Homily:
11th Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle C
Seven
and a half years ago (according to the article), Mount Angel Abbey's serene hilltop campus in
north-central Oregon shook, as leather-clad Bobby Love rolled in on his
motorcycle. Love removed his helmet revealing pierced ears and a mop of
dreadlocks. With tattoos on his hands, arms and neck, he looked like an extra
on "Sons of Anarchy" not someone attending a retreat for those who
might become Benedictine monks. As he dismounted his bike, he was aware of the
images on his skin and the absurdity of his arrival. As awkward as he must have
felt attending a discernment retreat at a Benedictine monastery, I imagine that
it must have been just as awkward for the monks who received him that day.
I
imagine the monks probably looked him over in much the same way that each of us
might look over a stranger who walked into our church here looking the same
way. Perhaps we might stop and think, “Who
is this guy?” and “Where did he come from?”
Because, perhaps, we’ve become accustomed to associating men and women with
tattoos, dreadlocks, and who ride loud motorcycles with those who live sinful
lives, we would likely also think to ourselves something like “Whoa, he’s in
the wrong place” or “Wow, he’s probably done some pretty bad things.” Then, if he came forward to receive
communion, we might find ourselves saying “Really? That guy’s
going to communion?” I know that we
would all want to react better, but
look around you. Nobody here looks like
this guy that I’ve described and so the shock of seeing someone like that among
us would cause us to react instinctually; and our instincts, which are always
out to protect us, would react in a defensive way.
In
many ways, this is the reaction of the Pharisee in today’s Gospel reading. He, an upstanding Jew, threw a dinner party
to which Jesus was invited. During the
dinner, this woman, whom everyone in town knew was a sinful woman, made an
entrance and then made a scene as she knelt at Jesus feet, bathed them with her
tears (and you can imagine just how much you would have to cry in order to
produce enough fluid to actually wash something), dried them with her hair
(meaning that her hair was uncovered, which was taboo both in public and in the
presence of men), and then anointed them with oil, kissing them
incessantly. Simon, the Pharisee, whose
rigorous observance of the law would make him very sensitive about ritual
impurity, is rightly upset that this woman, whom everyone knows is ritually
impure because of her sins, would come and disrupt his dinner party in this way
and that she would touch a rabbi, whom he would have at least assumed was
intent on staying ritually pure. Perhaps
even more, Simon was amazed that Jesus allowed her to do it without
protest. Simon couldn’t see past this
woman’s past. But Jesus, on the other
hand, did.
Jesus,
seeing her present, tattooed as she was because of her sins, acknowledges her
contrition and pours out his merciful love upon her, much to the shock of Simon
the Pharisee. Simon thought that Jesus
should rebuke her for her sins, but Jesus knew that this wasn’t a moment for
rebuke; he knew that she wasn’t here trying to make excuses for her sins, but
rather she was trying to make atonement for them. Jesus did not judge her past (for it was
obvious that she had already judged herself) and he did not judge her future
(that is, whether or not she would be able to leave off her sinful lifestyle),
he judged only her present; and in her present she showed deep sorrow for her
sins and deep love for Jesus. In her
littleness, as she lovingly poured ointment on Jesus’ feet, Jesus lovingly
poured out his mercy upon her.
Perhaps
it’s not hard to see ourselves as the Pharisee.
Like when we imagined the tattooed, dreadlocked, motorcycle-riding
stranger coming into our church, participating in Mass, and receiving
communion, our tendency to judge instinctually may cause us to focus on
whatever that man’s past may be, instead of acknowledging his present. We must acknowledge this tendency within us
and, if we wish to be more like Jesus, we need to work daily to counteract this
tendency within us so that, instead of closing ourselves off to others, we
remain open to others: to meeting them in their present, just like Jesus did for
the woman in today’s Gospel reading.
Perhaps
the greater challenge for us today, however, is to see ourselves as the sinful
woman. Each of us has a past that is
tattooed by our sins; and although they might not be just as visible as
physical tattoos are, they nonetheless remain with us the rest of our
lives. If we think that turning away
from our sins and starting to live a more upright life alone is enough, then we’ve
stopped at becoming a Pharisee. Simple
observance of God’s commandments can never achieve for us the abundant life
that God wants to give us. It is a
necessary step, of course, but never the only one. Only if we also turn to our Lord in deep
sorrow for our sins—which, in itself, means that we’ve also acknowledged our
past as having been sinful—will we find the merciful love of God poured out
upon us. In other words, we must abandon
ourselves to Jesus’ mercy if we want to enjoy the fullness of life. This is exactly what Saint Paul speaks to in
our second reading today: No mere observance of the Law can earn for us eternal
life. If it could, we would have had no
need for Jesus! Rather only faith in
Jesus—that is, trust, confidence, abandonment to him—will open for us the
floodgates of his merciful love.
My
brothers and sisters, all of us are covered in the tattoos of our past
sins. Thankfully, I dare say, most of us
here have already felt God’s merciful forgiveness for these sins. Nevertheless, try as we may, new tattoos
appear when we fail in our battles against sin.
If we then fail to acknowledge these for what they are—and, in turn,
look only to our attempts to live according to God’s commandments (saying often
to ourselves, “But I’m a good person”)—then we limit ourselves to being Simon
the Pharisee: the man who was justified in his own eyes, but cut off from Jesus’
merciful love. When each of us
acknowledges that we each have much of which we need to be forgiven, we will
then love Jesus even more and Jesus, in return will even more abundantly pour
out his merciful love upon us.
Bob
Love—the tattooed, dreadlocked, motorcycle-riding man who took part in that
discernment retreat at Mount Angel Abbey—is now known as Brother Andre. Although he no longer rides a motorcycle and
his dreadlocks have long since been cut off, he still has the tattoos on his
hands and neck, his Abbot denying his request to have them removed. The Abbot’s reasoning was that it was “part
of who Br. Andre is”. Perhaps, however,
he hoped that it would be a visual reminder to the rest of the monks that Jesus
doesn’t meet us in our past, but in our present; and that he walks with us into
our future… that is, if we let him.
My
brothers and sisters, Jesus meets us in our present in a special way here in
this Eucharist. Let us offer to him here
the fragrant ointment of our praise and thanksgiving as he pours out on us the
ointment of his merciful love in the form of his Body and Blood; and let us
allow him to walk with us into our future—into a joy-filled life that living
according to God’s commands allows us to live—so that we might one day enjoy
the life of perfect peace and happiness that awaits us in heaven.
Given
at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – June 12th, 2016
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P.S. Here's a link to an article about Br. Andre. His is a fascinating story!
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