Homily: 3rd Sunday in
Ordinary Time – Cycle C
These
past two weeks, I was in Central America—El Salvador and Guatemala, to be
precise—for a pilgrimage with other priests, deacons, and religious from around
the country visiting the sites of the Central American martyrs. These are persons like Saint Oscar Romero, a
bishop in El Salvador, and the newly beatified Blessed Stanley Rother, who was
a priest from Oklahoma who went to serve in Guatemala. My anticipation when
making this trip was that I’d be inspired be these holy priests and others who
gave their lives for their people. From
that standpoint (in case you wanted to ask), the trip was great.
In
between those visits, our group was inundated (literally, flooded!) with
information about the civil violence in El Salvador and Guatemala in the 70’s
and 80’s, in which individual witnesses to the violence perpetrated against
innocent persons (in some cases, whole villages!) was recounted. From this standpoint, the trip was horrible
(and I mean by that, horrifying). I hope to be able to recount something of
what I heard to you all in the next weeks, but now I’ll just say that that the
stories of government sponsored atrocities against innocent people were
sickening, saddening, and depressing.
Consoling
through all of these stories was meeting some of the men and women who lived
through these terrible times (which, by the way, haven’t completely ended) and
who nonetheless have found a reason for hope in their Catholic faith. I encountered in the Maryknoll missionaries
who worked with these people during these terrible times what it really means
when the Church says that she has a “preferential option for the poor”, as they
risked their lives to serve the needs and defend the rights of people who had
very little resources to defend themselves.
Finally, I discovered in myself an experience not unlike that which the
people experienced in our first reading in today’s Mass.
There,
the priest Ezra presents the newly recovered scroll of the Law of Moses, which
had been lost to whole generations of Israelites as they were in exile in
Babylon. Now, back in Jerusalem and
tasked with rebuilding the city and, specifically, the Temple, the Israelites
need some inspiration. Thus, Ezra calls the people together to read to them
from the Torah (probably the book of Deuteronomy). As he does, the people weep. Scholars say that they wept both for joy and
sorrow. Joy, because this word of God is filled with wisdom: wisdom that they
had never heard in their lives and which they are now happy to receive (wisdom
being such an sought after gift to the peoples of those times). Sorrow, because they remembered the sins of
their ancestors that caused them to be taken into exile and because they
recognized the sins under which they, themselves, had been living.
As
I went through this pilgrimage, I, too, experienced joy and sorrow. Joy, as the truth of the Gospel that “brings
glad tidings to the poor” pierced my heart: wounding me with its beauty. Sorrow, as I recognized the sins of generations
past that have assaulted that beauty (and continue to do so today) as well as
my own sins of ignorance, indifference, and inaction. As we heard story after story of injustices
perpetrated against the poor my sadness grew.
Then, I had a realization: I realized that there would be no happy
ending to this pilgrimage. In other
words, there would be no end to this story in which all of these negative
scenes would be wrapped up into some positive conclusion, and this increased my
sorrow.
Early
this past week, however, I found words of consolation: words that helped me to
see that there can be a “happy ending”.
In the Office of Readings for the feast of Saint Vincent, Deacon and
Martyr, these words of Saint Augustine were provided for reflection: “Against
Christ’s army the world arrays a twofold battleline. It offers temptation to lead us astray; it
strikes terror into us to break our spirit.
Hence if our personal pleasures do not hold us captive, and if we are
not frightened by brutality, then the world is overcome.” I think that Saint Augustine nailed it right
on the head: What holds me back from acting on behalf of the poor except my
fear of becoming poor myself or of what others might do to me if I do? Thus, if I can overcome my captivity to
personal pleasures (and, thus, risk becoming poor) and if I can overcome my
fear of reprisals (verbal and/or physical), then I can act with full freedom
and release the full power of the Gospel and, thus, do something to bring about
the “happy ending” for which I am looking.
Looking
at today’s Gospel reading, we see that this is precisely the example that our
Lord Jesus has given to us. There, he
comes into the synagogue at Nazareth and solemnly declares that he is the one
to fulfill the prophesies of Isaiah of the one who would come to liberate God’s
people and inaugurate the kingdom of God.
In doing so, he turned his back on personal pleasures and turned his
life towards that of being a poor, itinerant preacher; and he overcame every
fear of reprisal: reprisals that, ultimately, would lead to his death.
His
death (an unjust death, by the way, driven by the fear of the religious elite)
led to his resurrection and the chance for every person to find reconciliation
with God and eternal life with him. Our
work, as Christians—that is, followers of Christ—is to continue Christ’s
work of proclaiming this Good News by helping people break free from their
captivity to their personal pleasures and to overcome their fear of the
brutality that the world can inflict upon them; and, thus, work to bring forth
God’s kingdom: a kingdom in which the poor hear glad tidings, liberty is
proclaimed to captives, sight is restored to the blind, and the oppressed are
set free. Friends, if this is not our
aim in life, then we are shirking the responsibilities given to us.
Saint
Paul, in our second reading, makes this point even more clear. There he says that, as members of Christ’s
Body, we are all one; and that no member of the body, regardless of how
important it may seem, is any more important than any other. In fact, he says, those members of the body
that seem to be least important are “all the more necessary” and are
“surrounded with greater honor”. Thus,
the question comes to us: Do the poor have an honored place among us? Or do we keep them at “arm’s length" so
as not to make us too uncomfortable? Do
we allow them to show us what a just kingdom might look like? Or do we condescend and try to instruct them,
instead?
Friends,
there are members of Christ’s Body, the Church, all over the world, right here
in Lafayette, and, probably, right here in our church, who are suffering right
now. Are we suffering with them? Some of us, yes. Many of us, however, no. Probably most of us, not enough. And so, if these words cut to your heart,
good. Be sober about this reality and
examine your conscience. Ask God to show
you the ways that you might better work to bring forth God’s kingdom of justice
and to grow in solidarity with the poor and marginalized in our society. Then risk becoming poor yourself and the
reprisals of those who benefit from keeping the poor in their poverty by
working to realize the ideals of justice and solidarity with which God has
inspired you. In this way you will truly
suffer with the members who are suffering and be honored with those members who
are honored.
Yes,
friends, be sober about this reality, but try not to be sad: because the
victory over sin and injustice has already been won in Jesus. Rejoice, therefore, for in Christ we have
overcome the world; and justice for every person—from conception to natural
death, each created in the supreme dignity of the image of God—can be realized
when we allow God’s Spirit to work in and through us. Yes, rejoice and give thanks today for
Christ’s victory; and then choose to make the fruits of Christ’s victory—that
is, the fullness of God’s kingdom—present among us.
Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral:
Lafayette, IN – January 26th & 27th, 2019
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