Homily: 33rd Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle B
In August of 2010, thirty-three men found themselves trapped
in a mine in north-central Chile after an accident collapsed the mineshaft that
was their only exit to the surface. For
the first seventeen days, everyone on the surface had assumed that these men
had died in the accident (or, if they hadn’t died, that they would soon starve
to death). For those of us who remember
the story, you know that it was discovered that these men didn’t die in the
accident, but rather were alive and well. For the next fifty-two days, these men were
supplied with food and drink while the Chilean government coordinated an
extraordinary effort to rescue the men, which they accomplished on October
thirteenth of that year.
One of the men, Mario Gomez, upon stepping onto the surface
after his rescue, said: “I never lost faith that they would find us.” For seventeen days these men lived facing the
dark reality that they would soon die.
Yet this man, and many of the others who were with him, were convinced
that they would be rescued. For them, it
seems, the promise of Divine Protection was stronger than the desperate
appearance of the situation.
As we approach the end of the Liturgical Year, we are being
faced with readings that address seemingly dark realities about trials and
tribulations that will occur when the end of time approaches. The prophet Daniel states that it will be “a
time of unsurpassed distress” and in the Gospel reading Jesus tells us that
“the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, and the stars
will be falling from the sky, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken.” These will be signs, Jesus says, that his
return to judge heaven and earth is near.
In recent years, many men and women have taken Christ’s
words seriously and have interpreted the current tribulations that plague
mankind—the daily increasing violence between peoples and nations throughout
the world, the plague of poverty and sickness (especially the pandemic), and
the seemingly unchecked selfishness of affluent societies—as signs that the
final days described by Jesus and the prophets are upon us. And, in a way, they are all right. For nearly two-thousand years we’ve been
living in the final days. This is why
Saint Paul tells us that we should “live as if we didn’t have the things that
we have,” so as to be prepared to leave it all behind joyfully when Christ
returns. And so, when Jesus speaks of
this final tribulation, is he speaking about something that will happen far into
the future, or is he speaking about something that could happen to us
today? The answer is, of course, “yes.”
In one sense, Jesus is speaking about the drama that will
unfold at his second coming. It will be
a time of unsurpassed tribulation, such as (I’m sure you could imagine) would
occur if such permanent fixtures in our daily lives, namely, the lights in the
heavens, would suddenly become darkness.
In another sense, however, he is also speaking about the darknesses that
we encounter in our daily lives: such as a diagnosis of cancer, the loss of a
job, or a tragic accident or event that takes the life of a loved one. For most of us, these are deep tribulations
that seem to us as if the sun and the moon had gone completely dark. And, for most of us, they leave us with the
question of why God would allow us to suffer this darkness if we are supposed
to be “children of light.” I think that
if we look at what Jesus said, and at what
Jesus didn’t say, we might find an answer.
Jesus said, “Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words
will not pass away.” What he is saying
is that his promises are eternal: that even those things that seem to be
eternal, like the heavens and the earth, are not as eternal as his words. What Jesus didn’t say was, “my words will take away your darkness.” In other words, he didn’t promise that there
would be no darkness—that is, no suffering.
Rather, he promised that no amount of suffering can erase the truth of
his words—that is, his promises—to us.
So often, I think, we want the Jesus who’s going to fix all our
problems, instead of recognizing the Jesus who suffers with us through all our
trials and who promises relief to all who remain faithful through them.
My brothers and sisters, being faithful involves so much
more than just words, it demands actions.
And to act faithfully—that is to act in a way that proves one’s fidelity—requires
that there be opportunities to act un-faithfully. God allows us to experience trials in order
to give us the opportunity to exercise our fidelity to him. While it is true that we hold our faith here,
in our hearts, it is also true that we enact our faith from here, our
brains. If we are trying to enact our
faith from here (our hearts), we’re in trouble, because there is nothing
happening in here that is eternal: just emotions that move us one way today and
another way tomorrow. Our acts of faith
must come from here (our heads), because it is in our heads that we can
transcend our fear of the darkness and recognize the truth of Christ’s words—that
his promises of divine protection have not passed away—thus helping us to choose to remain faithful, in spite
of fear caused by distressing trials.
My brothers and sisters, there is no darkness that can keep
Christ’s voice from being heard and no emptiness that is ever void of his
word. And so when suffering threatens
your faithfulness and fear enters your heart, remember his words and hold fast
to them. Say to yourself, like Mario and
the other miners trapped for two months in darkness underground, “Although all
looks lost, I know that he will rescue us.”
And if you still doubt, then find a Catholic Church and walk inside: for
when you see that red lamp or find a Mass being celebrated, then you’ll know
that Christ’s words have not passed away: for he said, “Behold, I am with you
even until the end of the world.”
Given in Spanish at St. Paul Parish:
Marion, IN – November 13th, 2021
Given in Spanish at St. Bernard
Parish: Crawfordsville, IN – November 14th, 2021
No comments:
Post a Comment