June 2010 Sánchez Sunday Commentaries & Sample Homilies (C)

MOST HOLY BODY AND BLOOD OF JESUS (C) June 6, 2010

Give Them Some Food Patricia Datchuck Sánchez

Gen 14:18-20 1 Cor 11:23-26 Luke 9:11-17

Because the word of God is a living word, there are always a variety of ways to enter into the text. Once inside the mystery of the word, open-minded believers are challenged to listen, to ponder and to allow the transformative power of God’s good and graced word to lead them toward conversion and growth. Because the word of God lives, it also has a portable quality. We are to carry with us into the rest of our lives what we have come to know to be true, to be just, to be holy. As we travel together, the word continually challenges our commitment, our faith, our generosity. Today, the challenge of the word could be summed up quite succinctly in the directive of the Lucan Jesus: “Give them some food yourselves.” To put it another way, those who have been fed with God’s gracious gifts are thereby responsible for tending the needs and hungers of others. When God called the Israelites out of Egypt, God saw to their needs and fed them with manna, quail and water from the rock. Fed by God, the Israelites were then to feed and care for the needy among them. This created a pattern of care and hospitality upon which their very survival depended. When Jesus called disciples to share in his ministry, he began by feeding them. He nourished their minds and spirits with the food of his teaching; he fed their hopes with his assurance of God’s love and salvation. Jesus fed their hunger to belong — not only by acting as their faithful friend but also as their loving brother. Jesus also understood their longing for security, and in order to fill that hunger, he fed them with the gift of his abiding presence. As the Gospels repeatedly attest, Jesus did not confine himself, or the nourishment he had to offer, to his disciples. Aware that hunger is a universal experience, he welcomed all who came to him. In him, those who hungered for healing were satisfied. Those who thirsted for kindness and acceptance found their fill in him. Sinners seeking forgiveness and a new beginning were never disappointed by Jesus, whose loving hand and heart reached out to all people. Jesus also attended to the physical hungers of those who came to him. His feeding of the crowds with a few loaves and a couple of fish would become a sign of his willingness to satisfy every human hunger. This he did with the gift of himself, broken and bleeding on the cross. This he continues to do with the gift of himself in bread and wine at every eucharistic gathering. As we celebrate this great gift today, we acknowledge how privileged we are to be nourished regularly at the table of the Lord. Fine food, and plenty of it, is ever available. All we need to do is come, eat and be satisfied by the bread of the word and the bread of the body of Christ. But this privilege is not without its responsibilities. We are fed by the body of Christ so that we can go forth and feed the members of the body of Christ. We are to nourish others according to their need. According to stopthehunger.com, whose statistics are updated in real time, 13,631 people died of hunger today. As I write this in late February, 1,021,795,769 of the world’s people are undernourished, while 1,146,175,278 are overweight and 341,133,043 others are obese. In the United States alone, $120,505,640 is being spent on obesity-related diseases, while $2,618,880 is being given in global food aid. Another $52,394,116 is being spent on weight-loss products and programs while about a third of that ($17,026,848) could feed the hungry today. (Check stopthehunger.com for your own accurate daily statistics.) Some may object that such statistics have no place at Sunday worship. But if not here, where will the cries of the poor be heard? How will their hungers be fed, if not by you and me? Our belonging to the body of Christ compels us to care. As we have been fed so generously at the table of Christ, we are now made responsible for those less fortunate. “Give them some food yourselves,” said Jesus. How can we ignore him and still show up to eat our fill next Sunday?

Gen 14:18-20 A mysterious figure of unknown origin, Melchizedek is portrayed by the authors of Genesis as the priest-king of Salem (the site of the future city of Jerusalem). He is featured here as coming out to meet Abram, who was returning from battle. In order to rescue his nephew Lot from a coalition of Canaanite kings, Abram had taken on the uncharacteristic role of warrior. After defeating those kings, Abram was blessed by Melchizedek, who offered him gifts of bread and wine. Abram, in turn, offered the priest-king 10 percent of his captured booty. Bruce Vawter suggests that, at the very least, the purpose of this short narrative is to bring one of Israel’s patriarchs into close conjunction with the city, the royalty and the priesthood of a place that, historically, became Israelite only in David’s time (“Melchizedek,” The Dictionary of the Bible and Religion, edited by William Gentz, Abingdon Press, Nashville, Tenn.: 1986). At the most, Melchizedek’s story may have been included in the primeval history to evoke the circumstances of the relationship established between David and the Jebusite priesthood of Zadok after he claimed the holy city as his capital (2 Sam 5:8-10; 8:17). Melchizedek’s name appears also in Psalm 110, a royal enthronement song, which honored one of Judah’s kings as “a priest forever in the order of Melchizedek” (v. 4). This description affirmed the priestly character of kingship (2 Sam 8:18), while attesting that the king’s ancient predecessor had been a priest-king. In other Hebrew literature (Philo of Alexandria, Qumran scrolls), Melchizedek became something of an eschatological figure, the personification of good versus evil and/or the epitome of a heavenly priest whose service continues forever. In the Christian scriptures, the author of Hebrews (Chs. 5-7) referred to Melchizedek as a type of Christ in order to illustrate the superiority of Jesus’ priesthood and sacrifice over those of Hebrew tradition. However, as Walter Brueggemann has pointed out, this typology should be understood theologically rather than historically (Genesis, John Knox Press, Atlanta: 1982). Jesus’ linkage with Melchizedek rests in two things: the fact that their origins are mysterious and that their functions were similar. By the second Christian century, Clement of Alexandria was encouraging believers to appreciate Melchizedek’s gifts of bread and wine as types of the Eucharist. In the fourth century, Cyprian insisted that the offering to Abram should be understood as an authentic sacrifice that prefigured the perfect sacrifice of Jesus. Today, the name of Melchizedek continues to be invoked in reference to Jesus. Just as Melchizedek blessed Abram and offered gifts of bread and wine, so does Jesus bless all of humankind with the offering of himself as food 1 Cor 11:23-26 Paul’s account of the gift of the Eucharist is, of course, the earliest. Writing a couple of decades before the oral tradition about Jesus was organized into a written Gospel, Paul presented his narrative to his Corinthian readers just as he presented the kerygma (1 Cor 15:3-4): as tradition that he had received and that he was faithfully handing on. Paul had begun this section of his correspondence with this same reference to tradition (1 Cor 11:1-2). He praised the believers in Corinth for holding fast to the tradition as he had handed it on to them. Then he went on to address some problems regarding the proper conduct at liturgy. Some abuses were going on, and Paul responded quickly so the worship that united the Corinthians to Jesus and one another would remain authentic. At the heart of this instruction is the account of Jesus’ action at the Last Supper. This account is not an exact or comprehensive description; it bears the liturgical and stylistic features of a Hellenized tradition, probably of Antiochene origin. Nevertheless, it contains the most primitive (that is, earliest) theology concerning the institution of the Eucharist. “This is my body, which is for you,” said Jesus. Underlying this statement is the belief that Jesus suffered vicariously for the sake of sinners and died so that all might be saved (Rom 5:6-8; 1 Cor 15:3). Jesus’ offer of the cup — “This cup is the new covenant in my blood” — recalled the sacrifice at Sinai, which was sealed with a blood sacrifice (Exod 24:8), as well as the new and eternal covenant promised by Jeremiah (31:31). Both covenants came together and were fulfilled in the action of Jesus. Just as the Passover meal celebrated Israel’s deliverance from Egypt (Exod 12:14), so the action of Jesus at the Last Supper would become the means for us to remember and celebrate all humankind’s deliverance from sin and death. With the concluding words of this narrative (“… proclaim the death of the Lord until he comes,” v. 26), Paul affirmed the eschatological character of the eucharistic celebration. Whenever the faithful gather around the Lord’s table, their united action constitutes a proclamation of the entire Christ-event. Not only does the celebration look back to the cross and Jesus’ salvific death, but it also anticipates the future when the sacramental presence of the Lord will replaced by full participation in his eternal presence. In addition to its eschatological dimension, the celebration of the Eucharist is also existential, in that it brings together in one great act of loving worship the entire body of Christ. Jesus, the head of the body, and every forgiven and saved member of that body are united in a covenant that challenges all of us to share ourselves until every human need is recognized and filled.

Luke 9:11-17 Some quite reputable scholars, particularly those who question the eucharistic and sacramental significance of Jesus’ action at the Last Supper, look at this event and call it not a miracle of multiplication, but one of sharing. The “miracle,” says Albert Nolan, was that so many people should suddenly cease to be possessive about their food and begin to share, only to discover that there was more than enough to go around (Jesus Before Christianity, Orbis Books, Maryknoll, N.Y.: 2001). While this theory may seem plausible to some, it overlooks the true significance of this event and diminishes the action of Jesus. In feeding the multitudes, Jesus was revealing who he was and why he had come into the world. As presented by Luke, the loaves event constituted part of the answer to the question asked by Herod, “Who is this man about whom I hear such things?” (Luke 9:9). In response, Luke has portrayed Jesus as a prophet like Elisha, who had fed a hundred people with only 20 loaves (2 Kgs 4:42-44). Elisha’s action, like that of Jesus, bore witness to the mighty deeds of God to feed the hungry (Isa 25:6; 65:13-14; Pss 78:19; 81:16-17). Such actions were perceived as signs of the messianic era. In verse 17, the statement “All ate and were satisfied” (literally, “were filled”) reflected the bounty that was associated with the reign of the messiah (Pss 37:19; 132:15). That reign had begun in Jesus, and Luke offered the loaves event as a joyful witness to that good news. After the resurrection of Jesus, his followers looked back upon this event and recognized its relationship to Jesus’ action at the Last Supper. In both instances Jesus took bread, raised his eyes to heaven, broke the bread and gave it. However, although the loaves event was indeed miraculous, it is not to be confused with the sacramental gift of Jesus’ body and blood; rather, it functioned as a sign that prefigured the gift of himself on the cross as well as the gift of himself as food. Thierry Maertens and Jean Frisque have said that the loaves event continues to challenge contemporary believers (Guide for the Christian Assembly, Fides Press, Notre Dame, Ind.: 1970). Calling it a “matter of conscience,” the two French scholars insist that the nourishment Jesus offered so freely, there in that deserted place as well as at the Last Supper, makes world hunger the responsibility of those who have been so well fed. Maertens and Frisque also suggest that the eucharistic food of Jesus should not fill and satisfy every human hunger. Because it constitutes a taste of the eternal banquet, our eucharistic sharing should whet our appetites and leave us hungering for more — more God, more grace, more unity, more justice, more peace. This hunger should compel us to work with renewed zeal toward easing the hunger in others. “Give them some food yourselves,” said Jesus. Could his words be any clearer?

Sample Homily June 6, 2010 Feast of the Body and Blood Fr. James Smith

“Over Jesus’ Shoulder”

The pagan king of Salem offered ordinary bread and wine, but the church sees them as signs of the Eucharist. Jesus gave his friends ordinary bread and fish, but the church recognizes these as signs of Communion. All creation symbolizes Christ, but our vision is clouded with the early mire of evil and violence and boredom and death. But once in a graceful while we are aware of God’s presence. That resonates with a poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins. He is describing a dismal autumn in Wales, which is mostly mud drizzle and despair, when he suddenly notices some buds on a bleak tree. And he marvels: “These things were there, but the beholder lacking.” In more prosaic terms, “These signs of hope were there all the time, but I didn’t notice them.” Someone once said that in this single poetic line is the best description of sacraments, God’s physical presence in our lives. Because sacraments are not sudden guest appearances of God on earth; sacraments happen when we notice that God is already present in what we are doing. God is always saving, but we don’t usually pay attention until we pour water over a baby and invoke God’s saving grace. God is always healing, but we are clueless until we anoint a sick person and call on God’s soothing balm. God is always forgiving, but we are rarely aware until we hear the priest speak God’s forgiveness. God is always and everywhere, like air. And we ignore both equally easily. We experience it but we don’t know we experience it. Or as T.S. Eliot wrote, we had the experience but missed the meaning. In order to notice God all over, we must celebrate God her. In order to experience God all the time, we must experience God now. The bricks of a church are no holier than the bricks of a gym, but we build a church to remind us that God is everywhere. Sunday is no holier than any other 24 hours; we set Sunday aside to recall that God is all the time. We need reminders that all time and space are sacred. We don’t see God everywhere all the time because we look at things from our perspective. One day Jesus was loafing on a hillside, picking his teeth with a straw, when he was suddenly mesmerized. He called, “John, come here! Just look at those lilies, so alive, so beautiful, but absolutely unaware of their value. They don’t need to be useful, they don’t demand security, they accept the sun and rain equally, and they die without regret. That is the way my Father wants his children to live. Don’t you see?” When Jesus and his friends were near the temple, Jesus would always say, “You can smell the sacrificed sheep and bulls, the scorched hide and simmering fat. But what I smell above them is the sour stench of sanctity, the silly belief that God likes sacrifices, the conviction that people can save themselves: the stink of hypocrisy. Surely you can smell that!” When children scrambled all over Jesus because they sensed that he was one of them, the disciples shooed them away. But Jesus said, “Kids are dear to God because they receive everything as a gift and have no private agenda. Can’t you just feel their innocence?” At his last supper, Jesus said, “This bread is dry and hard and brittle and dull. It tastes like my death. But this wine is bright and bubbly and exciting — it tastes like my life. Just taste it!” Like the disciples, we have the power to look over Jesus’ shoulder, to see what he saw. God’s Son came to earth so that you and I can see and touch and smell and hear and taste our earth the same way that God does. Can’t you feel that?

ELEVENTH SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME (C) June 13, 2010

Guilty as Charged Patricia Datchuck Sánchez

2 Sam 12:7-10, 13 Gal 2:16, 19-21 Luke 7:36-8:3

When Jeffrey Dahmer was arrested in the summer of 1991, he had kidnapped, tortured and killed 17 men. Even though the proof of his crimes was unassailable, Dahmer pleaded not guilty. Those who bombed the federal building in Oklahoma City in April 1995, killing 180 and injuring more than 680 people, also admitted no guilt. That same year, a notorious ex-football player denied murdering his wife and her friend. Even though the evidence against him seemed irrefutable, O.J. Simpson pleaded “100 percent not guilty!” On a much larger scale, a Serbian named Slobodan Milošević organized and executed a mass “ethnic cleansing” in the former Yugoslavia. More than 200,000 Muslim civilians were murdered; 2,000,000 fled as refugees and more than 20,000 went missing and were feared dead. At his trial at The Hague in February 2002, Milošević pleaded not guilty and even presented reasons meant to justify his heinous actions. Only months ago, in December 2009, a young man from Nigeria attempted to ignite a bomb aboard a plane headed to Detroit. Had he succeeded, he would have killed more than 300 people. He also claimed to be not guilty. “Not guilty” is the initial response given so often by political and public leaders accused of marital infidelity. The web that is created by lies heaped upon lies, no matter how convincingly they are told, usually unravels at some point. Even then, however, some continue to cling to the fiction of innocence. What is lacking in each of these instances of wrongdoing is a humble integrity that leads sinners to own their actions and decisions and admit their guilt. British historian and politician Thomas McCauley (1800-1859) once described integrity as the measure of a good person who does the right thing, even when no one would even know whether you did it or not. People with integrity, adds Stephen R. Covey, are those whose words match their deeds and whose behaviors mirror their values (Everyday Greatness, Thomas Nelson, Inc., Nashville, Tenn.: 2006). Their honesty and ethics can be trusted. They honor commitments; they are known for doing the right things for the right reasons, at the right times. While numerous instances of integrity take place in public settings, the most powerful acts are often performed in those quiet moments when no one else is looking. Covey tells the story of a father and son fishing alone in the middle of a New Hampshire lake. They had caught several perch and sunfish when all of a sudden, the son hooked the biggest bass either of them had ever seen. As the boy wrestled the fish into the boat, the father lit a match and looked at his watch. It was 10 p.m. and bass season did not begin until midnight. “You have to put it back, son,” he said. Even though the boy objected and no one else would ever have known, the father insisted. To this day, 34 years later, the son remembers that fish every time he comes up against a question of ethics. His memory of that great catch inspires him to choose the path of integrity in all his dealings with others. David, as featured in today’s first reading, proved that he had such integrity and humility. He could have ignored Nathan and even had the power to silence the prophet who dared to behave toward him like an external conscience. He could have denied his deeds, dispatched Nathan and hidden behind the excuse that his royal power set him over and above the law. But he did not. He admitted that he was guilty, and he repented greatly. For that we admire him and try to emulate his example. Although she did not utter a word, the actions of the woman portrayed in today’s Gospel speak eloquently of her humility and integrity. She assumed the role of a servant before Jesus. She did not defend herself. Her tears told of her guilt and remorse; her loving actions expressed her desire for healing and forgiveness. Unlike Simon, who judged her, Jesus forgave her and praised her great love as well as her faith. David and this woman continue to teach, by example, life lessons that remain timeless in their relevance. From them, we learn that there are no sins so heinous that God cannot forgive them. Acknowledgement of sin is the first step toward repentance, but a false claim of “not guilty” impedes the process of forgiveness and rehabilitation. Paul, in today’s second reading (Galatians) reminds us that forgiveness is God’s gift to sinners. Paul called that gift justification through the action of Jesus Christ, who gave himself up for us. To appropriate that gift, we must have the integrity to plead guilty when we are guilty and to rely with great trust on God’s grace.

2 Sam 12:7-10, 13 English author Aldous Huxley, who is best remembered for his science-fiction classic Brave New World (1932), once said, “Chronic remorse is a most undesirable sentiment. If you have behaved badly, repent, make what amends you can and address yourself to the task of behaving better the next time. On no account brood over your wrongdoing. Rolling in the muck is not the best way of getting clean.” King David, who had sinned greatly, appears to have shared this same conviction. When Nathan confronted the king with his sins, David had great remorse, but he did not wallow in it. Rather, he repented, accepted his punishment and moved forward with his life. Had he not trusted completely in God’s power to forgive and to save, and had he relied solely on his own efforts at rehabilitation, David’s story may have taken a different turn. But he had the good sense to trust that God could forgive him and he continued to serve as God’s regent for Israel and Judah. Omitted from this narrative is the touching story Nathan related in order to bring David to his senses. In 2 Sam 12:1-4, the prophet told of a poor man’s beloved ewe lamb that became the victim of a rich man’s greed. Rather than slaughter one of the lambs from his own large flock to entertain his guest, the rich man took the poor man’s pet. David was furious at such a selfish action and declared, “This man deserved to die!” In response, the prophet made his point: “You are the man!” Through his story, Nathan led David to recognize the truth about himself, and to his credit, David accepted that he had skewered himself with his own judgment of the man. It was only at this point that Nathan elaborated upon the evil David had done in putting Uriah on the frontlines in battle with the Ammonites so that he could have the soldier’s wife, Bathsheba, for his own. Traditionally, it has been thought that David prayed Psalm 51 to express his remorse for his sins. In both the psalm and this excerpted text, the sinful believer acknowledges that the injustice one perpetrates against another person is also a sin against God. In Psalm 51:6, the sinner admits, “Against you only have I sinned”; here in 2 Samuel 12:13, David prays, “I have sinned against the Lord.” At that, Nathan declares that God has forgiven David. In his commentary on this text (which first appeared as part of a series published in Worship in 1971), Reginald Fuller wrote that two thoughts suggest themselves from David’s experience. First, there should be a better name for the sacrament of penance or reconciliation. Fuller suggested “the sacrament of absolution,” saying it is an evangelical sacrament that declares the good news of God’s forgiveness in a concrete situation. Second, this narrative affirms the God-given authority of the Hebrew prophet and the Christian priest not merely to pray that the sinner be forgiven but to pronounce the sinner as forgiven on God’s behalf. Neither the prophet nor the priest can presume to do this because of some innate personal power or authority but by virtue of their office and commission. Just as Nathan forgave David, so will Jesus, priest and prophet, forgive the woman in today’s Gospel. Gal 2:16, 19-21 Most of us, at some important juncture in our lives, wish to set things right with God and with others. Unfortunately, some of us tend to put off this process until the prospect of our mortality instills in us a sense of urgency. Aware that sins and injuries have breached the bonds between us, we want to make amends, to forgive, to ask forgiveness so we can go through death’s passage unencumbered by guilt or remorse. Before he met the risen Christ on the Damascus road, Saul was convinced that he could get right with God and with others by carefully observing the Mosaic Law. In that life-changing encounter with Christ, however, Saul became Paul and learned to look at everything and everyone in his life differently. Through his many letters he shared what he had learned, and we, like the Galatians, continue to benefit from his insights. Paul no longer continued to believe that his own dedication to the Law would lead him to holiness. Rather, he learned that salvation is God’s gift to sinners, who have been set right with God by the loving action of Jesus Christ. Paul referred to this great gift by several different terms in his letters; here he calls it justification and grace. Justification or righteousness (Greek: dikaiosyne) was a term that was characteristically attributed to the Israelites — something that made them who they were. Bruce Malina and John Pilch (Letters of Paul, Fortress Press, Minneapolis: 2006) suggest that the closest English equivalent is “acceptability,” specifically divine acceptability, being acceptable to the God of Israel. In other words, from an Israelite perspective, they were unique in that they had been chosen by God. To maintain and retain that divine acceptability required that they observe God’s directives as revealed in the Torah. But Paul had learned that justification is not earned or deserved. It is God’s gift in Jesus and is to be appropriated by faith. Paul did not denigrate the Law; he held that it was insufficient to maintain divine acceptability. Faith is openness to God that conditions the believer to accept all from God as a gift. By faith, believers welcome God’s love revealed in Jesus; by grace, believers respond to that love by living in consonance with the Gospel. Because of his faith and God’s good grace, Paul was able to rejoice in the realization that “Christ lives in me” (v. 20). Joseph Fitzmyer regards Paul’s statement here as a perfect expression of the Christian life since it is not merely an existence dominated by a new psychological motivation (“Paul,” The New Jerome Biblical Commentary, Prentice-Hall, Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: 1990). Faith in Christ doesn’t merely substitute one goal for another. Rather, it reshapes believers from the inside out, offering them a new life principle at the very heart of their being. Paul understood: Christ lives in you, in me — and if we believe, Christ becomes the vital nucleus of all Christian activity. Luke 7:36-8:3 With Paul’s good message in mind, we turn to the Gospel, where we see his words come to life. Simon, as presented here, had little respect for Jesus and did not even offer him the barest measure of hospitality. Simon was a Pharisee who believed himself to be justified by his scrupulous observance of the Law: the written Torah as well as the elaborate web of detailed prescriptions known as the oral law. For her part, the unnamed woman who crashed the party understood that she was a sinner in need of God’s salvific mercy and forgiveness. Unlike Simon, she welcomed the opportunity to minister lovingly to Jesus, who, in turn, ministered to her and assured her that her faith in him had brought her peace, forgiveness and salvation. In a sense, this woman, like Peter’s mother-in- law (Luke 4:38-39), represents the model disciple who responded to the gift of her healing by serving the needs of others. The woman did not allow her guilt to cripple her or her shame to keep her isolated. Despite the stares and remarks of those who knew her past, she dared to go public with her joy at being forgiven. Jesus also praised the woman’s “great love.” Because of the ambiguous statement: “Her many sins have been forgiven because she has shown great love” (v. 47), it may seem that the woman being forgiven was contingent upon her loving. However, Lucan scholars agree that the woman’s capacity for love derived from her joy at knowing herself to be forgiven. As used here, the Greek word hoti is a causal term that explains not the reason why a fact is so, but whereby it has come to be so. To avoid this ambiguity, the New English Bible translates verse 47: “I tell you, her great love proves that her many sins have been forgiven; where little has been forgiven, little love is shown.” Jesus’ statements to the woman, “Your sins are forgiven” and “Your faith has saved you,” were intended for Simon and his guests as well as for her. Salvation is not an earned achievement, nor can justification be attained by even the most holy and righteous ones; rather, forgiveness and salvation are God’s gifts, which sinners appropriate by faith. In the last few verses of this narrative (8:1-3), Luke returns to a theme dear to his heart and reaffirms Jesus’ special compassion for those regarded by others as outside the law and of no account. Those suffering from the disadvantages of physical, psychological and spiritual infirmities — women, demoniacs and so on — were all welcomed by Jesus. Indeed, they traveled with him, bearing witness to his reign by the wholeness he had brought into their lives. By welcoming them, Jesus was declaring that the law that had relegated such people to the realm of the unclean and the unsalvageable was no longer operative. Because of Jesus, and by his saving death and resurrection, justification was made available to every guilty but believing sinner.

Sample Homily June 13, 2010 11th Sunday of Ordinary Time Patrick Marrin

“Signs of Love”

We might get a fresh angle on this familiar story of forgiveness if instead of calling it “the woman who was a sinner” we called it “the Pharisee who was a sinner.” After all, the real thrust of the story is Jesus’ attempt to bring his dinner host to a deeper awareness of the good news he is proclaiming — God’s mercy is being given freely, and love is how we know we are experiencing it. As the scene unfolds, Jesus has arrived at the Pharisee’s house. He is an invited guest, but Simon, his host, shows him none of the ordinary signs of welcome: the foot washing, the head anointing, a greeting kiss. The invitation seems less about hospitality than about a kind of hostile inquisition. Come to dinner with us so we can observe and question you, perhaps trap you in some error. The gathered Pharisees are shocked by the intrusion of the woman who was a known “sinner.” But it serves their purpose. The woman touches Jesus, weeping on his bare feet, letting down her hair to dry her tears, anointing his feet with perfumed oil. This Galilean cannot be a prophet, they think; otherwise he would know the kind of woman this is. Jesus singles out his host and tells him a very pointed little parable about the connection between forgiveness and love. “You see this woman,” he begins, describing her many signs of love, none of which the host has shown him. If her great love is a sign she has been forgiven much, then the host’s lack of love must mean that he has been forgiven little. He is bereft of both love and mercy. We are not told if the host is stung by this comparison or if the encounter opens his heart to conversion, but we are told that others at the table only focus on Jesus’ claim that sins have been forgiven. “Who does this guy think he is?” they think, missing the point of the story and their own opportunity to see God’s mercy right before their eyes. The Gospel is meant for us. We, too, are at the table when we go to Sunday Mass. Jesus turns to each one of us and says, “I have something to say to you.” He probes our hearts. How much love have we brought to this encounter? Have we washed others’ feet and had our feet washed; have we brought oil to anoint and be anointed? Have we wept over one another? If Simon the Pharisee opens himself up as Zacchaeus the sinner did when Jesus came to his house in another Gospel story of conversion, then an outpouring of forgiveness and gratitude will mark the occasion. If Simon holds back, observing and judging Jesus and others from a superior, self- righteous distance, thinking of himself as one who, after all, needs little forgiveness, then God’s good news will have passed by without effect. Have you been forgiven much? Have you loved much? If the answer is yes, then you have heard the good news and are able to share it with others. The long version of this Gospel ends with a list of names of women who followed Jesus. The group includes Mary Magdalene; Joanna, the wife of Herod’s steward Chuza; a woman named Susanna; and others. They have in common an experience of Jesus’ mercy and healing power. In contrast to the group of Pharisees who reject Jesus, they have chosen to follow him. May we all be among that group of followers.

TWELFTH SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME (C) June 20, 2010

Dead or Alive? Patricia Datchuck Sánchez

Zech 12:10-11; 13:1 Gal 3:26-29 Luke 9:18-24 At the heart of this liturgy and at the heart of every believer’s spirituality is the question asked today by the Lucan Jesus: “Who do you say that I am?” We are well aware of Peter’s response: “the Christ of God.” We are also aware that the full implications of his response would only become clear to Peter and the others as they looked back on this moment with eyes enlightened by Easter faith. We know, too, that we speak our own responses to this same question not only with our lips that say the words but also with the lives we live, which show the world who Jesus is for us. In addition to this very important question, Luke Timothy Johnson has suggested that there is another life-altering question deserving of our serious consideration: “Do you think Jesus is dead or alive?” (Living Jesus: Learning the Heart of the Gospel, HarperCollins, New York: 2000). When someone we once knew is dead, we do not hear directly from them again. We may hear about them from others who knew them, but the information is only an echo of the past and not a new word in the present. For those now dead, their deeds have ended; their voice is quiet; their power and fame, however great it might have been, is gone. No one is irreplaceable — others now walk where they did. Their footprint, their shadow, these are no more. Although information about those who have died may increase or knowledge of them may change our opinion about them, their history here on earth has ended. When we think of the living, however, we have a very different set of expectations. People who are alive are in process. They are growing, developing, evolving, changing. We speak to them and of them in the present tense. We can share a relationship with them. We can converse, argue, ask questions, share ideas. We value their presence. We cherish their companionship. Happy when they are near, we miss them when they are far away. They are a vital part of who we are; we matter to them and they to us. Now, we return to Johnson’s question: “Do you think Jesus is alive or dead?” If Jesus is dead for us, then he was just a fine man who once walked this earth and now is relegated to the distant past. Historically, little can be known with any certainty about Jesus except for a few references by some Roman and Jewish writers who called him an upstart who was executed during the governorship of Pontius Pilate. Everything else we know about Jesus was handed on to us by people for whom he was not dead but very much alive — risen from the dead and intimately present to those who believe in him. For those early followers, Jesus’ death and resurrection to glory was not the last chapter in a compelling story but only the beginning of a living, breathing narrative of words and works that continues to be told. So, we ask again, who is Jesus for you? A dead hero or a living Lord? Should Christianity, asks Johnson, be shaped by what historical research can recover about a dead man? Or do we center ourselves yet again on the essential tenet of our faith, the resurrection, and remind ourselves that Jesus lives? Jesus does not merely persist in our memories or in his teachings or in the example he set for all of us. His resurrection is not only an experience of Jesus in the past; the risen Jesus continues to exist in the present. Jesus claimed to exist in those whom Paul was persecuting (“I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting,” Acts 9:4-5). Jesus claimed to exist in the least ones through whom it is our privilege to offer him food, drink, shelter, care and love (Matt 25:40). Jesus continues to live in the word that proclaims him, in the sacraments that celebrate him and in the hearts of every one of us in whom his Spirit abides. Jesus lives and is present whenever and wherever two or three gather in his name. Therefore, we as church preach and teach and relate to a living Lord. This belief is to be borne out in our lives so that everything we think, do, say and choose is shaped and directed according to how we answer the question: “Who do you say that I am?” Zech 12:10-11; 13:1 When Peter pondered his response to the question “Who do you say that I am?” he probably did not have this text from Zechariah in mind. Nor would Peter or any of Jesus’ other followers have thought of the suffering servant songs from Deutero-Isaiah when they called Jesus “the Christ” or “the Messiah.” Only later, with the perspective of Jesus’ resurrection to clarify their understanding, would they acknowledge that the prophet’s vision of “the pierced one” was fulfilled in Jesus. Scholars suggest that the writings of the Zechariah school, like those of the Isaian school, span two centuries. A portion (Zech 1-8) may have been compiled in post-exilic Judah, while the remainder of the work (Zech 9-14) seems to reflect a later period in Judah’s history when Alexander the Great and his Greek armies were bearing down on their world. Zechariah, like his prophetic colleagues, put great store in the necessity of repentance before God as their sole means of survival. That repentance would bring about reconciliation with God, but not without the suffering that purifies the heart and clarifies one’s values and goals. According to the prophet’s timetable, Judah would again be brought low (10:6; 13:7-9; 14:2) and would know suffering (12:10; 13:2) and only then learn the value of repentance. Following its purification (13:1-6) and the renewal of their relationship with God (13:9), the people would once again experience the compassionate care of their shepherd-king (13:7-9). But, unlike other kings of Judah who mustered armies and reigned majestically, this shepherd-king would lead by giving himself over to suffering for his people. Because of the reference to the death of King Josiah at Megiddo (referenced in 13:1), some scholars have suggested that he was the “pierced one.” A good king who attempted to reform the liturgy and renew the spirituality of his people, Josiah died young and very tragically in battle in 609 B.C.E. and was mourned greatly by his people. However, this text is probably from a later period; therefore, the pierced one and suffering servant was someone who had yet to appear. Christians, trying to make sense of a suffering and crucified Savior, looked at Zechariah and Deutero-Isaiah’s pierced figure and began to understand that God works in mysterious ways that often surprise and even shock human sensibilities. Thierry Maertens and Jean Frisque have described this text as a piece of very advanced theology that closely associates the mysterious mediation of a pierced one with the forgiveness of sinners (Guide For the Christian Assembly, Fides Pub. Co., Notre Dame, Ind.: 1971). Contemplation of the pierced one (“They shall look on him …”) should move onlookers to mourn “as for an only son.” The New Testament authors found a sure foundation in these texts as they told the loving mercies of God made flesh in the person of Jesus, Son of Man and God’s only Son. Our crucified Christ, who died and was raised, now lives and moves among us, reminding us of the redemptive potential of every human suffering when united to his perfect sacrifice. Gal 3:26-29 A brief letter of only 150 verses, Paul’s correspondence with the Galatians continues to have a profound impact on the church’s understanding of faith and freedom, Gospel and law, the Spirit and ethics. The theological excitement of Galatians, as Charles Cousar has explained, lies in Paul’s radical interpretation of grace (Galatians, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 1982). Grace is more than a doctrine for Paul. It is an experience that undergirds everything Paul fights for in this letter. Believing that his detractors were working at the wrong end of their relationship with God — what they could do for God by way of obedience to the law, etc. — Paul emphasized what God has done in Christ. God has graced us; that is, God has established a relationship with sinners in an unmerited and unconditional manner. Sinners, for their part, respond to grace with thankful, living faith. Paul first preached this good news in Galatia (an area of Asia Minor, modern-day Turkey) during his second missionary journey, and its inhabitants enthusiastically received him and his message. These were, for the most part, gentiles who had descended from the Celts who immigrated to the area around 285 B.C.E. An illness caused Paul to remain longer than he had planned in Galatia, and he was welcomed “as an angel of God, as Jesus Christ” (Gal 4:13-15), and his needs were carefully tended. Sometime after he left the area to continue his ministry, itinerant missionaries (Judaizers, ultra- conservative Jewish Christians) arrived and insisted that Paul’s preaching had been inadequate. These false teachers, as Paul called them, did not accept that baptism into Christ was sufficient initiation into the life of faith, but insisted that the gentiles also accept and observe the Mosaic Law, circumcision and dietary prescriptions. Paul strenuously objected, fully aware that such a demand denied the full power of Jesus’ saving death and resurrection. Paul argued, quite convincingly, that the saving action of Jesus brought about a unity that had not previously existed among all human beings. By virtue of the Christ-event, “All are one in Christ Jesus” (v. 28). Behind such a radical statement, says Cousar, is the Judeo-Christian conviction that God is one, and because of that oneness, God is the God of the gentiles as well as the Jews, of slaves and free persons, of men and women. Christ’s saving death creates one community and obviates the barriers and limits that human beings construct to keep others at a distance. While circumcision and the observance of the law had formerly identified Jews as distinct from non-Jews, now, baptism into Christ creates unity. This unity is expressed not only theologically and spiritually but also existentially, as when believers gather to be fed at the Lord’s table with the bread of his word and his very self. By its very nature, this unity has a necessary social dimension that carries over into the rest of the week and the rest of the world outside the sanctuary. Paul’s insistence on our unity in Christ remains a challenge to those who continue to discriminate against others for any reason, such as gender, ethnicity and social status. We read his letter, but we do not act; we understand, but we find excuses. When will we take him at his word?

Luke 9:18-24 When the Lucan Jesus paused from praying to ask his disciples questions about what the crowds thought of him, they may have wondered what his motives were. They knew something of how Jesus was coming across to the masses, and they told him — but when he turned the same question on them, it was clear that this was not a casual conversation. Some have suggested that Jesus was working through his own realization of who he was and what would be his role in God’s saving plan by bouncing his ideas off those closest to him. Others have said that Jesus was clearly challenging his disciples to take a stand. His question pushed them to decide whether their faith in him was founded firmly enough for them to continue as his traveling companions en route to Jerusalem. Peter’s response is clearly indicative of a budding faith. But he and the others were soon to learn that their faith would be sorely tested when the role of this Christ in whom they had begun to believe was redefined in a manner they did not expect. They would be even more disconcerted when Christ insisted that their faithful following would lead them on a catastrophic path similar to his own. At this point, sensible persons might have cut their losses and parted company with Jesus. But, as the Gospels attest, faith and hope often supersede good sense and logic. Without full understanding (that would come only after the resurrection), the disciples continued to travel with Jesus despite the onus of future crosses. William Barclay insisted that Jesus and his disciples were quite familiar with crucifixion (“The Gospel of Luke,” The Daily Study Bible, The Saint Andrew Press, Edinburgh, U.K.: 1975). Almost two decades before Jesus began his public ministry, Judas the Galilean had led a rebellion against Rome. According to Josephus, he raided the royal armory at Sepphoris in protest of the census. Retaliation was swift and cruel. Sepphoris was burned to the ground, and Judas and 2,000 rebels were crucified on crosses set along the roadsides as a warning to other would-be rebels. The disciples were keenly aware that such was the cost of remaining with Jesus, yet they continued with him to Jerusalem. Fred B. Craddock suggests that we should take special note of the fact that the Lucan Jesus addressed himself “to all” (v. 23) when speaking of the challenges of discipleship (Luke, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 1990). Craddock says that Luke is also addressing the reader who has heard Jesus speak to the Twelve about his passion. The reader already knows the end of the story: that Jesus died on a cross and rose from the dead. Therefore, readers are being invited by the Lucan Jesus to understand their crosses in light of his. Luke has also added the modifier “daily” (v. 23) and shifts the emphasis from a one-time death by martyrdom to the daily deaths of sacrificial living. Craddock further suggests that these daily crosses are more than arthritis, an unhappy marriage, a child on drugs, depression, loneliness, and so on. True cross-bearing and authentic sacrifice require self-denial and willingness to serve God and the needs of others on a daily basis.

Sample Homily June 20, 2010 12th Sunday in Ordinary Time Karen Johnson

“Called by Name”

I recently attended a retreat on “Women Mystics in the Church” directed by Franciscan Sr. José Hobday. As she told us the following story, her eyes filled with tears. St. Teresa of Avila, 16th-century nun and mystic, was sitting in her cell one day speaking with Jesus. Jesus asked, “Teresa, who are you?” Teresa responded with her religious name: “I am Teresa of Jesus.” Then, as only intimate friends address one another, Teresa turned the question around. “Jesus, who are you?” To which Jesus replied, “I am Jesus of Teresa.” In today’s Gospel, Jesus has a similar conversation with his closest disciples. He asks them the question, “Who do you say I am?” Simon Peter proclaims Jesus as the Christ of God. Despite the obvious importance of this declaration, I have never been inspired by this particular story. After all, Peter, the chosen rock on whom Jesus would build his church, must have had some sort of special pipeline to heaven. It was easy for him — it was expected. But then I think again. Peter wasn’t always wise. In fact I have heard his response to Jesus described as “stumbling inspiration.” In some ways Peter is like most of us, and this scene in the Gospel could be about our own response to Jesus. Jesus stands before each of us asking, “Who do you say that I am?” Peter shows us how to go beyond what others have said; he journeys inward to discover his own life-changing answer. Aren’t we all called to do the same? Fortunately, today’s reading gives us some basic instructions on how to begin the journey within. First of all, Luke tells us that as this key scene opens, Jesus is alone in prayer. When we pray, heaven takes notice. Next, Jesus invites his disciples to join him. He begins by asking them: “Who do others say that I am?” After they answer that, he presses home the question, “Who do you say that I am?” Asking ourselves essential questions is a doorway to prayer. It’s also a good idea to look at what others have said in answer to the same question. Meditating in this way whets the spiritual appetite. These are important first steps in prayer: Take time to be alone with the divine, and have the courage to ask life-altering questions. But we can’t stop here. Prayer is not a spectator sport; it requires our full participation. Peter goes deeper than these first steps, setting himself apart from the rest of the disciples. Peter personalizes the question and expects an epiphany in response. He has the courage to search for his own response to Jesus’ question. Now Peter is in relationship with him. He has heard Jesus call his name. Philosopher Martin Buber writes that “living means being addressed.” We all yearn to be called by name, yet we fear the intimacy it demands of us. In her book about St. Teresa of Avila, Entering the Castle, author Caroline Myss writes, “Mystics like Francis of Assisi or Teresa of Avila are living proof that God does exist. Heaven called each by name. In some way, everyone on a spiritual path wants to be called by name into an intimate connection with the divine. No one wants to wander lost in the world.” Dare to insert your name into today’s Gospel. Hear Jesus ask, “Who do you say that I am?” Enter into conversation without the safety of other people’s answers. Live with the question until you know the answer, and then live the answer.

THIRTEENTH SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME June 27, 2010

Lessons in Discipleship Patricia Datchuck Sánchez

1 Kgs 19:16, 19-21 Gal 5:1, 13-18 Luke 9:51-62 As usual, many themes work together in these sacred texts to offer the praying assembly challenging life lessons. Our first teachers are the authors of Kings, who share with us the experience of Elijah and Elisha. Elijah had once been convinced that he alone of all God’s people was faithful. He bemoaned the evil ways of his contemporaries and prayed for death to end his misery. But through his experience of God at Horeb, Elijah learned that while his ministry was important, he was not irreplaceable, nor was he unique in his faithfulness to God. He also learned that another prophet would succeed him and God’s work would go on without missing a beat. In today’s first reading, Elijah is freshly returned from his escape to the desert and his theophany at Horeb. Here he hands off his hairy mantle, the symbol of his prophetic service, and Elisha begins to speak for God. From these two proto-prophets we learn that the work is God’s, and ours is but one voice, one life among many whom God has called to serve. Paul, who gave his voice and his life to preaching the Gospel to the gentiles, offers a lesson on freedom. Writing to believers in Galatia, Paul insisted that freedom is not about satisfying every human appetite. Rather, the freedom Jesus won for sinners is something we are to exercise in the loving service of one another. When the disciples traveling to Jerusalem with Jesus (Gospel) tried to serve the Samaritans, they were rebuffed. Angry that anyone would dare to refuse them, the disciples wanted to see their centuries-old enemies suffer the fiery consequences of their actions. But Jesus, who was patient and tolerant, refused to use his power to punish the Samaritans despite their bad behavior. Instead, he set the example here as a prelude for the instructions he would later give to the seventy others he sent ahead of him: “Whatever town you enter and they do not receive you, go out into the streets and say, ‘The dust of your town that clings to our feet, we shake off’ ” (Luke 10:11). We should not understand this action of shaking away the dust as a condemnation of the Samaritans; rather, it means that the disciples’ mission is spurred on by urgency, by the imminence of the reign of God. The Samaritans were not excluded from God’s saving embrace. The ascending Jesus named them in the agenda he set for his followers: “You will be my witnesses throughout Judea and Samaria and to the ends of the earth” (Acts 1:8). From Jesus’ response to their rejection of him, we learn that God does not give up on sinners and that God is no respecter of human prejudices. Discipleship is a costly commitment. It requires believers to put Christ and the Gospel first — even before family, friends and the security of a place to call home. Discipleship is not a part- time job. Nor do a few hours of weekly volunteer work substitute for what should be an entire way of life, one that is so profoundly impacted by the person and mission of Jesus that he is reflected in every thought, word and deed of the believer. British evangelist David Watson once suggested that “if we were willing to learn the meaning of real discipleship and actually to become disciples, the church in the West would be transformed and the resultant impact on society would staggering” (Called and Committed, Shaw Books, Grosse Pointe Park, Mich.: 2000). In order for us to realize and sustain this transfiguration in our lives, disciples are to take to heart the final lesson the Lucan Jesus offers today: Put your hand to the plow and don’t look back. If plow operators look backward, the furrows they are making in front of them will not be straight. When we turn from the farmer’s field and apply this principle to the spiritual life, the words of Jesus challenge us to let go of the past. Whether we long for the “good old days” when things were simpler, better and more serene, or whether we carry past regret or nagging guilt, Jesus says: Let it go. Detaching from what lies behind enables us to renew our attachment to Jesus, which fosters the perseverance we need as kingdom seekers. Jesus persevered in his journey to Jerusalem without being deterred by the many obstacles he encountered. Turning back or taking a different direction would have been safer, but Jesus, who exemplified what he asked of his followers, was determined to go forward. He invites us to make his journey our own.

1 Kgs 19:16, 19-21 Essentially, the books of 1 and 2 Kings offer what Walter Brueggemann has described as a “fairly boring and predictable summary account of the kings of Israel and Judah that we Christians commonly call ‘history’ ” (Testimony to Otherwise, Chalice Press, St. Louis: 2001). Except for the reigns of Saul, David and Solomon, the reports of each king’s accomplishments (or lack of them) follow a very similar pattern, interrupted only by a few variations. However, the tedium of these accounts is relieved by the narratives of Elijah (1 Kgs 17-21; 2 Kgs 1-2) and Elisha (2 Kgs 2-13). These narratives stand out in stark contrast to their literary context. Rather than ticking off data, the stories about the prophets represent “acts of imagination against settled controlled certitudes; they are an offer of otherwise in the midst of the royal administration” (Brueggemann, op. cit.). To put it another way, the great acts of power of Elijah and Elisha witness to what can happen when believers acquiesce to God and not to the will of an often corrupt potentate. For example, in a world defined by need and scarcity, Elijah (1 Kgs 17:8-16) and Elisha (2 Kgs 6:24-7:20) provide food. Both are a source of life (1 Kgs 17:17-24; 2 Kgs 8:1-6) where death seems impossible to overcome. Both prophets can control the elements (1 Kgs 17:1; 2 Kgs 2:19-22). Both offer the superior truth of God’s word as opposed to the words of the false prophets. In short, the words and works of Elijah and Elisha bear witness to God’s power to accomplish the divine will in all places, among all peoples. In this excerpted text, the seamless transfer of prophetic power from Elijah to Elisha assures the continuity of God’s communication with the Israelites. The fact that God ordered this transfer affirms that Elisha’s call to prophetic service was the result of divine initiative. Elisha, although he was free to respond or not, chose to cooperate with the grace that comes with every call from God. Unlike the ecstatic and frenzied “sons of the prophets,” who camped on the outskirts of villages and demanded a fee for their “divination” services, Elijah and Elisha, like Samuel who preceded them, were authentic emissaries of God. Elisha’s initial hesitation to accept God’s invitation serves only to make his response more dramatic. With 12 yoke of oxen, he was obviously a wealthy man by his world’s standards. To leave all that and his family behind in order to continue the ministry of Elijah was no mean sacrifice. Nevertheless, Elisha did it enthusiastically. He even made the magnanimous gesture of sacrificing his oxen on a fire made of his farm implements. In his willingness to forego all else in order to keep his contemporaries in touch with God’s word and God’s will, Elisha sets the standard for the quality of commitment that Jesus would later ask of his own disciples. Gal 5:1, 13-18 In the early 19th century, a plantation owner was moved by the sobs of a young girl, a slave, who was about to be sold on an auction block. In a rush of compassion he bought her and disappeared into the crowd. After the auction, the clerk handed the girl a bill of sale on which the plantation owner had written “Free.” Stunned by such unexpected kindness, the girl begged to know the identity of her liberator. “He has set me free,” she exclaimed. “I must serve him as long as I live!” When Paul wrote to the churches in Galatia about the freedom that Christ had won for them, he wished to inspire in them a similar conviction. No longer enslaved by sin, those who have faith in God’s gift of salvation in Jesus Christ are thereby free — free to serve God and the needs of others. Paul called this loving service of one’s neighbor the fulfillment of the law. But some of his readers had misinterpreted what Paul meant by freedom. Some had given themselves over to licentiousness, or as Paul called it, to the flesh, as opposed to the Spirit. By flesh, Paul was talking about more than immorality, impurity and excesses of every kind, but also circumcision, in that some placed more importance on this rite than on the cross of Jesus. From what can be deduced from Paul’s writings, the false teachers or Judaizers were trying to convince his gentile converts that circumcision and all that it symbolized completed and even perfected the freedom won by Jesus. Paul regarded such a mistaken notion as submitting again to the yoke of slavery. Paul challenged his readers to recognize God’s call to accept the Spirit into their lives and to leave behind, once and for all, their attachments to the flesh. Contemporary readers of Paul should understand that Paul was not implying that material things or physical desires are inherently evil. As Charles Cousar has explained, what makes the flesh so destructive is that it can become the norm by which people live their lives (Galatians, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 1982). This world — with its measures of success and its rewards for hard work — absorbs all their interest and demands their full attention. This preoccupation makes it difficult to be open to God’s activity as it is revealed through the Spirit. In the verses that follow this exhortation, Paul listed the evils of the flesh as opposed to the fruits of the Spirit. As we read his lists, we are reminded that human beings have not changed so much in the last two millennia. Sin is still sin, however it is named. It’s a good thing that God has not changed either, nor has the power and the availability of the Spirit been diminished in any way. Luke 9:51-62 Like his fellow evangelist Matthew, Luke used the Gospel of Mark as one of his several sources. However, in order to respond to the particular needs of his community and to set forth his unique theological insights, Luke departed from his Marcan source to add to his Gospel what has been called the greater interpolation, or more simply, the travel account. This account begins with today’s Gospel and continues until Luke 19:28. Sometimes called a gospel within the Gospel, these 10 chapters trace Jesus’ travels to Jerusalem. As readers follow his progress, it becomes clear that this will be his final journey to the holy city, and it will not end well. From the outset, Luke has made it clear that Jesus was committed to making this journey (v. 51, “he resolutely determined …”) despite the personal cost. On the way, Jesus continued the spiritual formation of his followers with special instructions for the Twelve. In today’s Gospel, those instructions included lessons in how to deal with rejection (vv. 51-56) and the demands of discipleship (vv. 57-62). Insulted by the hostility of the Samaritans, the disciples wished for Jesus to repeat the action of Elijah, who called down fire from heaven to destroy two captains and 100 men sent by King Ahaziah (2 Kgs 1:10-12). But Jesus was not Elijah, and his mission was one of mercy and forgiveness. From his reaction, the disciples were to learn to love and respect their enemies, to do good to those who hated them, to bless those who cursed them and to pray for those who mistreated them (Luke 6:27-28). They were also to learn that their following of him would require a thorough and daily commitment. The Lucan Jesus underlined the importance of that commitment with the responses he gave to the three would-be disciples who approached him on the way. To the first, who promised, “I will follow you wherever you go” (v. 57), Jesus explained that traveling with him meant being uprooted from the security and comforts of home so as to be completely given to the ministry of serving others. Jesus’ response to the second, who asked to bury his father first, seems quite harsh. Some, as if to soften Jesus’ words, have suggested that the disciple was asking to put off coming to Jesus until it would be more convenient. After his father had lived his life and his obligation to him as a son was ended, then the disciple could make time in his life for Jesus. But Jesus’ response is not to be softened. Allegiance to him and to the reign of God is to be the greatest priority in a disciple’s life, above all else. To the third disciple, Jesus extends the challenge of perseverance. Jesus was resolute in his decision to carry out the will of God, and his disciples must be similarly determined to live out their lives for him and with him. Good teacher and talented author that he was, Luke did not name these three would-be disciples. Nor did he tell us whether they did go and follow Jesus. Their anonymity invites us to see ourselves in them and to hear their questions echoing in our own hearts. How will we answer the calls to discipleship that Jesus extends to us each day? What will we decide to do?

Sample Homily June 27, 2010 13th Sunday in Ordinary Time Patrick Marrin

“Who We Really Are”

If we look back over the major decisions we have made in our lives, we might discover that the most significant ones were made not with long, careful discernment but on the spur of the moment. An opportunity comes along and we seize it. We meet someone and fall in love, throwing caution to the wind to risk everything to be with that person. This seems to be the case with Elisha, who is out plowing a field one day when the Prophet Elijah comes along and throws his cloak over him, a gesture that meant “I choose you.” Elisha hesitates for a moment and asks to go say goodbye to his parents; but when Elijah seems to be withdrawing the offer, Elisha seizes the moment, destroys both oxen and plow to prevent him from changing his mind, and follows Elijah. In the Gospel, Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem to be “taken up,” his own call from God to be sacrificed to save the people. Along the way, three individuals encounter Jesus, asking to follow him or being asked by him to follow. In each instance, the call is immediate and decisive. No hesitation: no time to consider the cost, bury a father, say goodbye to family. Follow me and don’t look back. It’s as though stopping to think things through will take the energy out of the commitment one requires to live the challenge that is being offered. If you have doubts, resolve them now, because later, when the pressure is on, any crack in the foundation of your decision will cause you to fail. Many ordinary decisions — about a college or a job — need scrutiny and can be open to change, but other life choices go to the heart of who we are. When the personal invitation comes, only a wholehearted yes will carry us forward and open up the growth that will confirm the vocation. Individuals intent on keeping their options open indefinitely may seem free, but they never get down to business or find focus and purpose in their lives. Whether it comes early or late in life, a call to get our act together, give ourselves in relationship, use our talents fully, is usually the organizing principle of a happy life. However this happens (and it is never an easy or simple process), the one vocation we cannot afford to miss is the call implicit in baptism: the call to grow mature in Christ. Saying yes to God is to say yes to our own unfolding mission in life. Each of us is on a unique vocational path known only to us and God; our self-awareness is prompted by the Spirit at each natural stage of our growth. We are inspired to be ourselves, no one else. Through trial and error, adversity and affirmation, we confirm this authentic self, connect to others who are on the same vocational search and find our place in the mystery of Christ. Jesus is passing by. Like Elijah, he throws his cloak over us, claims us, calls us by name and invites us to follow him, even to Jerusalem and to our own being “taken up” into the mystery of his suffering, death and resurrection. A deep prayer wells up in us: “I want to be with you.” We have many real concerns about how committing to him will affect us, our relationships to family and friends, our other duties in life. But in the moment, these all seem secondary. Jesus looks at us. We look back. And in his eyes we see the future we want for ourselves, because this is who we really are.