Homily for Community Prayer Vigil of Healing by Father Rourke

In his lecture from March 21, 1630, “A Model of Christian Charity,” the Puritan

John Winthrop used the phrase “a city upon a hill,” borrowed from today’s Gospel, as a warning to his fellow Puritans, saying: “as a city upon a hill, the eyes of all people are upon us… So that if we shall deal falsely with our God in this work we have undertaken and so cause him to withdraw his present help from us, we shall be made a story and a byword through the world.”

This phrase “a city upon a hill” has often been used by politicians, starting in the

20th century, but rarely with its original intention as a warning. I believe President-

Elect Kennedy used it.

When I was a boy, President Reagan often spoke of a “shining city on a hill” (the word “shining” does not appear in the scripture text or in Winthrop’s words). As an avid follower of politics from a young age, I remember, too, that the late Governor

Mario Cuomo delivered a famous convention speech in San Francisco in which he challenged the “shining city” image by saying that America with its inequality and injustice was more the story of “two cities.” While still a senator, Barack Obama also referred to the image of “a city upon a hill.” It is a powerful image. If we think about it, probably the majority of the most powerful images in our political rhetoric have their origin in scripture.

Today as we mourn, examine our consciences, and pray for God’s help, it would perhaps be better for us to recall Winthrop’s original intention: “the eyes of all people are upon us… So that if we shall deal falsely with our God in this work we have undertaken and so cause him to withdraw his present help from us, we shall be made a story and a byword through the world.” After these days of national humiliation, who can help thinking that we have been “made a story and a byword through the world?” Who among us of goodwill or right reason can deny that the highest leadership of our country, abetted by unscrupulous and ambitious men in the Congress — most, if not all, were indeed men — have dealt falsely with our

God and with their fellow countrymen? The light is not shining from the city today.

The light is shining on the city.

I love my country and I love our constitution. I also think our system is resilient, but today the only American exceptionalism we should discuss is the exceptionalism of our national disgrace before the eyes of our world and in the judgment of history. If there is one salutary effect of the attack on Wednesday, perhaps it will be the reminder that other than the people of Israel, God has never singled out any nation to be his favored instrument and never will. Healthy patriotism is not idolatrous nationalism. But if we ever want to be a people who are “the light of the world,” then we must humble ourselves before our God and before each other. (This includes us religious leaders who have in any way turned a blind eye to or been complicit in the culture of lies and violence we witnessed

Wednesday. How many of the seditionists who attacked our Capitol thought of themselves as good Christians? I am sure there were Catholics in their number as well. How did we as pastors fail so badly in presenting the Gospel of Christ?)

Rather than clinging to hollow political rhetoric or even to the words of Winthrop, we should turn to the fullness of what we find in our Gospel text from the Sermon on the Mount: “Let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.” Brothers and sisters, we are called to good works. We are called to let God’s light shine through those works — works of mercy, compassion, and justice. There are countless examples, especially during the pandemic, of generous, heroic women and men radiantly sharing God’s light with such works, but in our national political life we have too often given up working for the common good and descended into a state of perpetual war. What started as empty, hostile rhetoric has now become actual violence. If our light is ever to shine again, we must work together and build together and just be together again. If we are a nation focused on good works, focused on mercy, justice, and peace, then God’s light will return to us — not as a point for us to boast about, but as the light to guide us in our journey as a people.

We find further in the Sermon on the Mount that Jesus did not come to abolish the law, but to fulfill it. He is, of course, speaking of the Mosaic law and the commandments, but what we saw on Wednesday was not simply a betrayal of our

Constitution: it was a repudiation of God’s law. The resort to lies, hatred, and violence against legitimate civic authority is not condoned by any of the great religious traditions, least of all the Catholic tradition. No mainstream faith tradition condones the attack on Wednesday. The Hebrew scriptures don’t condone it, the gospel does not condone it, the letters of Paul do not condone it, the theology of Augustine and Aquinas do not condone it. The unbroken tradition

of the Church condemns and does not condone it. The Koran does not condone it.

One can disagree with elections and particular laws, and seek to challenge them through legitimate legal means, but the great faith traditions are united in upholding the rule of law and rejecting the resort to violence. Our Catholic faith, of which our Jesuit tradition is a humble part, was attacked on Wednesday. This

University and all it stands for was attacked on Wednesday. People of all faith traditions were attacked on Wednesday. However religious the seditionists may fancy themselves, they are enemies of any true religion. Seeing that their behavior is forever condemned and execrated — and that they are brought to justice — is not simply a civic duty. It is a religious one.

“You have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not murder;’ and ‘whoever murders shall be liable to judgment.’ But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment; and if you insult a brother or sister, you will be liable to the council; and if you say,

‘You fool,’ you will be liable to the hell of fire.”

No true Christian could hear these words of the Lord and march on the Capitol with violent intent. But that much, I hope, is obvious. What may not be as obvious, and what is harder for each one of us to confront, is our own failure to meet the high standard the Lord calls us to. Who of us has not insulted or at some point harbored in our hearts the sort of deep animosity and even hatred for another, often over differences in politics or worldview?

Jesus tells us further: “So when you are offering your gift on the altar, if you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift

there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother or sister and then come and offer your gift.”

In the Christian worldview, and I dare say that of any of the major religious traditions, orthodoxy and orthopraxis — right belief and right practice — are inseparable. We cannot pretend to worship God if we hate our brothers and sister, or if we allow them to suffer injustice without coming to their aid. Yet I dare to say that what we witnessed on Wednesday was not simply a tragic disconnect between right worship and right practice. What we witnessed was the natural consequence of idolatry. Most of the seditionists may identify as Christians, but how many of them worship not the living God, but a false god? They followed their own gospel of lies propagated by a messiah of mendacity. Even Abraham Lincoln, as he would have been the first to admit, was not deserving of worship, but how truly sad they should worship such an empty shell of a man.

But it’s not just them. How many of us religious leaders have let this idolatry fester, this empire of lies expand? How many of us have just held our nose, or sought a cozy accommodation because we’re able to get some aspect of our agenda supported? It is easy for us to point our fingers the day after, but were we looking in the mirror the day before? I fear we will have much to answer for.

So where do we find hope? How do we become “the light of the world” not in a jingoistic sense, but as a decent, humble people seeking to do the right thing? How do we become a “city upon a hill” that neither shines with the glow of its own conceit nor cowers in shame?

The short, honest answer is that I do not know. Nations, like individuals, rarely learn the hard lessons until they have to. As the saying goes, we do the right thing after we have exhausted every other possibility.

We can take comfort knowing that the people who attacked the Capitol are not representative of the majority of our country, but I fear they represent more people than we may imagine.

We should take comfort in knowing that the rule of law ultimately prevailed on

Wednesday night, and that our system of government continues to show remarkable resilience in spite of persistent threats.

There is also at least some indication that our leaders are somewhat more united after the attack than before.

But, ultimately, our hope is not founded in the success of our government or in the destiny of the United States. We pray for our government, and hope it flourishes for many years to come, but our faith and our hope can only be in God. When

Jesus says in the Sermon on the Mount “You are the salt of the earth” and “the light of the world,” he is not doing so because of the great virtue of his audience.

They are salt and light, because God loves them and calls them. Their only virtue is in showing up, in not turning away from the call. He has just told them of the

Beatitudes, but this does not mean they were already living them out.

Perhaps one may find this discouraging, as if I am reducing human agency, or denigrating our human power to choose the good. I am not. We can choose the good, and we have far more examples of people choosing the good than the examples of people choosing the evil we saw on Wednesday. Most of the people we know and love choose the good most of the time. I dare say, we do too. Without inflating our own self-importance I have found this overwhelmingly to be the case at Fairfield University and Fairfield Prep. We are a community dedicated to truth, goodness, and beauty, and most of our life together manifests this dedication. We should celebrate our community and the many examples of good and generous people we find in our University, our country, and our world, but without falling into pride or idolatry.

The ultimate and only unshakable foundation of our hope is God — the God who loves all, chooses all, calls all. As all of scripture tells us, God’s people often fall short, and repeatedly betray the covenant, but God is always faithful. God pledged his love to us forever, and will not withdraw it. God pledges that to Americans and to every other people. This love is our hope for the future. This love is the only force creative and powerful enough to heal our wounded, broken world. Our mission, our only important mission on this earth is to be servants of this love. If every American lived that way, then we might be tempted to say with Lincoln that

“we are the last, best hope of earth,” but we would be wrong. Even then, the last, best hope of earth would still be God alone, for God alone is the light shining in our — or any — city.