14th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Is 66:10-14c; Gal 6:14-18; Lk 10:1-12, 17-20 

When I was a college student,
a fraternity at my university used to hold 
an annual “medieval banquet,”
presumably because their fraternity house
look a little bit like a castle.
Every year this event featured 
not only the fraternity’s “little sisters” 
waiting tables while dressed 
as “serving wenches”
(remember, it was the 1980s),
but also the presence 
of some of the semi-feral dogs 
that roamed free on campus,
to whom the brothers 
would throw scraps of food,
in what they imagined 
was medieval fashion.
One year, they decided 
that they would increase
the supposed authenticity of the event
by also having some chickens 
scratching around on the floor.

You may see where this is going.
But, alas, the fraternity brothers did not,
never stopping to think what might happen 
when you put hungry dogs and chickens 
together in a confined space.
Needless to say, 
their medieval banquet
turned into a noisy bloodbath,
and the chicken experiment
was not repeated the next year.

I think of this story pretty much every time
I encounter Jesus saying
to the seventy-two whom he sends out
to prepare the way for his arrival
in the towns and villages of Galilee, 
“I am sending you like lambs among wolves.”
I think, “I am sending you like chickens among dogs.”
I think of it because it not only drives home
the sanguinary scenario conjured by Jesus’ words,
but also the foreseeable nature of this bloody outcome.

For Jesus, unlike the fraternity knuckleheads,
does foresee this possible outcome.
He knows what he is asking of them.
Indeed, he seems to require that they journey
in the most vulnerable way possible:
“Carry no money bag, no sack, no sandals”—
don’t take with you any of the things
that might make the journey 
easier or more secure.
He sends them out unarmed 
because their mission is to declare peace,
to witness to the inbreaking of God’s reign,
to let people know that Jesus is coming.

When they return excited by their success
at casting out demons, just like Jesus did,
he tells them that this is because
he has given the the power 
to tread upon serpents and scorpions
and upon the full force of the enemy, 
and that nothing will harm them.
The lambs seem to have turned 
the tables on the wolves.

But lest they think that the point
is for the lambs to win and the wolves to lose,
Jesus goes on to say to them, “Nevertheless, 
do not rejoice because the spirits are subject to you,
but rejoice because your names are written in heaven.”
Do not rejoice if you fare well in your mission,
and do not sorrow if you fare poorly,
but simply rejoice that you belong to me,
whether things go well or poorly.
As the theologian Hans Urs von Balthasar
remarks in connection with this Gospel reading:
“Success is not part of the assignment.”

Perhaps no one has understood this better than St. Paul.
Like the seventy-two sent out by Jesus,
Paul had his successes—
he writes to the Christians at Phillippi,
“I give thanks to my God 
at every remembrance of you” (1:3).
He also had his disappointments—
he writes to the Christian of Galatia,
“I am afraid on your account that perhaps 
I have labored for you in vain” (4:11).
But success is not part of the assignment.
This is why Paul says 
in that same letter to the Galatians,
“May I never boast 
except in the cross 
of our Lord Jesus Christ,
through which the world 
has been crucified to me,
and I to the world.”

To be crucified to the world
means to die to the world’s standards 
of what counts as victory,
to be freed from the short term 
expectations of success;
it is to see that the only thing that matters
is to have your name written in heaven,
to be numbered among those who have 
been called and sent by Jesus
to prepare the way for his arrival.
Success is not part of the assignment—
Jesus is coming whether we succeed or fail—
but faithfulness is.

It’s probably good to remember this
in our present national context 
of intense political division,
when some are exulting 
over the success of their agenda
and others are grief stricken
at seeing their hopes undone.
If success is not part of the assignment
in preparing the way for Jesus’s arrival,
how much more is this the case
when it comes to our politics.

Yes, of course, these are things that matter;
the lives and health of our nation and her people
hang in the balance in our political decisions.
You want the lambs to win and the wolves to lose;
you want the vulnerable protected and poor cared for;
you want the values of Christ’s kingdom 
embodied in the world.
But in the face of both victory and defeat
we who are Christians must always remember
that the world has been crucified to us,
and we to the world,
and so, we must operate by a different standard
of what counts as victory or defeat,
we must operate on a different time scale
as we prepare for Jesus’ reign to come among us,
we must live by a faith, hope, and love
that no earthly victory can supplant
and no earthly defeat can destroy.

Success is not part of the assignment.
So let us go out like lambs among wolves,
or chickens among dogs:
let us be crucified to worldly success,
let us be comforted in worldly defeat,
let us fearlessly proclaim in all times and places
the coming of Jesus and his reign of peace,
and let us pray that God, in his mercy,
might have mercy on us all.

14th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Isaiah 66:10-14c; Galatians 6:14-18; Luke 10:1-12, 17-20 

Video

In our first reading, the prophet Isaiah 
offers an interlocking set of images:
the image of the human mother who feeds her child 
from the substance of her own body;
the image of God as a mother
who seeks to comfort and console us
in our need and in our fear;
and the image of the city of Jerusalem as a mother
whose nurture and whose care extend to all her children.
Each of these images is worthy of our attention.

First, we have the image 
of the human mother and her child.
We have heard a lot, in recent days, 
about the relationship of mother and child,
a relationship that is, as a matter of biological fact,
unique in its intimacy and in its complexity,
in its intricate intertwining of two lives,
particularly during the months of pregnancy,
but continuing in the years that follow. 
If those on opposite sides of the question
of the legality of abortion agree on nothing else
(and it sometimes seems that they agree on very little),
all acknowledge the uniqueness of that relationship
and its life-changing power.
Indeed, it is precisely this uniqueness and power
that makes the issue so volatile, and so important,
and why the Church teaches the need 
to protect and foster that relationship
in ways that honor both mother and child.

Second, we have the image of God as a mother, 
which might be initially startling,
accustomed as we are to praying to God as Father.
Isaiah suggests, however, 
that in the unique and complex intimacy
of the relationship of mother and child
we see an image of God’s intimacy with us,
an image of the God who brings us 
to birth in the order of nature
and rebirth in the order of grace.
Indeed, some saints have suggested 
that we see in the pains of Jesus on the cross
the labor pains of God incarnate
bringing forth that new creation
of which Paul speaks in our second reading.
Julian of Norwich, writing in the 14th-century, 
says, “our true Mother, Jesus, who is all-love, 
gives us birth into joy and endless living.” 
As Isaiah and Julian suggest,
the image of God as mother
surely has an important place among
the many metaphors that we use
to speak of the mystery of God’s love,
and should shape our understanding
of the dignity of human motherhood.

Finally, we have the image 
of the city of Jerusalem as a mother,
who shares her abundance with all her children.
Isaiah shows us God not simply promising
that the city will prosper,
but that her prosperity will be 
spread abroad among her children, 
reaching far and wide 
so that all will receive her motherly care.
This vision is at the heart 
of the social teachings of the Church:
the political community exists to ensure
that the goods that God 
has lavished upon the world
are shared in justly by all people, 
most especially the weak and the vulnerable.
We might have legitimate disagreements 
on the precise balance 
between public policy and private initiative
in this distribution of goods,
but for us as Catholics 
whatever way we strike that balance
must respect the Church’s teaching that,
as St. John Paul II put it back in 1981,
“the right to private property is subordinated…to the fact 
that goods are meant for everyone” (Lab. Ex. §14).
Or, as St. Ambrose put it in the 4th century,
somewhat less technically and with a bit more bite,
“The earth belongs to everyone, 
not to the rich” (De Nabute c. 12 n. 53).
Saints John Paul and Ambrose teach us 
that our vision for our own city, state, and nation,
no less than Isaiah’s vision for the holy city Jerusalem,
should be of a community in which all are given
what they need, not simply to survive, but to flourish,
and that our politics must be rooted not in self-interest,
no matter how enlightened,
but in concern for the least of these our brothers and sisters.

In recent days many people have said
that with the overturning of Roe versus Wade
the time has come for the pro-life community 
to step up and advocate
for an economic and social order 
that will address the inequalities 
that have often led women
to seek abortion as a solution 
to an unexpected or undesired pregnancy.

This seems largely correct,
though I would add that this is something 
that some have been doing all along.
But more needs to be done,

and more of us need to do it,

and this must be a matter of concern for our nation
and not simply for us as private individuals.
Saint John Paul wrote,
“it is not enough to remove unjust laws…
[T]here need to be set in place 
social and political initiatives 
capable of guaranteeing conditions 
of true freedom of choice 
in matters of parenthood” (Ev. Vitae §90).

Our Catholic faith calls us to embrace fully 
what John Paul called “the Gospel of Life,”
which focuses our concern on life 
at its most vulnerable stages—
its beginning and its ending—
but also addresses questions 
of economic justice, war, the death penalty,
the dignity of migrants, and the environment.
All of these are elements 

of what John Paul called “a culture of life,”
a culture that embraces its children 
as a mother embraces her own,
feeding and nurturing them,
a culture that we are called to labor for,
by word and example,
as we make our journey to God’s kingdom.
We must answer this call, 
going forth gently, like lambs among wolves,
armed with nothing but the love of God.

The task lies before us.
The harvest is abundant.
Let the laborers not be few.
May God, who cares for us 
as a mother cares for her child, 
prosper the work of our hands,
and may God who is merciful
have mercy on us all.

 

14th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Isaiah 66:10-14c; Galatians 6:14-18; Luke 10:1-12, 17-20

Our first reading, from the prophet Isaiah,
speaks of the city of Jerusalem as a mother
at whose breast—from whose very body—
her children find abundant and unfailing food and comfort.
Then, in a subtle turn at the end of the reading,
the image of Jerusalem as mother
is transformed into the image of God as mother:
“as a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you.”
God is the mother who abundantly feeds us from her own body,
a reality we experience each week as we gather
to receive the body and blood of Jesus at his altar.
The fourteenth-century mystic Julian of Norwich wrote:
“The mother may give her child suck of her milk,
but our precious mother, Jesus,
he may feed us with himself, and does it,
full courteously and full tenderly,
with the Blessed Sacrament
that is the precious food of my life” (Revelations of Love, ch. 60).
This idea of God as an unfailing source of abundance
is reflected not only in our first reading’s imagery
of God as a loving mother,
but also in the words of Jesus in our Gospel reading:
“The harvest is abundant but the laborers are few.”
Our readings call us to reflect on God’s abundance
and our call to be workers in God’s field,
missionary disciples gathering in God’s harvest.

As many of you know,
the Archdiocese is engaged in a process of planning,
to discern how best to use our resources
as we seek to be a community of missionary disciples.
As part of this, you were all invited last winter to take a survey
to help us determine our parish’s readiness to take up that mission
and for the past several weeks
the parish staff and a group of parishioners
have been meeting to review the results of that survey,
to assess the opportunities and challenges that we have as a parish,
and to produce a document that will be shared with the Archdiocese
as part of the planning process.
In the coming weeks there will be opportunities
for parishioners to offer feedback on that document
so that the widest range of viewpoints can be represented.

As we participate in this planning process
there is a temptation to think that all of this
is really about managing parish closings or mergers
in an age of ecclesiastical scarcity.
But we should resist that temptation,
for while it is undoubtedly true that there will be
some restructuring of parishes and how they are staffed,
the Archbishop says, and I believe him,
that first and foremost this is about reflecting on how we can best
present the Gospel of Jesus Christ in our time and our place,
by identifying and facing the challenges and opportunities
that God’s abundant providence has given us.

Jesus sends out seventy-two missionary disciples,
telling them, “The harvest is abundant but the laborers are few.”
Notice that the image that Jesus uses
is not one of sowing and planting, but of harvesting.
Jesus is, I think, quite deliberate in his choice of imagery.
The seventy-two are not being asked
to plant the seed of God’s word where it has not been
but to harvest the fruits that have burst forth from those seeds.
The implication is that through the words of Jesus
and the hidden working of the Holy Spirit
God’s word has been planted and already now is ripening.
The work of the seventy-two missionary disciples
is not to bring God into a situation
from which God has up to that point been absent,
but to recognize the abundant fruits of the Spirit
growing in the field of the world
and to gather them in.

On our parish survey, 48% of those who responded
said that the greatest obstacle they had to sharing their faith
was a desire not to push their beliefs on others.
But what if we think of our task as missionary disciples
not so much as sowing and planting—
pushing seeds into the soil where they have not been before—
but rather as giving those within whom the Spirit is moving
the life-giving and challenging opportunity
to be gathered into a community of faith?
Just as the many grains of wheat from the field
are ground and kneaded and baked into one loaf,
so too those in whom the Spirit is at work
can through their unity be transformed
into the living body of Christ,
given as food for the life of the world,
becoming part of how God’s abundance feeds and comforts.
In inviting others to reflect with us
on God’s work in their lives
we are not planting the seeds of our own opinions
but harvesting the work of the Spirit
by sharing with them how God has worked
and continues to work in our lives.
Not to share your faith,
not to share the love you have for Jesus,
is to let those fruits go unharvested.

Of course, perhaps our hesitation comes not simply
from a desire not to offend others
but from a fear of being met with hostility or indifference.
Our Gospel today seems to presume that the seventy-two
are being sent out into a world that is often hostile toward them.
The harvest may be plentiful,
but the harvesters are sent out like lambs among wolves
and the prospect of a positive response seems dubious.
If the seventy-two felt that they faced hostility,
many of us today may feel that we face indifference.
In our parish survey, 39% of parents
said that the greatest challenge they faced
in passing on the faith to their children
was “swimming against the tide
in a society that does not value faith,”
and 31% of respondents said that lack of interest in others
was the greatest obstacle they faced in sharing their faith.
The indifference to faith that we perceive in our society
might lead us to think that,
whatever may have been the case in the time of Jesus,
the harvest today is certainly not abundant.

But I suspect that the disciples in today’s Gospel
were just as dubious
when Jesus told them the harvest was plentiful.
The plenty of the harvest can hidden from our eyes,
masked by our presumptions
about the the hostility or indifference of others.
Saint Augustine noted how Jesus instructed the seventy-two
that they were to offer the greeting
“peace to this household”
in whatever house they entered.
Augustine wrote:
“Since we do not know who is a son of peace,
it is our part to leave no one out, to set no one aside,
but to desire that all to whom we preach this peace
be saved” (Admonition and Grace 15.46).
We should not presume indifference or hostility;
indeed, we should presume
as we step into the field of the world
that Jesus has already been there,
planting the seed,
that the Spirit of God has already been there,
giving growth to the fruit
that we are being asked to gather in.

If we are to be missionary disciples,
we must cling to faith in a God of abundance and generosity.
It is an act of faith to offer the peace of Christ
to a seemingly indifferent or hostile world:
it is an act of faith in the efficacy of the Spirit’s sowing,
an act of faith in the boundless power of God’s generosity.
The field of our modern world may look barren to us
but Jesus assures us that the harvest is abundant,
because, like a loving mother
who holds her child at her breast,
God is providing for her children.