23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Ezekiel 33:7-9; Romans 13:8-10; Matthew 18:15-20

Our Gospel today seems particularly relevant,
since it gives something like a plan of action
for dealing with conflict and controversy,
and I think it is pretty non-controversial
to say we live in conflict-ridden times.
Jesus says that if you perceive
that someone has wronged you,
rather than seek to publicly shame them,
you should go to them one-on-one
to confront them with the truth
of the harm they have done.
If that doesn’t work,
bring a couple of other people along
so that, “every fact may be established.”
Finally, if the other person will not face up
to the truth of the harm they have brought about
then you, as it were, go public,
bring the matter before the Church community.
If your opponent does not repent and reconcile,
then they can no longer be part of the community,
and must be treated as “a Gentile or a tax collector.”

Note that this is not merely a mechanism
for resolving disagreements;
the scenario imagined is not simply one
in which two members of the community are at odds
and are seeking to reach a compromise.
Rather, it is one in which one party has wronged the other
and must be made to see the wrongness of their ways.
The issue is not simply reconciliation,
but repentance and truth-telling.
For there can be no reconciliation without truth-telling,
without a truthful account of past harms inflicted.

But telling the truth is a tricky thing.
On the one hand, it can be difficult
to speak a hard truth;
we would often prefer
to let the unreconciled elephant-in-the-room
go unremarked
rather than to deal with the messy fallout
of, if I may add another metaphor,
opening up a can of worms
we may not be able to close.
On the other hand,
I suspect we all know people
who wield truth like a weapon,
not as a means to reconciliation
but as a means
of bludgeoning others into submission,
exacerbating conflict and alienation,
perhaps even destroying the wrong-doer.
So how do we walk that line
between elephant-ignoring
and truth-weaponizing?

Paul tells us, “Owe nothing to anyone,
except to love one another,
for the one who loves another
has fulfilled the law.”
We owe one another the truth
and so we must sometimes risk the possibility
of opening a can of worms we cannot close,
but only if it is a truth spoken in love,
only if even a hard truth is spoken
out of a genuine desire
to find on the other side of the painful process
of reckoning with harms, past and present
healing and wholeness for all parties involved.
“Love does no evil to the neighbor.”
Note that the process Jesus outlines in the Gospel
is one that is very careful to save and not destroy
the person who has committed the offense.
Which is not to say
that the truth spoken in love never hurts.
Anyone who has ever undergone physical or psychological therapy
knows that pain can be a necessary part of the healing process.
Painful truth spoken in love is the spiritual therapy
that can lead to that healing that we call reconciliation.

We can see the connection of truth and reconciliation
in our on-going national struggle to deal with race
and the legacy of slavery.
We can see the temptations of elephant-ignoring
and of truth-weaponizing,
of pretending that we have put the past behind us
and of wielding truth as a cudgel
simply to balance the scales pain.
But between these twin temptations lies the narrow way
of reckoning with the truth as an instrument of love
and a means of reconciliation,
a pursuit of reconciliation that is not simply
an attempt to declare victory and go home
but involves concrete works of repair
to overcome the effects of the legacy of racism.

Over the years I have found myself
forced to rethink many things I was taught
in my upbringing in the American South,
things about the past and about the present,
things about the nobility of causes and heroes,
things about the fairness of current structures,
beliefs that, in the name of truth,
I have had to abandon.
And, though this was sometimes painful,
I owe a debt of gratitude to those who over the years
have loved me enough to inflict that pain,
who continue to confront me with the truth—
the truth that must be faced as the first step
toward true reconciliation and repair.

Of course, we Christians recognize
that the work of reconciliation and repair
is no mere human work;
indeed we recognize that our human efforts
are simply not adequate to the task
of bringing about true reconciliation,
of repairing a history of damaged relations,
whether between races or classes or nations,
and even less so the broken bond
between humanity and God
that lies at the root of all our brokenness.
Reconciliation on all levels is the work of grace,
which comes to us through Christ.
As Paul writes to the Corinthians (2 Cor. 5:19),
“God was in Christ reconciling the world to himself,
not counting their trespasses against them,
and entrusting the message of reconciliation to us.”
The truth that we must proclaim is not simply
the truth of past and present harms,
but the truth of God’s on-going work of reconciliation,
a work that is rooted in and grows from
the painful moment of truth-telling that is the cross,
in which we see displayed the reality of divine love
against the backdrop of human evil.

Let us pray that God would give us
the grace to know the truth
and to bear that truth in love
to a world in search of reconciliation and repair.
And may God have mercy on us all.

23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Ezekiel 33:7-9; Romans 13:8-10; Matthew 18:15-20

Many people,
of various political persuasions,
love participating in protests:
the exhilaration that comes
with marching in the streets
and speaking truth to power;
the deep sense of solidarity
of a people united
in standing up for what is right
and holding evil-doers accountable.

I am not one of those people.

While I have done my share of marching—
protesting wars and police brutality,
advocating for nuclear arms reduction
and a more just economic system—
I can’t say that I have ever enjoyed it all that much.
I am the type of person who can’t help wondering,
even as I march—especially as I march—
whether all this marching is really going anywhere,
if power listens when you speak truth to it,
if the people united will really never be defeated.
I look around at the signs that others carry
and say to myself,
“I’m not sure that I entirely agree
with the precise wording of that sentiment.”
I join in chanting slogans,
while at the same time thinking, “Well, you know,
the issue is really a bit more complicated than this.”

And yet our Scriptures today seem to say
that when you see wrong being done,
when you see people separating themselves
from God’s love by their evil actions,
you have a moral obligation to raise your voice,
to call them to repentance and conversion.
God tells the prophet Ezekiel in our first reading
that he must “speak out
to dissuade the wicked from his way,”
and Jesus in our Gospel reading confers on the Church
the power to “bind and loose,”
the obligation to exercise judgement
and to hold people morally accountable
for their actions.
Our Scriptures recognize
that speaking out
may or may not prove to be effective
in changing someone’s behavior,
but regardless of its effectiveness
we still have a moral obligation to speak,
we cannot keep the truth hidden
when it is under attack,
for if we do it is we who will be judged,
it is we who will be held accountable
for the evil we did not protest.

This past week the Catholic bishops of the United States,
fulfilling their role as successors to the apostles—
the role of binding and loosing,
of holding morally accountable—
issued a statement
in response to President Trump’s cancelation
of the policy of Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals.
This Obama-era policy allowed people who were
brought illegally to the United States as children
to remain in the country and to obtain work permits,
rather than being deported back
to countries of which they often have no memory,
and whose language they might not even speak.
The bishops, in their statement,
call the cancellation of this policy “reprehensible”
and say that such action represents
“a heartbreaking moment in our history
that shows the absence of mercy and good will,
and a short-sighted vision for the future.”

Depending on the issue,
some people on both the political left
and the political right
get annoyed
when the bishops do this sort of thing,
saying that the bishops are meddling in politics—
that they should stick to religion and the Bible
and leave politics to the politicians.
But it is precisely our religion that compels us to speak up.
It is our sacred Scriptures that tells us that all people
are created in the image and likeness of God;
it is our sacred Scriptures that command us,
“You shall treat the alien who resides with you
no differently than the natives born among you” (Leviticus 19:34);
it is Jesus Christ himself who says to us,
“I was hungry and you gave me no food,
I was thirsty and you gave me no drink,
a stranger and you gave me no welcome…
I say to you, what you did not do
for one of these least ones,
you did not do for me” (Matthew 25:42-43, 45).
In speaking out, the bishops
are simply obeying God’s command
to stand up for the weak and defend the defenseless,
to welcome Christ in welcoming the stranger,
to call the wandering to repentance.
Just as when they advocate for the unborn or the elderly,
just as when they denounce racism or exploitation of the poor,
they are continuing the apostolic tradition
of prophetic protest against evil,
of binding and loosing and holding accountable.

You may be one of those people who, like me,
find yourself in the midst of such protest
saying, “I’m not sure that I entirely agree
with the precise wording of that sentiment,”
or “well, you know, the issue
is really a bit more complicated than this.”
And it is true,
the details of immigration law and policy
are incredibly complicated.
But the heart of the Gospel is not complicated:
“Owe nothing to anyone, except to love one another;
for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law…
Love does no evil to the neighbor;
hence, love is the fulfillment of the law.”

This law of love is simple, but it is not easy;
it demands that we come to see the world
through the eyes of Christ,
who fearlessly spoke the truth
and who laid down his life
out of love for us sinners;
it demands that we ourselves
love one another as he has loved us.
We love the oppressed
when we speak up
to denounce their oppression;
we love the oppressor
when we call them
to repentance and conversion;
we love the truth itself
when we refuse to let it be hidden
and give our lives to its service.

Twenty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Ezekiel 33:7-9; Romans 13:8-10; Matthew 18:15-20

Imagine this scenario:
I do something—let’s say gossiping—
that causes harm to Sam,
who is a fellow parishioner at Corpus Christi,
and so one night, over a few beers,
he confronts me with what I have done
and asks me to change my ways.
I refuse:
maybe I don’t believe that talking about him
really is gossip,
or I think that my gossiping
has not really caused him any harm.
So, he gets a couple of fellow parishioners
to come with him to talk with me again.
After hearing both our sides of the story, they agree
that I really am in the wrong
and must change my ways and apologize.
Still I refuse,
so Sam presents his complaint to all of you,
during the announcements at Mass,
and everyone, after some prayer and reflection,
agrees that I have done wrong
and need to change my ways.
I, however, remain recalcitrant,
so Fr. Marty tells me
that I can no longer participate
in our community’s celebration of the Eucharist
because I have shown such little regard
for the peace and unity
that is at the heart of that Eucharist.

It seems hard to imagine this scenario actually happening.
In part, it seems hard to imagine
that Sam would bother confronting me in the first place,
rather than simply trying to avoid or ignore me.
We are a small parish,
but with some effort Sam could limit our contact,
or maybe simply find another parish to go to.
Either would be easier than that confronting me.
It also seems hard to imagine that,
if his initial efforts failed,
Sam would then bring in other parishioners
to help settle the dispute.
What business is it of theirs?
No need to air such dirty laundry
in front of others;
it might prove to be embarrassing.
Even if Sam asked, they would likely say,
“What does this dispute between the two of you
have to do with us?
Besides, who are we to judge?”
Finally, even if Sam were embarrassment-proof enough
to stand up at Mass and air his complaint against me,
it seems hard to imagine that the rest of you
would appreciate Sam’s interruption
of your weekly prayer time.
It is also hard to imagine
that people would be willing to tell me
that I could not participate in the Eucharist
since, after all,
religion is such a personal and private thing.
As difficult as it might be to imagine, however,
this is more or less
what is described in our Gospel reading.

Behind Jesus’s teaching in our Gospel
is a picture of human beings and of the Church
that runs somewhat counter to many of the assumptions
of 21st-century American culture.
Whereas we Americans tend to love our freedom—
the idea that we belong to ourselves and no one else—
Jesus seems to be saying that we belong
not first and foremost to ourselves,
but to one another.
St. Paul says in the letter to the Romans,
“Owe nothing to anyone,
except to love one another.”
Yes, I am free;
except that I owe you, all of you, one thing: love.
The one thing I am not free to do
is to withhold my love,
because we are bound together in Christ.
My conflict with Sam
is not simply between him and me
but affects the entire Body of Christ:
if Sam avoids me by declining to participate
in a ministry I am in charge of,
then the Body of Christ
suffers the loss of his ministry;
if he switches parishes rather than confront me,
then our community loses the gifts
that the Spirit has given to Sam.
Sam owes it to me and to all of you
not to leave our conflict unaddressed.
Our freedom is not a freedom from obligation,
but a freedom for love,
even if that love will involve conflict.

Furthermore,
the idea that we would bring our conflicts
to the Church to be settled
presumes a different picture of the Church
than most 21st-century Americans have.
The Church that our Gospel envisions
is not simply a place
where I come for personal renewal and strength,
or a large organization
providing spiritual goods and services.
Rather, it is the Body of Christ,
the living sign of God’s reconciling love.
For what we hear proposed in today’s Gospel
to be imaginable
we cannot be a community of strangers or acquaintances,
but must truly know and love one another
as brothers and sisters in Christ.
The Church would have to be
the kind of community that could engender trust,
trust that even so drastic an action
as excluding me from the Eucharist
was done out of love for me
and for the sake of my ultimate salvation,
something intended to bring me to my senses
and heal the communal body.

Let’s be honest: this is not the Church we have.
This is not what the Universal Church is
and this is not what we as a parish are.
The larger structures of the Church
often do not engender our trust,
precisely because they seem more caught up
in bureaucratic self-preservation
than in seeking the lost,
healing the broken,
and reconciling the sinful.
Even here at Corpus Christi,
we often do not seize the opportunity
to come to know each other better,
so that we could trust each other more.
We too often treat our community as, at best,
an hour-long obligation
that we try to fit
into an overly-busy schedule.

My point is not to scold
or to make you feel guilty;
I am as guilty of these things as anyone,
and what we hear in our Gospel
has been an enduring challenge
to the Church and her people
at all times and in all places.
The challenge remains,
but God’s grace is strong.
We are an imperfect Church,
an imperfect parish,
imperfect people,
but we are also filled with God’s Holy Spirit,
and Christ has promised,
“where two or three
are gathered together in my name,
there am I in the midst of them.”
We should be filled with hope,
because Christ is present here,
in word
and in sacrament
and in each other,
healing and transforming us
in great and small ways,
calling us to be a community
of ever greater trust and reconciliation,
making us an ever truer sign
of God’s love for the world.