Homily: Monday, 22nd Week in Ordinary Time (Year A)

Readings: 1 Cor 2:1-5; Ps 119; Luke 4:16-30 

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Some people just don’t like to hear the truth. Just look at our Gospel passage from Luke.

Jesus visits his hometown of Nazareth, enters the synagogue, and reads the words of Isaiah. He then makes that amazing claim:

“Today this Scripture passage is fulfilled in your hearing” [Lk 4:21].

"The Spirit of the Lord is upon me..."

At first the townspeople looked at each other in amazement, overcome by wonder and pride. Jesus, the young carpenter, the son of Joseph, is one of their own. He grew up and played with their children, went to synagogue with them. But how is it He speaks with such wisdom, such authority?

Nazareth was a small, quiet village, a place where nothing much ever happened, a village on the road to more exciting places. But on this day, the people heard Isaiah – the Word of their Fathers – claimed to be fulfilled right there.

Isn’t this the son of Joseph?

They’d heard of the miracles in Capernaum, the healings, and the crowds and probably hoped He’d do the same in Nazareth – perhaps much more. But they kept thinking: Isn’t this the son of Joseph?

If He’s a prophet, a miracle-maker, shouldn’t His own people be the first to benefit? After all, we’re his people! His family! His friends! God knows there are plenty of sick people here. How about some healings, a miracle or two? Then we’d know God is with him, with Him right here in Nazareth.

But what does Jesus do?

No miracles. Instead, He speaks of Elijah and the famine that spread throughout the country in those ancient days. Although the Chosen People were starving, God sent Elijah to a pagan widow of Zarephath, and it was she and her son whom Elijah miraculously fed.

And no healings. Instead, Jesus speaks of Elisha and the leper God sent him to heal, a pagan from Syria — this when Israel, too, had many lepers.

The people of Nazareth were in that synagogue to see and hear Jesus, this son of Joseph, who had done wondrous things. They hoped to be amazed by His words and to marvel at His mighty deeds. Yes, they wanted the hometown boy to be a prophet who’d bring them signs of God’s favor, one to do their bidding, not God’s.

But instead, Jesus told them stories of God’s grace poured out not on Jews, not on friends and neighbors, but on Gentiles, aliens and unbelievers. 

"...they were filled with fury."

Infuriated, they rose up, drove Him to the brow of a steep hill, hoping to hurl Him off the cliff. No, Jesus wasn’t their kind of Messiah.

Today you and I meet these Nazoreans across a vast gulf of time, traditions, language, and experience… and although these differences are great, perhaps we’re more like them than we know.

We ask for forgiveness when we fail to do God’s bidding, but then demand that he do ours.

We want a just and merciful God, as long as we’re the ones who benefit from his justice and mercy.

A truly omnipotent and omniscient God can be more than a little scary. Much nicer to have our God who conforms to our vision of what God should do.

So many, today, just like the people of Nazareth, want a God they can tame.

For on that day Jesus reminded his friends and neighbors that God’s ways are not our ways. God’s grace cannot be constrained by our boundaries or controlled by our prayers.

When Jesus spoke in the synagogue, he gave notice that his ministry would embrace the stranger and include the outsider. Indeed, He will embrace the sinner, those we’re so sure don’t deserve God’s forgiveness.

It’s a message both confrontational and comforting; a teaching both sharp and hard, and often so difficult to accept, or even hear. This is why so many today find Jesus and His Church unacceptable.

I remember walking with thousands of others on a “walk for life” in Boston many years ago. It was a peaceful event. And as we walked down Commonwealth Avenue in support of the unborn, the silence was broken only by the prayers and hymns of the participants…until we reached one corner. There a small group of protesters confronted us and fouled the air, screaming obscenities and blasphemies aimed at Jesus Christ and His Church.

You see, brothers and sisters, Jesus’ Word can be hard, and those who can’t accept and embrace it may find themselves filled with fury and standing on the brow of a hill ready to hurl Him, His message, and His Church headlong off the cliff.

Jesus didn’t go elsewhere because he was rejected; he was rejected because he intended to go elsewhere. That elsewhere beckons us, too; or at least it should, for we too are called. We have heard God’s Word. It has been fulfilled in our hearing. We are called to travel on hard paths, and to take up our cross, carrying it with us as we go.

How did Paul put it?

“For I resolved to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified” [2 Cor 2:2]

This is our God – our crucified and risen Lord, the God who lives, still bearing the wounds of His love.

This is our God, not a God to be tamed or controlled, but a God to be loved, a God who demands our complete trust.

This is our Christian calling, to abandon ourselves in trust, to abandon ourselves into His hands, allowing His will and not ours to be done in our lives.

To the world it appears as weakness; but believe me, it can be the hardest thing you will ever do.

The question is: Are you and I willing to do it?

Homily: 4th Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year C

Readings: Jer 1:4-5,17-19; Ps 71; 1Cor 12:31-13:13; Lk 4:21-30
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I get asked a lot of questions - questions about the Church, about God, about morality...what's right and what's wrong and why. Most are good questions, asked by people who need answers and are honestly searching for the truth, questions that come straight from the heart.

But occasionally the questions come from a different place. Sometimes they come from real hurt or anger, and sometimes from pride or hatred. These are hard questions and those asking are often at a place where they can't hear the answers.

Not long ago a mother asked me, "How can a loving God be so cruel? Why did He allow my daughter to die at 29? Why didn't He answer our prayers?" 

She was so angry with God that anything I said probably wouldn't change this, at least not yet.  And I understand that. In challenging times I've asked God some bitter questions myself -- questions that begin with anger, and lead to our wonder why God doesn't conform to our expectations.

I suppose we all create our own image of God, and we want His Church to support that image. We're really just asking: "Why doesn't God do what I want Him to do?" 

Sometimes I, the creature, try to play the role of creator, and create a lesser god in my own image.

Of course, it's nothing new. It's been around from the beginning. That first sin, the sin in the garden, was a sin of pride, with Adam and Eve wanting to be like God. And we also see it in evidence in today's Gospel passage from Luke.

Jesus visits his hometown of Nazareth, and in the synagogue, He reads the words of Isaiah. He then makes that amazing claim: 

"Today this Scripture passage is fulfilled in your hearing" [Lk 4:21].

At first the townspeople look at each other in amazement, overcome by wonder and pride.  Jesus is one of their own, the carpenter, who grew up and played with their children, and went to synagogue with them.

But then another attitude creeps is. How is it that Jesus speaks with such wisdom?

Isn't this the son of Joseph? [Lk 4:22]

Nazareth was likely a pretty quiet place - a small village on the road to larger, more exciting places. I suspect nothing much ever happened in Nazareth. And yet, on this day, in sleepy Nazareth, the people heard Jesus claim that the Word of Isaiah - the Word of their Fathers - was fulfilled in their hearing. 

Isn't this the son of Joseph?

Oh, they'd heard the rumors of miracles in Capernaum. They'd heard talk of healings and crowds and signs of God's favor. And many probably hoped He'd do the same in Nazareth, maybe even more, much more. 

But they kept thinking: Isn't this the son of Joseph? One of our own? 

And if He is a prophet, if He is a miracle-maker, shouldn't His own people be the first to benefit?  After all, we're his people! His family! His friends! He should do something special for us, perhaps some wonderful miracle, or some healings. God knows we have enough sick people in town. If He'd do that then we'd know God's power is right here in Nazareth, in this forgotten corner of Galilee. Yes, indeed, they wanted a prophet who would do their bidding, not God's.

And so what does Jesus do? Nothing!

No miracles. Instead He speaks of the prophet Elijah and the famine that spread throughout the land in those ancient days. Although many of God's Chosen People were starving, God sent Elijah to a widow of Zarephath, a pagan from the land of Sidon. It was she and her son, two pagans, whom Elijah miraculously fed.

And no healings. Instead of healing the sick of Nazareth, Jesus speaks of the prophet Elisha and the leper God sent him to heal, a man called Naaman, another pagan, this one from Syria.

Jesus told them of God's grace poured out not on Jews, not on friends and neighbors, but on aliens, on unbelievers.  This infuriated them. Jesus is certainly not their kind of prophet, their kind of Messiah. And so they rose up, drove Him out of town, to the brow of a steep hill, hoping to hurl Him off the cliff.

Today we meet these Nazarenes across a vast gulf of time and traditions and language and experience ...and although these differences are great, perhaps we're more like them than we know. 

After all, don't we sometimes yearn for a God we can control, one who will do our bidding?

Don't we sometimes want a God who will reward us, His friends, and punish our enemies? 

Oh, yes, we want a just and merciful God, so long as we're the ones who benefit from his justice and mercy. It's okay if God plays favorites so long as we're the favored ones.

We ask for forgiveness when we fail to do God's bidding, and then demand that he do ours.

Sometimes we're just not all that comfortable with an all-knowing, all-powerful God. 

Sometimes we prefer our God in a box with well-defined limitations, one who conforms to our vision of what God should do. We want a God we can tame. 

And so did the people of Nazareth. For on that day Jesus reminded his friends and neighbors that God's ways are not their ways. God's grace cannot be constrained by our boundaries or controlled by our prayers. When Jesus spoke in the synagogue, he gave notice that his ministry would embrace the stranger and include the outsider. He prefigured that remarkable command he issued right before His Ascension:

"Go, therefore, make disciples of all nations..." [Mt 28:19]

His message can be comforting, but also challenging and confrontational.  His teaching was often sharp and hard and difficult to accept, or even to hear. Like the people of Nazareth, many today find Jesus and His Church just as unacceptable. 

I remember walking with thousands of others on a "walk for life" in Boston some years ago. It was a peaceful event. And as we walked down Commonwealth Avenue in support of the unborn, the silence was broken only by the prayers and hymns of the participants...until we reached one corner. There a group of protesters fouled the air, screaming obscenities and blasphemies aimed directly at Jesus Christ and His Church. 

At the time I was walking alongside Bishop Sean O'Malley, now the Cardinal Archbishop of Boston. But when I grumbled, "I think I'll go over there and straighten them out," Bishop Sean just placed a hand on my shoulder and said, "Now, Dana, remember, God loves them too."

Walk for Life - Boston 2001

Yes, God does love them. As Jeremiah reminds us in our first reading, 

"Before I formed you in the womb I knew you..." [Jer 1:5].

...and they need our prayers and our love, not our condemnation. 

Brothers and sisters, we all know that Jesus' Word is sometimes hard for us, and those who can't accept and embrace it may find themselves filled with fury and standing on the brow of a hill ready to hurl Him and His message headlong off the cliff. Jesus didn't leave Nazareth and go elsewhere because He was rejected; He was rejected because He went elsewhere.

That elsewhere beckons us for we, too, have heard God's Word. It has been fulfilled in our hearing. We are called to travel on hard paths, and to take up our cross, carrying it with us as we go.

This is our God - our crucified and risen Lord, the God who lives, God with skin on, still bearing the wounds of His love. 

This is our God, not a God to be tamed or controlled, but a God to be loved, a God who calls us to love one another, who demands our complete trust.

This is our Christian calling, to abandon ourselves in trust, to abandon ourselves into His hands, allowing His will and not ours to be done in our lives.

To the world this is weakness; but believe me, it's not for weaklings. It's so hard you and I can't do it alone. We always need God's help.

The question is: Are we willing to seek His help and answer His call?

Homily: Monday of the 3rd Week of Lent

Readings: 2 Kgs 5:1-15; Ps 42; Lk 4:24-30
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How small a God do you believe in?

It's kind of an odd question, isn't it? But it's really the question with which Jesus challenged the people of Nazareth, His hometown.

"...they were all filled with fury...."

When He showed up in the synagogue, they were already upset. They'd heard all about the wondrous things He'd done elsewhere, and wanted Him to do the same in Nazareth. They thought they were special. Jesus, after all, was from Nazareth, and so they deserved special treatment. If Jesus were this great prophet that people were already calling Him, they why hadn't He done anything here in Nazareth?

Of course, there was no thought of conversion, no desire to change their hearts. And repentance? Well, no need for that. No, their demand was all about entitlement, for they were a people wrapped up in themselves. Jesus looked at them and saw no humility, only pride.

And, remarkably, they really exhibited little curiosity about Jesus Himself. Oh, they thought they knew Him, because He had grown up among them. But they could see Jesus only as He used to be, as the child who played in their streets. And now He's a prophet?

Well, Jesus, if you're so great, how about proving it? Yes, they wanted some miracles too. But for the miraculous to engender faith, the heart must be well disposed.

You see, brothers and sisters, the people in that synagogue in Nazareth believed in a very small god, a god of Nazareth, not the God of Creation. In a very real sense they'd tried to create a god in their own image, and such a god must be very small indeed.

How does Jesus respond?

Naaman, healed by obedience not water [2 Kgs 5:1-19]

He reminds them of how God worked wondrous miracles through His prophets Elijah and Elisha... but they were miracles aimed at those beyond the borders of Israel, at Gentiles, not Jews. For God, the true God, is the God of all of His Creation. He certainly isn't a God to whom we can dictate.

Elijah and the widow [1 Kgs 17:9-24]

And so, with His examples from the books of Kings, the King of Kings reproaches His neighbors. His reproach, of course, is an attack on their pride.

And they respond. They respond with murderous intent.

Now I've occasionally said things in homilies to which people objected, but no one's ever tried to kill me...at least I don't think so.

But not Jesus. They force Him out of both synagogue and town, intending to throw Him off a cliff. But Jesus withdraws. He withdraws miraculously, mysteriously, majestically, leaving them paralyzed in their wounded pride; perhaps even questioning: "Who is this man that we thought we knew?"

How about you? How about me?

Are we sometimes like them? Do we believe in a little god, a subservient god, one at our beck and call, a god who does, or should do, our will?

Or do we believe in the Lord God, the God who created us out of love, who reveals Himself to us out of love, and calls us to do His will? 

And what about Jesus, the One the Father sent to become one of us, the One who gave His life for us, out of love? 

Do we listen to His Word? Do we realize He speaks to us constantly and from the mouths of the most unlikely people?

And that Cross He carries, that pesky Cross. Does He really expect me to carry one too? Why can't He just make my life perfect, just the way I'd like it?

Who is your God? Who is my God? Who is our Jesus? Have you and I created a little god, one our minds can comprehend, one we can control?

Or, like the deer that thirsts for the stream's running water, do we  thirst and long for the God of Creation, the God of Revelation, the God of the Incarnation, the God who loves, the God who saves, the God who calls each one of us to be His disciple?

You and I have to let go of our little gods and let the true God quench our thirst as He wills.

God love you.

Homily: 13th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings:1 Kgs 19:16-21; Ps 19; Gal 5:1,13-18; Lke 9:51-62

Growing up in suburban New York back in the fifties, I loved the long days of summer vacation. And I especially liked those hours of daylight between supper and sunset. Right after dinner, all the kids in the neighborhood would run out into the street to play stick-ball or curb-ball, two perfect games created by God for the exclusive enjoyment of the children of New York. We’d play until right before sunset, for that’s when we’d begin to hear voices, the voices of mothers calling for their children.

The youngest would always be called first. Then came the twins, Robert and Dick Moll, whose strict Jewish mother was sure they’d be hit by a car if they stayed out a minute past dusk. Next came Larry Henriques, Kenny Flowers, Teddy Nichols, and me. And then the older kids, who’d get maybe another 15 minutes.

It was quite a ritual. I was particularly good at pleading and begging for more time. “It’s a tie game, Mom. We can’t end on a tie game.” Sometimes it actually worked and I’d win a few precious minutes. But more often the next thing I’d hear would be the booming voice of my father. This was no request. It was a command. The alternative? Well, that was something no ten-year-old mind wanted to dwell on. So when my father called, I obeyed...well, usually.

Remembering those days, I realized how little we change as we age. Oh, we change on the surface. We mature physically, emotionally, and intellectually. We may no longer look like children, but we are still childish in so many ways. We’ve learned to place a few controls on our emotions, so we won’t embarrass ourselves in polite company. And unlike children with their transparent excuses, we’ve learned to create and express nice-sounding, politically correct rationales for our less-than-perfect behavior. Quite simply, we’ve become devious. Hiding behind our age and the trappings of adulthood, we manage to fool ourselves into believing we’re no longer the naïve, dependent children we once were.

Indeed, most of us actually believe we’re self-sufficient, independent beings, in complete control of our lives. We have our homes, our jobs, our investments, our nice cars, our retirement home in The Villages… Everything is right with our little world.

But then reality intrudes in the form of the Gospel. In the Gospel we’re confronted by uncomfortable truths that conflict with our seemingly comfortable lives.

The first truth? We are all called. And Jesus’ call is at the very heart of Christian discipleship.

In today’s Gospel passage, Jesus, knowing what lies ahead of Him in Jerusalem, nevertheless begins His journey full of resolve because His mission is nothing less than the salvation of humanity. And as He and His disciples make their way across Samaria, Jesus continues to call us to Him. “Follow me,” He says, first to one, then another. Jesus calls them – the same invitation He offers to you and to me. And what’s their response? What’s our response?

Like the children playing in that New York street 50 years ago, all those called by Jesus expressed a willingness to comply…just not quite yet. Each made an excuse for putting it off. Each was bound to his current life by something he considered more important than God and His call. How utterly foolish of them…and of us! They fell prey to the misguided and soul-destroying belief that the things of this world take precedence over God.

Oh, their excuses sound legitimate enough. “Let me bury my father first,” one replied. Sounds reasonable, until we understand what he really meant. His father, you see, was still alive or the man wouldn’t have been there. It was Jewish custom to bury their dead on the same day they died.

What this young man was really saying is that he was not yet willing to leave the comforts of home and family. Maybe after his father died…But Jesus would have none of it. “Come away and proclaim the kingdom of God,” He responds. Jesus knows that, in everything, there’s a crucial moment when one is expected to act. This was this young man’s crucial moment, and he missed it.

When another expressed a desire to respond, Jesus looked into his heart and saw unwillingness to accept the poverty and insecurity he’ll be called to face. “The Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head.” Are you ready for that?

Still another wanted to say goodbye to the folks at home, but Jesus told him a disciple must be prepared to sacrifice everything, even the affection of a family. “Whoever puts his hand to the plow but keeps looking back is unfit for the reign of God.” Everyone in that rural audience knew that if one wants to plow a straight furrow, he must pay attention to where he’s going, not where he’s been.

They also knew the story told in our first reading. When called by Elijah, Elisha, a wealthy man with 12 yoke of oxen, gave up everything. Using his wooden plows as fuel, he barbecued his oxen, distributed the food among his people. He gave up every asset, left his parents, and broke all ties with his comfortable life. There was no going back for Elisha.

The world sees Elisha’s actions as the height of irresponsibility, but God doesn’t call us to conform to the world. He calls us to conform to His Will.

Some of you may object that God’s call is reserved for prophets and saints, for specially chosen men and women. And you’d be wrong. God issues His call to each of us. As St. Paul told the people of Galatia, “Remember that you have been called to live in freedom – but not a freedom that gives reign to the flesh.”

For here lies one of the great truths and great paradoxes of Christianity: We are truly free only when we accept our complete dependence on the will of God. Anything else leads to slavery, the slavery of sin, the slavery of materialism, the slavery of setting ourselves up like gods in control of our own destiny.

Listen to the call of Christ. It is Christ who sets us free – who calls us to freedom. Stand firm, St. Paul instructs us, don’t slip back into slavery.

But sometimes it’s easier to remain enslaved. Like the faithless Israelites who cursed Moses for leading them into the suffering of the desert. Better to live in slavery than to die in the desert. It’s no different today. The entire world – the world of media, advertising, entertainment, politics – all the machinery of our secular society entices us into slavery. It’s a message designed to drown out the message of Jesus Christ: “Listen to us” the world shouts at us, “We will tell you what you want!”

But Jesus doesn’t shout. He doesn’t force us. No, He asks us; for He respects our freedom.

“What do you want?” he asks. Do you really want the life in the Spirit I have promised you?

Do you really want to follow me? Do you want the exhilarating joy of God’s freedom?

If you walk in my light, if you walk in the light of Christ, I will free you from the darkness that surrounds you.

What do you want?

And then, brothers and sisters, you and I are left to give our answer.

Homily: 4th Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year C)

I neglected to post this homily last week...my apologies.

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Readings: Jer 1:4-5,17-29; Psalm 71; 1Corinthians 12:31-13:13; Lk 4:21-30
As a deacon I get asked a lot of questions – questions about the Church, questions about God, questions about morality…what’s right and what’s wrong and why. And, you know, most of them are good questions, questions asked by people who need answers, who are honestly searching for the truth, questions that come straight from the heart.

But occasionally the questions I’m asked come from a different place. Occasionally they come from anger, or from pride, or from hatred. And it’s those questions I have a hard time answering. It’s not so much that they’re hard to answer; it’s that those asking them don’t want to hear the answers.

“How can a loving God be so cruel? Why did He kill all those innocent people in that earthquake?”

“Isn’t the Church against abortion just because it gives women control over their lives?”

“Why didn’t God answer my prayer? I told Him what I needed again and again.”

“How come the Church hates gay people?”

You see, in each instance it’s pretty clear they’ve already made up their minds. They already have their own answers, answers that support what they want to believe. What really bothers them is God’s unwillingness to conform to the divine image they’ve created. And they want His Church to support that image.

Those questions, as different as they might seem on the surface, really boil down to one question: “Why doesn’t God agree with me?” In other words, the creature tries to assume the role of the creator – by creating a god in his image.

Of course, this is nothing new. It’s been around from the very beginning. That first sin, the sin in the garden, was a sin of pride: Adam and Eve wanting to be like God. And we also see it in evidence in today’s Gospel passage from Luke.

Jesus in the synagogue of Nazareth

Jesus visits his home town of Nazareth, enters the synagogue, and reads the words of Isaiah. He then makes that amazing claim: “Today this Scripture passage is fulfilled in your hearing” [Lk 4:21]

At first the townspeople look at each other in amazement, overcome by wonder and pride. Isn’t Jesus one of their own? Isn’t He the same one who grew up with their own children, played with them, went to synagogue with them? Isn’t He the young carpenter? Isn’t this the son of Joseph? How is it He speaks with such wisdom?

Nazareth was likely a pretty quiet place — a small village on the road to larger, more exciting places. I suspect nothing much ever happened in Nazareth. And yet, on this day, in sleepy Nazareth, the people heard the Word of Isaiah – the Word of their Fathers – claimed to be fulfilled in their hearing. Isn’t this the son of Joseph?

Oh, they’d heard the rumors of miracles in Capernaum. They’d heard talk of healings and crowds and signs of God’s favor. And most of them probably hoped He’d do the same in Nazareth – maybe even more…much more. But they kept thinking: Isn’t this the son of Joseph? One of our own. And if He is a prophet, if He is a miracle-maker, then shouldn’t His own people be the first to benefit? After all, we’re his people! His family! His friends! He should do something special for us, perhaps some wonderful miracle, or some healings. God knows we have enough sick people in town. If He’d do that then we’d know God’s power is here, right here in Nazareth, this little town in this forgotten corner of Galilee.

Elijah and the widow

But what does Jesus do? Nothing. No miracle. Instead He speaks of the prophet Elijah and the famine that spread throughout the land in those ancient days. Although many of God’s Chosen People were starving, God sent Elijah to a widow of Zarephath, a pagan from the land of Sidon. It was she and her son, these pagans, whom Elijah miraculously fed [1 Kgs 17:7-16].

And no healings. Instead of healing the sick of Nazareth, Jesus speaks of the prophet Elisha and the leper God sent him to heal, a man called Naaman, a pagan from Syria — and this when there were many lepers in Israel [2 Kgs 5].

The people of Nazareth gathered in the synagogue to see and hear Jesus, this son of Joseph who was apparently doing wondrous things throughout Galilee. They hoped to be amazed by His words and to marvel at His mighty deeds. Yes, they wanted the hometown boy to bring them signs of God’s favor. They wanted a prophet who would do their bidding, not God’s.

But instead, Jesus told them stories of God’s grace poured out not on Jews, not on friends and neighbors, but on aliens, on unbelievers. And this infuriated them. Jesus is certainly not their kind of Messiah. And so they rose up, drove Him out of town, to the brow of a steep hill, hoping to hurl Him off the cliff.

Yes, we meet these Nazarenes across a vast gulf of time and traditions and language and experience… and although these differences are great, perhaps we’re more like them than we know. After all, don’t we also sometimes yearn for a God we can control, one who will do our bidding? Don’t we sometimes want a God who will reward us, His friends, and punish our enemies?

Oh, yes, we want a just and merciful God, as long as we’re the ones who benefit from his justice and mercy. It’s okay if God plays favorites so long as we’re the favored ones. We ask for forgiveness when we fail to do God’s bidding, and then we demand that he do ours.

Most of the time, we’re not particularly comfortable with a truly omnipotent and omniscient God. We prefer our God in a box with well-defined limitations, one who conforms to our vision of what God should do. We want a God we can tame. And so did the people of Nazareth.

For on that day Jesus reminded his friends and neighbors that God’s ways are not our ways. God’s grace cannot be constrained by our boundaries or controlled by our prayers. When Jesus spoke in the synagogue, he gave notice that his ministry would embrace the stranger and include the outsider. His message would be as confrontational as it was comforting. His teaching would be sharp and hard and often difficult to accept, or even hear.

This is why so many today find Jesus and His Church just as unacceptable. I remember walking with thousands of others on a “walk for life” in Boston some years ago. It was a peaceful event. And as we walked down Commonwealth Avenue in support of the unborn, the silence was broken only by the prayers and hymns of the participants…until we reached one corner. There we were confronted by a small group of protesters who fouled the air, screaming obscenities and blasphemies aimed directly at Jesus Christ and His Church.

You see, brothers and sisters, Jesus’ Word can be hard, and those who can’t accept and embrace it may find themselves filled with fury and standing on the brow of a hill ready to hurl him, and his message, headlong off the cliff.

Jesus didn’t go elsewhere because he was rejected; he was rejected because he intended to go elsewhere. That elsewhere beckons us, too; or at least it should, for we too are called. We have heard God’s Word. It has been fulfilled in our hearing. We are called to travel on hard paths, and to take up our cross, carrying it with us as we go.

This is our God – our crucified and risen Lord, the God who lives, still bearing the wounds of His love.  This is our God, not a God to be tamed or controlled, but a God to be loved, a God who demands our complete trust. This is our Christian calling, to abandon ourselves in trust, to abandon ourselves into His hands, allowing His will and not ours to be done in our lives. To the world it appears to be weakness; but believe me, it can be the hardest thing you will ever do.

The question is: Are we willing to do it?