Saturday, August 28, 2021

22nd Week in Ordinary Time


Readings: Deuteronomy 4:1-2, 6-8; James 1:17-18, 21b-22, 27; Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23

We know we live in a fallen world—
a world haunted by evil, sin, and pain—
but some weeks you feel it more than others.
There is, of course, the ongoing pandemic,
which persists with wearying tenacity,
and the aftermath of the earthquake in Haiti,
where misery is piled upon misery
and deaths number in the thousands.

But we feel the sorrow of our fallen state most acutely
in those events where deliberately chosen human actions
are the source of the pain and suffering of other humans.
And this is what we have watched 
unfolding in Afghanistan.
Some of the harmful actions 
seem to be matters of miscalculations,
errors in judgment about how events might unfold.
Some seem to be acts of garden-variety callousness,
in which those who are not of our own tribe
receive less of our care and concern.
But some of these choices—
such as the bombing of the airport in Kabul
in which over 170 Afghan civilians were killed,
along with 13 U.S. service members—
seem to deliberately embrace cruelty,
deliberately desire to inflict pain.
It is in these acts, these choices,
that we see the evil that afflicts our world
as not merely a patina on the surface of things,
but something that has planted its roots deeply in us,
something that reaches into the human heart 
and turns us not simply into victims 
of evil forces afoot in the world,
but into co-conspirators with evil.

In these events, these choices, 
we are confronted with what Saint Paul called 
“the mystery of iniquity” (2 Thess. 2:7),
the mystery of how human creatures
that God made in the divine image 
and declared “very good,”
could harbor within them a capacity for cruelty
that is chosen, deliberate, and planned—
the mystery of how beings who have at their core
a desire for God and the good,
could also be the source of such evil. 
As Jesus warns us in today’s Gospel,
evil is not an external stain that we can wash away;
rather, “the things that come out from within 
are what defile.”

What motivates such cruelty,
such willful taking of life 
and deliberate inflicting of suffering?
Is it a quest for some imagined higher good,
some noble cause used to justify evil means?
Is it a desire to usurp God 
as the one who holds in his hands
the power over life and death?
The mystery of iniquity remains a mystery;
it remains a void that we 
cannot wrap our minds around,
cannot fully grasp.

Evil remains a mystery to us
even though it is a reality 
in which we are all implicated.
Events of obvious horrific evil,
like the bombing of the airport in Kabul,
can tempt us to refuse to acknowledge
our own share in the mystery of iniquity:
it is those people—over there—in whom evil dwells.
We turn evil once again into something outside of us,
something alien to us.
But Jesus offers an extensive and varied list
of the fruits of evil,
lest we think that somehow
evil has not sunk its roots deeply into us: 
“from within people, from their hearts,
come evil thoughts, unchastity, theft, murder,
adultery, greed, malice, deceit.”
licentiousness, envy, blasphemy, arrogance, folly.”
We may not steal or murder or blaspheme,
but who of us has never been arrogant or foolish—
I’m pretty sure I’ve been both 
several times already this morning.
Who of us has not been deceitful or envious,
lustful or mean? 
An act of lust or envy is, of course, 
not the same as an act of murder,
but they all come from the same source:
“All these evils,” Jesus says, 
“come from within and they defile.”

So where is the good news in all of this?
What hope do we have 
in the face of the mystery of iniquity? 
Our hope is clearly not in ourselves.
Captive as we are to sin, 
there are no efforts we can make on our own
that can uproot the sin in our hearts,
that can stem the tide of evil
that come forth from within us.
No, our hope is, as the letter of James says,
in the Father of lights,
“with whom there is no alteration 
or shadow caused by change,”
from whom comes down every perfect gift.
Our hope is in the God who has planted in us
the word of truth,
“that we may be a kind 
of firstfruits of his creatures,”
signs of God’s grace dawning already 
in the dark night of sin.
Only the Word of God joined to our human nature
can restore that nature to what God would have it be:
that which God declared to be “very good”
at the dawning of creation.
Only the mystery of divine love
can save us from the mystery of iniquity.

This does not mean
that we have no role to play
in the inward purification 
to which Christ calls us.
After all, the letter of James says quite clearly, 
“Be doers of the word and not hearers only.”
The word of truth that the Father of lights plants in us
is something that we nurture 
through prayer and penance,
through the grace of the sacraments,
through following the way of Jesus on a daily basis,
through seeking to repair the damage sin has wrought.
What can I do to comfort those
whom sin has made suffer?
What can I do to heal the wounds inflicted 
by my own arrogance and folly,
by my own deceit and envy?
How do I live a life of on-going conversion
to the way of Jesus?
These are the questions that must define our lives
if we are to be doers of the word and not just hearers.

Let us pray that the Father of lights
would show us the mystery of love
that can defeat the mystery of iniquity,
and let us pray that God 
would have mercy on us all.