-century ago also encapsulated the whole “personal” notion. My friend. Took me by the hand.

The sense of solo individual salvation flies in the face of Catholics’ deeply held belief in social justice, of sharing with the rest of the flock, of being members of the Mystical Body of Christ. Of being part of something and someone bigger than we have the capacity to imagine.

Social justice movements throughout our nation and the world right now are laying bare the split between What’s Good For Me ‘N’ Jesus and what’s good for all our companions on the journey. And it’s clear — oh, so clear — that we’re all in this together. That we must be in this together.

This “personal” thing transformed — still transforms — Jesus into a divine Swiss Army knife, an almighty utility belt, an eternal Life Alert call button. “Help, Jesus! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!”

Sorry, it doesn’t work that way.

Back in that era, prayer became public and demonstrative. Prayer, it seemed, was the only communal aspect of the JF movement. Every action, every decision required a public prayer-circle-hold-hands chat with God.

Stop right there; I gotta know right now: Mystery meat or canned ravioli for Saturday lunch at the dining hall? Let us pray. Do I go steady with Janet? Let us pray.

At some point, the Son of God’s name picked up a third syllable — Jay-EE-zuz.

And I couldn’t take it anymore. So I shut my big mouth. And, generally, it’s been shut on that topic ever since.

(Pause to breathe.)

But like Jeremiah, I am compelled by God to speak out. Like Jeremiah, I cannot hold it in. And, like Jeremiah, I’m no fan of being laughed at.

Whenever I speak, I must cry out,
violence and outrage is my message;
the word of the LORD has brought me
derision and reproach all the day.

I say to myself, I will not mention him,
I will speak in his name no more.
But then it becomes like fire burning in my heart,
imprisoned in my bones;
I grow weary holding it in, I cannot endure it.

Fortunately, though, there is the advice attributed (probably apocryphally) to St. Francis of Assisi.

Preach the Gospel at all times. If necessary, use words.

And that’s what I take so deeply and so meaningfully from today’s Scripture passages. That’s what I hope we all can take with us everywhere.

We are the new evangelists, and we break open and share The Word with everyone we meet — six feet apart, behind masks, on Zoom, at work if appropriate, on social media, with Hallmark cards — in ways that are personal to us but are intended for the good of all.

We speak in words with those who have ears to hear and hearts to accept Jesus’ message. We speak through actions to those who have eyes to see and hearts to appreciate our efforts at food banks, clothing drives, fund-raisers, religious education.

We speak through virtual hugs and the smiles that masks cannot hide, especially the affection and acceptance we show to people on society’s margins, in addition to the ways we serve them as fellow children of God, created in God’s image and likeness and endowed with a dignity that deserves respect.

And so, this is how I believe God wants me to spread The Word. This is the comfort zone in which I operate best, with minimal derision toward me and especially from me.

On the flip side, I praise and thank those among us who can start the conversation that I might jump into (or not). The conversation some people may find uncomfortable or even ridiculous. Especially in these highly secular days.

Still in all, however we speak — words, actions, smiles — let us promise Our Lord and promise each other that we speak with sincerity. We speak believably. We speak the truth.

The name of Jesus should be on many lips, indeed.