Homily: Saturday, 17th Week in Ordinary Time

Readings: Lv 25:1,8-17; Ps 67; Mt 14:1-12

When we view this Gospel passage in context we find Matthew, in these verses and those that precede and follow them, offering us a litany of rejections. We encounter scribes and Pharisees, priests and kings, and even ordinary folks, all rejecting Jesus. Each seemed to reject Jesus out of a kind of personal pride, that same lack of humility that plagues the human race and leads us to believe we are such independent beings we really don't need the God who created us out of love. Perhaps we can learn something about ourselves from all these rejections.

Teachers, those scribes and Pharisees, wanted recognition and respect for their knowledge and scholarship. They certainly didn't want to be criticized and embarrassed by Jesus, this nobody from Nazareth.

Priests and Levites wanted to be admired by the people as holy and justified, and not called out in public as hypocrites.

A king, even a small-time king like Herod Antipas, wanted to satisfy his every desire and exerted his power over others to do so.

Even the crowds, the ordinary folks, wanted to escape the anonymity and banality of their everyday lives. But they simply couldn't accept that one of their own was something very special.

It's as if Matthew ran all these people by us, one after another, so we can identify our reasons for rejecting Jesus  Although their reasons may differ, they all suffered from the same spiritual sickness that prevented them from recognizing Jesus as He truly is. They're just so wrapped up in themselves, so tightly wrapped, that their minds and hearts can't accept what their senses tell them. As for us, whether we accept Jesus with faith or reject Him with indifference, our choice, like these others, will reflect our circumstances and our desires.

John Chastises Herod

Just look at Herod Antipas and his desires, his weaknesses, his fears. Matthew presents this son of Herod the Great as a fearful man, one so afraid of John the Baptist's moral authority that he must shut him up by locking him up. We encounter a self-important, power-hungry, lustful little man, whose shabbiness symbolizes the evil and sin that ruled his life. Herod killed John to satisfy his lust and his pride, and then in a communion of evil, a self-absorbed celebration of his birthday, had John's head brought to Salome, his niece and stepdaughter, on a platter.

Salome with the Head of John the Baptist

But even Herod had a conscience, though grossly deformed and deformed by fear. We see it in his fear, not a fear of God, but a fear that this Jesus, who has such mighty powers, might be John resurrected.

Indeed, speaking of John, Herod uttered those words that seem blasphemous from one such as Herod, the same words the angel spoke to the women at Jesus' tomb:

"He has been raised from the dead" [Mt 14:2; 28:6].

But Herod couldn't bear the thought of God and His justice, or even His mercy. Perhaps he hoped that this evil distortion of the true Resurrection would free him of the guilt he carries for John's murder and so much else. 

Yes, indeed, Satan was working overtime in Herod's palace. Herod wanted a world safe for his desires and will do anything to maintain it. This becomes clear by the verbs Matthew uses to describe Herod's actions: arrested, bound, imprisoned, feared, killed, beheaded.

Are we all like Herod? One would hope not, but I can speak only for myself, where the difference is perhaps just a matter of degree. What Herod lacked, and what every sinner lacks is the virtue of humility, the one virtue that drives all the others.

And so perhaps each day, as we wake and greet our loving God, we should thank Him for making us so dependent on His love. How did God put it to Moses at the end of our first reading? 

"...stand in fear of your God. I, the LORD, am your God" [Lv 25:17]. 

Yes, stand in fear, in awe, of our God. Thank Him for our smallness, for our weakness, and for the gift of recognizing the presence of His love, His greatness, in all the others we encounter.

And perhaps, too, we should do the same at the end of each day, thanking Him for all the opportunities to share His love, and repenting for those opportunities we ignored. Then, like John, we too can be joyful as we pray: 

"He must increase; I must decrease" [Jn 3:30].

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?