Homily for August 21, 2011 (21st Sunday in Ordinary Time) 22:19-23; Psalm 138; Romans 11:33-36; Matthew 16:13-20

Keepers of the Keys

It’s nice but just not the same.

When I was elected to my first term as Provincial Minister three years ago one of the first things that I received upon my arrival in Detroit was an electronic fob to open the doors in the St. Joseph Center, where our central offices are located. I really appreciate it. It’s light, works for multiple doors, and it is easy to use: I just touch it to the electronic pad next to the door and faster than one could say “beep” or “click,” the door is unlocked.

Still, that grey plastic rectangle is missing something. For all of its efficiency it lacks a certain panache that one associates with its ancient cousin, the key. It’s the difference between getting an e-mail and a hand- written card or between having a videoconference and sitting face-to-face with a group of colleagues: kinda the same…but not really.

For thousands of years keys have been the practical means for opening and closing everything from the tiny lock of a music box to a castle door and from the secrets of a diary to the launch codes for a nuclear arsenal. As such they have also served as symbols access and, more critically, power and authority. Two of today’s scripture readings demonstrate “the power of the keys” and what happens when they are given or taken away.

In our familiar gospel text confers on Simon Peter “the of heaven,” along with the power to bind and loose, in response to his profession of faith: “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” The Lord had asked his disciples two questions. The first was general: “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” This required little more than reporting back what they had heard others say.

The second question, however, was more direct and personal: “But who do you say that I am?” Responding to this required a level of commitment beyond the mere expression of an opinion. Without hesitating Simon spoke up, and in response Jesus conferred on him a new name: Peter, derived from the Greek word for “rock.” He noted further that it would be “upon this rock” that his church would be built. Some scripture scholars and certainly Roman Catholic tradition claim that “this rock” refers to St. Peter personally, including his later ministry and eventual martyrdom in Rome (his tomb in underneath the basilica that bears his name). It’s why pictures and statues of St. Peter often depict him holding keys and why the seal of the and the flag of the Holy See include a set of crossed keys. Others suggest that “this rock” really refers to his profession of faith—“you are the Christ”—a fundamental belief and proclamation of all Christians. These claims aren’t mutually exclusive.

It’s one thing, of course, to get the keys. It’s quite another to keep them. As we see in our first reading from Isaiah 22, keys are not merely a symbol of power. They are also a symbol of trust. Shebna, the master of the palace during the reign of king Hezekiah of Judah, betrayed the trust that had been given to him first by the king but ultimately by God. In the ancient world, men in his position were given huge keys that were often worn on the shoulder. These literally opened doors but they also indicated that the bearer had the king’s ear.

Shebna, Isaiah proclaimed, had failed to live up to his position of trust. Instead of encouraging Hezekiah to trust in the Lord he counseled an alliance with Egypt to stave off an invasion by the Assyrians. Instead of acting like a public servant he acted like a potentate, parading around in a chariot and commissioning an ostentatious burial place for himself. As a result, Isaiah prophesied that the Lord would remove Shebna from his exalted place (along with its accoutrements, the key, sash and robe) and replace him with Eliakim, who would act with the care and responsibility of a father for his king and people.

From Egypt and Tunisia to Washington, DC and as close as the Church, there is plenty of evidence that the story of Shebna is not merely a relic of the past. As human beings we give trust; we receive trust; and sadly and sinfully, sometimes we betray the trust given to us. Sometimes we drop or lose the keys; and sometimes we have them taken away.

All of us are given keys—as parents and children, as teachers and students, as employers and employees, as elected officials and the electorate, as priests and parishioners, as ministers and those who call them to service. As we prepare to begin a new week in whatever vocations or roles we have, pray that we all may realize the trust we have also been given and, through God’s grace, we may fulfill it. +