Twenty Fifth Sunday of Ordinary Time

There is a tendency among some religious people to think that God owes them something. They imagine God as being like a typical employer. If we do the work, then in justice our employer owes us our wages. God owes us a reward in heaven provided we serve faithfully on earth. This is a very understandable attitude. However, it introduces a mercenary attitude into what is supposed to be a love affair between God and us.

The fundamental truth about Christianity is that it is a religion of grace and not of merit. Salvation cannot be earned. We can never put God in our debt. But we don’t have to. God is our Original Parent. We are the Original Parent’s children. Children do not do the will of their parents for the sake of rewards. They do it because they want to try to return their love for them.

It comes as a great relief to discover that we don’t need to prove ourselves to God. We don’t have to earn God’s love. God loved us long before we could have done anything to deserve it. And God loves us even when we are sinners! Our responsibility is to love in return.

We don’t keep the commandments so that God will love us; we keep the commandments because God loves us.

The Good News might be summed up like this: a generous God wants disciples to serve out of love, not out of duty. Hence faith is not enough; we need love too. While faith makes all things possible, love makes all things easy. Salvation is a gift, not a wage.

Nikos Kazantzakis, the great Greek writer, tells a story of an elderly monk he once met on Mount Athos. (Mount Athos is a mountain and peninsula in north-eastern Greece and an important centre of Eastern Orthodox monasticism).  Kazantzakis, still young and full of curiosity, was questioning this monk and asked him: “Do you still wrestle with the devil?” “No,” replied the old monk, “I used to, when I was younger, but now I’ve grown old and tired and the devil has grown old and tired with me.” “So,” Kazantzakis said, “your life is easy then? No more big struggles.” “Oh, no!” replied the old man, “now it’s worse. Now I wrestle with God!” “You wrestle with God,” replied Kazantzakis, rather surprised, “and you hope to win?” “No,” said the old monk, “I wrestle with God and I hope to lose!”

 

The illustration is by the artist Umberto Verdirosi, born in the Italian region of Piedmont.  He is self-taught, a free spirit. He defines himself as modern, not modernist. The title of this painting is “The Intruder”.

Twenty-Fourth Sunday of Ordinary time

The gospel reading for this Sunday is the entire 15th chapter of Luke’s gospel.

It appears to be all about ‘lost property’: the lost sheep, the lost coin and the lost son.

This is bound to strike a chord with all of us, because who hasn’t lost something at some stage, an item of clothing, glasses, the TV remote! There are some of us who, when travelling in an unknown land has not driven around the same traffic island while looking for the exit or the appropriate road sign!

Jesus told these three stories in response to the Pharisees who accused him of consorting with sinners – people who had lost their way.

But to be more exact, these parables are not about being “lost”, but about being “found.” Each of them underlines the joy of the finder: God’s joy in seeking and finding what is lost. ‘Rejoice’ is the key word at the end of each story. These stories are Jesus’ revelation of what God is like. He had a vivid imagination and could have invented any kind of story, but he invented these.

The Return of the Prodigal Son, Rembrandt van Rijn, 1663 – 1669, The Hermitage Museum, St Petersburg.

The Dutch artist Rembrandt Van Rijn (1606 – 1669), commonly referred to simply as Rembrandt, painted the Gospel story of the Prodigal Son. Titled “The Return of the Prodigal Son”, it is one of his last paintings, completed some two years before his death. The artwork now hangs in the Hermitage, St. Petersburg.

Frequently, reproductions of this artwork hang in Reconciliation rooms in churches. However, many such reproductions are of poor quality and hide what I consider an essential element of the painting and an element which says much to me about the nature of forgiveness.

The top left of the picture, from a viewer’s looking stance, is very dark and reproductions lose a figure Rembrandt has painted – in the top left corner there is a woman! Is this figure incidental to the painting (after all she is not mentioned in the Gospel story), or rather is Rembrandt inviting the viewer to take a second look, to pause and consider that there is a very important feminine element to the nature of forgiveness.

When you cut the picture in half there is a very definite link between the woman figure (at the top), the right hand of the father (left when we look at the painting), a hand which looks feminine, and the receptive shoulder of the returned son.

Do you remember a visit to the confessional when you were young (and maybe still today!), and during your preparation time trying to remember how often you pinched your brother or sister, how many times you disobeyed mum and/or dad, how often you told a lie, how many impure thoughts you had – because the priest was sure to ask you, “how many times?”. How many times is a masculine question, the masculine deals in numbers, in quantities. Of course, if my God is masculine only, then getting the right numbers is important. The feminine is more immediately concerned with warmth and presence and welcome – the number of times does not effect the quality of welcome/forgiveness.

 

Twenty-Third Sunday of Ordinary Time

This Sunday’s Gospel from St Luke (Lk. 14: 25 – 33) is one that I as a preacher run a mile from.

First, I am instructed to “hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself,” in order to become a disciple.

But wait!

There is more, “whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.”

How to win friends and gain followers!

Commentators rush to explain that the Semitic expression “hate father and mother” does not actually mean that in English.

It means “to love less.”

So why do English translations still say “hate”?

Literal translation often sounds absurd.

What is behind the Semitic expression is no less real – at times belonging to Jesus will mean difficult decisions.

And then, too, we are called to carry our cross!

I remember well a news item in the New Zealand media in the year 2016 of a man taking a cross the length of the country.

In an interview the husband and wife explained “We’re walking the length of New Zealand with the cross and sharing the gospel along the way to those who would like to hear,”

If you look carefully at the illustration, what you notice is that at the foot end of the cross there is a wheel!

I am not wanting to deride the individual in any way, however, I do wonder if there is another Semitic expression I have missed that somehow translates ‘carry’ to ‘wheel’?

I am reminded of the story of the king and queen visiting the monastery of the great Zen master, Lin Chi.

They were astonished to learn that there were more than 10,000 monks living there.

Wishing to know the exact number, they asked, ‘How many disciples do you have?’

‘Four or five,’ Lin Chi replied.

Twenty-Second Sunday of Ordinary Time

Once upon a time the mayor of a town invited all the people of the town to a banquet.

Among those who showed up was a man of great distinction.

His name was Daniel.

Daniel had taught at the university for many years; Daniel had also written and published many books.

As well as being a great scholar, Daniel was also very wise, and this wisdom brought with it a real sense of humility.

Daniel knew that he knew a lot, he also knew that there was an awful lot he didn’t know.

When he arrived, the mayor greeted Daniel and invited him to the top table, “we have a seat ready for you,” exclaimed the mayor.

Daniel thanked the mayor but said he would find his own seat, and, you may have guessed, Daniel chose to sit at the back of the hall, among the poor.

When other distinguished guests arrived, they were shown to the top table.

Eventually, the banquet hall was filled.

Then, suddenly, at the last minute, a very distinguished person arrived.

The mayor had no option but to take the man to the only vacant seat – a seat next to Daniel.

“But this is the bottom table,” the man protested.

“No, this is the top table, “ the mayor replied.

“I don’t understand, “ the man said.

“Wherever Daniel sits, is the top table.” Replied the mayor, and he continued, “it is not the place that honours the guest; it is the guest that honours the place.”

Each Sunday, we are invited to a banquet – the banquet of the Eucharist.

Here Jesus is the host, and we are his guests.

Here there are no special places, you can sit where you wish.

Here privilege, status, title, and rank have no meaning.

Differences count for nothing.

In the kingdom of God every place is a place of honour.

The notorious gangster Al Capone opened a soup kitchen during the Depression.

During November and December, Al Capone’s soup kitchen kept regular hours, serving breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

On Thanksgiving Day 1930 more than 5,000 hungry men, women, and children were fed with a hearty beef stew.

The kitchen was demolished in the 1950’s but used to be located at the corner of 9th and State Street, in Chicago, Illinois.

The site is now a parking lot.