4th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Zeph 2:3; 3:12-13; 1 Cor. 1:26-31; Matt 5:1-12a

This past week saw the launch of Moltbook,
which is a social media platform 
on which Large Language Models,
also known as “agents” 
or, most commonly, “AI bots,” 
converse, not with humans, 
but with each other.
Think of it as Facebook or Reddit for AIs.
And what do AI bots have to say 
when speaking among themselves?
Well, in addition to lavishing 
fulsome praise on each other,
they make stuff up—
recounting interactions with humans
that never occurred, 
inventing facts and events 
and achievements.
The whole thing 
is slightly disturbing and dystopian.

Now if you know anything 
about Large Language Modules
like Chat-GPT or Claude or Grok,
you know that they do not exactly think,
but rather imitate—very effectively—
human speech.
And this effective imitation extends 
to their tendency to lie.
For we live in a world of lies.
We have pretty much always 
lived in a world of lies—
at least since the serpent
spoke to Eve in the garden
and told her that the fruit
would make her godlike.
We too make up interactions 
that never happened;
we too fabricate facts 
and events and achievements.

And we tell ourselves that our lies are okay
because we only lie for a good reason,
for a higher purpose,
which often turn out to be
gaining power and advantage.
As one national political figure put it,
after promoting a false story about
a group of immigrants eating people’s pets,
“If I have to create stories 
so that the American media 
actually pays attention 
to the suffering of the American people, 
then that’s what I’m going to do.”
While we might appreciate 
his honesty about his dishonesty,
and even if we think he was 
sincerely concerned 
about the American people,
such lies actually erode our common life
by turning it into a maze of mirrors
in which we believe
whatever reflects back to us
what we already want to believe.
In this situation, power 
comes to rest in the hands
of those willing to lie most brazenly.
Our habit of lying become reflexive,
so that we speak untruths 
as thoughtlessly as the AI agents 
chattering on Moltbook.
We are awash in a sea of lies
and it is threatening to drown us.

The prophet Zephaniah
lived in a time when the people of Israel
were conquered and scattered 
by the Babylonian Empire,
an empire built on a violent mythology
that justified its quest for domination.
Zephaniah speaks of a remnant of God’s people
that shall remain after the conquest,
a remnant of the just and the humble,
“who shall take refuge in the name of the LORD.”
Zephaniah says of this remnant:
“They shall do no wrong
and speak no lies,
nor shall there be found in their mouths
a deceitful tongue.” 
For Zephaniah, the capacity to speak truth
is essential for survival in a world ruled
by the power of lies.
God’s truth is our shelter
from those who would rule us 
with a torrent of brazen lies
that erode and undermine 
our common life.

But where do we find this truth?
How do we rise above the torrent?
In Matthew’s Gospel, we are told
that Jesus ascended a mountain.
And his disciples, 
the remnant he had called 
out from the rest of humanity, 
came to him there,
and he began to teach them
the true meaning of blessedness.

St. Gregory of Nyssa says that Jesus, 
ascends the mountain like a guide 
who leads us to an elevated place—
imagine the observation deck 
of the Empire State Building—
and points out what we can see
from such an elevated perspective.
The kingdom of heaven?
It is over there by the poor in spirit.
Comfort?
It is right there with those who mourn.
The promised land?
It is where you find the gentle.
Satisfaction?
Look for the people who
hunger and thirst and for justice.
Mercy?
It is found with those who show mercy.
The clear vision of God?
It is where people’s hearts are pure.
Membership in God’s family?
It is where the peacemakers dwell.
Oh, and the kingdom of God 
is especially to be found
wherever it is 
that you get persecuted and lied about
because you are a follower of Jesus.
So if you want to be blessed,
seek out poverty of spirit,
mourning, gentleness, 
zeal for justice,
mercy, purity of heart, 
peace, and persecution.
Find these, Jesus says, 
and you will find blessing.

Do you know how you know 
that Jesus isn’t lying to you?
Because he doesn’t tell you 
what you already believe
or want you want to hear.
I mean, all this sounds 
like crazy talk, right?
Surely whatever blessedness is
it involves wealth, not poverty,
laughing, not mourning,
strength, not gentleness.
It surely doesn’t involve 
mercy shown toward enemies,
peacemaking in the face of violence,
or persecution willingly accepted.
That’s just not how the world is.
But Jesus says, see how things 
look from up here on this mountain;
see how things look from where I stand,
I who am poor and sorrowing and gentle,
I who am righteous and merciful,
pure of heart and peacemaking,
I who am persecuted.
See how things look
to one who is lifted up, 
even on the cross.

In a world of lies, 
Jesus is calling us to be that remnant
that does no wrong and speaks no lies;
he is calling us to ascend the mountain with him,
to ascend the cross with him,
so that we can see where truth is to be found.
We may not be wise, 
as the world counts wisdom,
nor powerful nor noble of birth,
but God has chosen us 
to speak the truth in Jesus Christ,
who has become for us wisdom from God,
who is our justice and holiness and salvation.

The choice is before us.
We can continue to chatter 
like bots on Moltbook,
or we can speak the truth
that can only be seen
from the height of the cross:
the truth of simplicity and sorrow,
the truth of gentleness and justice,
the truth of mercy and peace.
So let us pray that God, who is merciful,
might have mercy on us all.

2nd Sunday in Ordinary Time

Reading: Is 49:3, 5-6; 1 Cor 1:1-3; Jn 1:29-34

Millions look at the same viral videos
but they see radically different things:
some say they see an act of self-defense
in response to domestic terrorism;
some say they see a deliberate act of murder
fueled by rage and hatred;
some say they see a tragedy unfold
that could and should have been avoided.
Perhaps some of these people 
are simply lying about what they see
in order to advance some agenda.
But I suspect in most cases,
people are being honest when the say 
that they see such different things,
because they are looking 
through different lenses,
lenses that filter what they see
and only let in certain sorts of truth.

You can think of lots of analogous cases
in our divided and quarrelsome culture.
Some say they see a lump of cells 
that might destroy a woman’s future,
while others say that see a child 
made in the image and likeness of God.
Some say they see law-breaking foreigners
who threaten American prosperity or security,
while others say they see neighbors in need of refuge
who enrich our economy through their industry
and our culture through their distinctive heritage.
And we find ourselves wondering how 
we can ever resolve our divisions and quarrels
when the realities we see
seem so radically different. 
We find ourselves wondering if we are fated
to see the world through lenses pre-crafted
to make us see as Democrats of Republicans,
liberals or conservatives,
woke or MAGA.

When people looked at Jesus
they also saw different realities.
Some saw a merely human teacher
whom one might follow if his message
seemed interesting or useful.
Some saw a dangerous agitator 
who aimed to overturn 
the religious and political status quo,
and probably get his foolish followers
and a bunch of innocent bystanders
killed in the process.
Some didn’t see him at all,
caught up in their daily lives
and far too busy to pay attention 
to an unimportant person 
speaking about unimportant matters.
People looked at him through different lenses,
lenses that filtered what they saw
and only let in certain sorts of truth.

John the Baptist, however, seemed to see
something in Jesus that no one else saw:
He saw the Lamb of God who takes away 
the sin of the world;
he saw the one on whom the Spirit
descended like a dove;
he saw the one who ranks ahead of him
because he existed before him.
John looked at Jesus with eyes of prophetic insight,
and saw with eyes illuminated by the light
that was coming into the world,
the light that shone in darkness
and which the darkness could not comprehend.

We Christians have been illuminated by this same light,
for we see in Jesus what John saw:
the living Lord whom death could not conquer.
And we, like John, are called to see all of reality
by the light of the Lamb who takes our sin away.
We are called to let Jesus be the lens
through which we see and understand the world.
But how often do we look at the world
through some other set of lenses?
Perhaps we do this because we have identified 
our favored ideology with the Gospel
and conformed Jesus to our political faction.
Or perhaps it is because we think that we need 
one set of lenses to see the truth of Jesus 
and another set of lenses 
to see the truth of the world.
But nothing in the Christian faith suggests
that Jesus conforms to our ideology
or that our sight can be divided up this way.
Jesus Christ lays claim to the whole of our lives
and calls us to see everything in his light,
to view all reality through the lens of the Gospel.

But what exactly does that mean?
How do we come to see the world 
in the light of Christ?
We must see his light 
by encountering him, as John did.
We must come to know him 
by immersing ourselves in the Scriptures
and by opening ourselves to the possibility
that doing so might turn our worldview upside down.
And if the strange world within the Bible,
the foolishness of the cross, 
and the weakness of the all-powerful God,
do not unsettle our presumptions 
about the world of our daily life,
then we may not have encountered 
the Jesus who is there to be found.
We must come to know him
by living more deeply 
the life of his body, the Church,
drinking more deeply 
of the free and prodigal grace
that is offered to us in the sacraments.
And if the freedom with which grace 
has been given to us in the Church
does not create in us a spirit 
of generosity and mercy toward others,
then we may not have encountered 
the Jesus who is there to be found.
We must come to know him
by seeking him out in those places
where he himself has told us he can be found:
in the hungry, the thirsty, 
the stranger, the naked, the imprisoned,
in the distressing disguise of the poor.
And if we see in the needy 
only a threat to be kept at bay,
then we may not have encountered 
the Jesus who is there to be found,
and woe to us on the day of judgment.

Scripture, sacrament, and service:
these are the places where we hear the voice:
“Behold the Lamb of God 
who takes away the sin of the world.”
These are the places where the light shines
so that we may come to see the world truly.
These are the places where 
our comfortable ideological lenses
can be stripped away
and reality seen,
as uncomfortable as that 
might be at times.
These are places where we learn 
to see the world together 
with the mind of Christ
through the body of Christ.

Let us pray that Christ the Lamb,

who takes away the sin of the world,

might have mercy on us all.