January 2010 Sánchez Sunday Commentaries & Sample Homilies (C)

EPIPHANY (C) January 3, 2010

Coming to Grips With a VisionPatricia Datchuck Sánchez

Isa 60:1-6Eph 3:2-3, 5-6Matt 2:1-12

It is one thing to have a vision; it’s another thing to share that vision and to excite others with the possibility that the vision might be realized. And it is quite another thing to accept and appreciate the vision once it becomes real.

In today’s first reading, the prophet we have come to know as Trito-Isaiah is sharing a marvelous vision. Like a light piercing through a long darkness, he has glimpsed the end of the suffering and shame of his exiled contemporaries: Forgiven and freed by God’s providence, they are returning home. But they are not alone. On the contrary, they are being accompanied by an international cavalcade. Gift-bearing representatives have joined their parade and the celebration of their happy homecoming. There is no sign of prejudice here. No one has been barred from participation. All seem to be welcome. No one hears any racial or ethnic slurs; only the praises of God can be heard, in many languages.

This same vision is given new life in today’s Gospel, where the Matthean evangelist shares his conviction that the coming of Jesus in flesh and blood, in time and space, has precipitated the fulfillment of the ancient prophet’s vision. In the figures of the gift-bearing magi from the east are represented all those non-Jews for whom the Christ has also come. These are in effect the cavalcade of nations who, like the Jews, have been invited to live in the light of God’s peace and salvation.

But Trito-Isaiah’s vision and Matthew’s hope for universal unity in Christ have not yet been fully realized. It has been obvious throughout salvation history that the realization of this vision of unity poses a great challenge. Tribalism threatened the unification of the clans of Israel and Judah. Territorial disputes and disparate loyalties to their leaders made for great conflict. These difficulties were not ended by the appearance of Jesus — separations, distinctions and discrimination continued to thwart the vision. In today’s second reading, the author of Ephesians references that vision and calls it a mystery being revealed by the Spirit: that all peoples are one in Christ Jesus. Whether it is described as a vision or a mystery, it remains exceedingly clear that fulfillment continues to elude us. We as a community of believers have yet to come to grips with this vision we celebrate today.

When confronted by the animosity that continues to militate against the unity of all peoples, it is so easy, so tempting, to point a finger of blame at others. It is also tempting to do nothing to ameliorate the situation when the problems that separate us seem so insurmountable, so deeply rooted, with such a long and tortured history. But this feast of Epiphany and its vision are not asking us to singlehandedly solve the conflicts and disunity in Tibet, Sudan, Congo or Northern Ireland. We are not being told to personally arbitrate the peace between the Spanish and the

Basque separatists. This vision begs us to look within ourselves and to those with whom we come into contact on a regular basis. Can all of our relationships be held up to the light of the vision of Epiphany? If so, the vision lives. If not, then the vision pushes us to move beyond pride and ego and, rather than blame the other, to make the first step toward unity.

Søren Kierkegaard once suggested that these first steps are not easy for us because we often think that if a person is not perfect or if they have changed for the worse, we are exempted from loving and reaching out to them (Provocations, The Plough Pub. Co., Farmington, Pa.: 1999). Epiphany’s vision invites us to love the person we see, to find them lovable even with their weaknesses, faults and imperfections. Kierkegaard reminded his readers of Jesus’ love for Peter, who denied him mightily. Jesus didn’t say, “Peter, you must first change and become a better man before I can love you again.” No, he said just the opposite: “Peter, you are Peter and I love you.” Christ did not sever their friendship and renew it again after Peter had repented; rather, he maintained the friendship and in that way enabled Peter to become his better self. This is how Jesus loves, and it is Jesus’ perspective and way of loving that believers are called to make their own. Then will the vision of Trito-Isaiah and the mystery of the magi be realized — one Peter, one person at a time.

Isa 60:1-6

Walt Disney was a visionary who saw in his mind’s eye things others never imagined. More importantly, he believed that his visions could be realized. One of those many visions was EPCOT (Experimental Prototype Community of Tomorrow). EPCOT was intended to be a model city comprised of citizens from all over the world whose goal it was to live and work together, complementing each other, in peace. Disney died while the plans for EPCOT were still on the drawing board, but his vision was realized by those whom he inspired.

More than 2,500 years before Disney, Trito-Isaiah shared a similar vision. He also did not live to see it come to fulfillment. Nevertheless, the ancient prophet continues to inspire and prompt his readers to bring the reality of a united world community to life.

This vision of the sixth-century B.C.E. prophet was one of several that he shared with his contemporaries (Isa 60-62). Newly returned from exile, they were overwhelmed by the devastation that awaited them. Jerusalem and its temple lay in ruins, and as the people looked upon what they had loved so dearly, their hope was in danger of dying as well. For that reason, Trito-Isaiah encouraged his fellow Jews to rebuild their cities, their villages, their homes and especially the center of their spiritual life — the temple. He also reminded them that God had dispersed the darkness and thick clouds of their shame and sinfulness and allowed the divine glory to shine upon them.

But this new day and this new beginning were not to be a blessing solely for the Israelites. On the contrary, all the peoples of the earth were to be drawn to God by the light that shone upon those who were the first chosen. The prophet’s description of international convergence on Jerusalem was previously prophesied by his colleague Deutero-Isaiah (48:12-22), and it makes mention of the inhabitants of the coastal regions of Midian, Ephah and Shebah, where once lived the descendants of Abraham (Gen 25:1-4). The prophet represented their journey en masse to Jerusalem as a fulfillment of God’s promise to their shared ancestor: “All the communities of the earth will find a blessing in you” (Gen 12:3).

Christians, who also find a blessing in Abraham, are convinced that the ancient prophet’s vision began to be realized in the person and through the mission of Jesus. This realization is a work in

progress and is continued in the church, which is to illumine the darknesses of this world by its truthful witness to Christ. However, because of Jesus and his incarnation, believers do not merely reflect the light who is Christ. By virtue of our union with Jesus, we have become light.

Eph 3:2-3, 5-6

Automobile entrepreneur Henry Ford once said, “Coming together is a beginning; keeping together is progress; working together is success.” Ford was well aware that these three actions contributed effectively to the process of producing cars. As is reflected in this excerpted text, the author of Ephesians was also aware that these same actions are necessary components to forming healthy and holy Christian communities. This community of the church is universal in character, so it was important that from the very beginning that Jews and gentiles would come together, keep together and work together.

This unity, as William Barclay has pointed out, does not spring solely from organization or ritual or liturgy; it comes from Christ (“The Letter to the Ephesians,” The Daily Study Bible, The Saint Andrew Press, Edinburgh, U.K.: 1976). Ubi Christus, ibi ecclesia, goes the saying: Where Christ is, there is the church. Barclay further insisted that the church will realize its true unity only when it ceases to propagate a purely human point of view and provides a home where the Spirit of Christ can dwell and where all of humankind can come together in the presence of that Spirit.

To further affirm this unity of all peoples in Christ, the ancient author used three specific Greek terms linked by assonance with the same prefix. Jewish and gentile believers are now “coheirs,” “comembers” of one body and “cosharers” (v. 6) of the promises of God that reached back to Abraham. In other words, gentiles and Jews are on equal footing with the Jews in terms of salvation. Scholars have suggested that it may be difficult for contemporary believers to truly grasp the radical implications of this teaching. The ancient world, explains Paul Wrightman, clung to the “correctness” of its divisions with great tenacity (Paul’s Later Letters: From Promise to Fulfillment, Alba House, New York: 1984). While the Jews were regarded as the chosen ones, all others (Greeks and other gentiles) were deemed outside the scope of God’s salvific concerns. The Greeks considered themselves to be the sole possessors of civilization and referred to all others as “barbarians.” Similarly, there were further distinctions of privilege between masters and slaves, male and female, rich and poor. Nevertheless, in Christ, all of these distinctions were supposed to be obviated so that all humankind should regard itself as one family.

Obviously, the ideal described here has yet to be fully realized. Mary Ann Getty suggests that Ephesians prods us toward this realization of unity by challenging us to look beyond present struggles to a deeper reality where all things are in the care of a loving God (“Ephesians,” Reading Guide for the Catholic Study Bible, Oxford University Press, New York: 1990). Ephesians is presented as a letter written from prison to a community afflicted with oppression from without and confusion and dissension from within. As such, it is not unlike our own community. However, Ephesians also testifies eloquently to the faith of its author, nourished by prayer and by unflappable hope in God. When we look at our troubled world and are tempted to throw up our hands in frustration and walk away, Ephesians lends us the strength and encouragement we need to come to grips with the vision that calls us to be coheirs, comembers of the body and cosharers in Christ.

Matt 2:1-12

Although the Matthean evangelist recounts this narrative of the magi with very little personal information except to say that they were “from the east,” a rich and varied tradition has developed around them through the centuries. Because there were three gifts, it has been assumed that there were three visitors. These were eventually described as kings (probably due to the influence of Isaiah’s vision in today’s first reading), and they were given names: Gaspar, king of India; Balthasar of Arabia; and Melchior of Persia. Nativity sets depict one as younger than the other two and one of ruddy complexion. However interesting and rich these traditions, they are not in the text, and for that reason scholars direct our attention elsewhere.

More pertinent to Matthew’s purpose is the significance of the star that led the magi to Jerusalem. Putting aside for the moment the scientific suggestions that the star was a comet or a supernova or the result of the planetary conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn (Johannes Kepler calculated that there had been such a conjunction circa 7-6 B.C.E.), readers of this text are invited to appreciate the theological importance of this astral phenomenon. Recall the prophecy of Balaam in Numbers 24:17: “A star shall advance from Jacob and a staff shall rise from Israel.” This word of Balaam the seer eventually took on a messianic character and was referenced in the Dead Sea Scrolls as a portent of the one who would save Israel (War Scroll 11:6). Drawing on this messianic sign, Bar Koziba, who led the Jewish revolt of 132-135 C.E., was given the title Bar Cocheba, “Son of the Star.” In his narrative, the Matthean evangelist affirmed the messianic nature of Mary’s son by announcing his appearance with a star.

Matthean scholar Douglas R.A. Hare insists that the role of Herod in this narrative also warrants consideration (Matthew, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 1992). Unlike the Lucan infancy stories, which contain no negative elements, Matthew’s touches on the hostility of Herod. Moved by jealousy, he hatched a murderous plot that was foiled by the non-cooperation of the magi. Herod’s attitude toward Jesus pointed ahead to the future rejection of Jesus not only by Herod (Matt 2:16-23) but also by those who were disappointed at the manner in which Jesus exercised his role as Messiah. This rejection differs markedly from the welcome that would later be offered to Jesus by gentiles, represented in this narrative by the magi.

For us, the contrast between Herod and the magi might point to the internal struggle between that part of us that accepts the dominion and Messiahship of Christ and that darker side of ourselves that refuses to truly accept Jesus and his teachings. Those teachings include a call to be open to others, regardless of their differences and despite our own prejudices. “Scoff not at Herod,” advises Hare, “until you have acknowledged the Herod in yourself.”

Sample Homily for Jan 3, 2010Feast of the Epiphany“The Map of the Magi”Fr. James Smith

Matthew is not the first person to think of rich men from the East bringing gifts to Jerusalem. About 600 years before Christ, Isaiah wrote a beautiful poem about it. His people, the Jews, had just returned from two generations of slavery in Babylon, modern Iraq.They came back to a bombed-out, devastated city that had once been their

beautiful capital. Their homes had been destroyed; their gorgeous temple was leveled to the ground. They looked around in despair.

Where everyone else saw only present desolation, Isaiah dared to envision a brilliant future with a restored Jerusalem. It would be the center of a great civilization so powerful that faraway pagans would gladly bring their tribute and even praise the Jewish God.Maybe these magi, being international scholars, knew about Isaiah’s prophecy

and followed the light to Jerusalem. They were surprised not to find the new king there. And they were humbled when the scribes told them that they had been following the wrong prophet. So had Herod. It was a likely mistake, since Isaiah was the favorite prophet at the royal court, as well as the poet laureate of the land.In their fervor to be connected with a powerful king in a rich city, they

had neglected a little-known, less literate prophet from the hills. His name was Micah, and he was out of favor at court and in literary circles because he accused the rich and powerful of neglecting the poor. He prophesied that the new ruler would come not from proud Jerusalem but from humble Bethlehem, and that the leader would not rule over his subjects but would shepherd them.Herod did not take this news well, of course. He found it hard to believe

that anything good could come a little village famous only for making bread. (Bethlehem means “House of Bread.”) But the foreign magi, having no better itinerary, headed toward Bethlehem.Some of us miss things by a mile, but these wise men missed their

destination by nine miles, the distance between Jerusalem and Bethlehem. They had nine rugged miles on the way to adjust their attitudes from city splendor to rural simplicity, from kingly leader to pastoral guide, from scribal wisdom to homely parables. And to make a huge decision. Even if this were the right place and the right person, was it really worth their treasure and their homage?You and I have followed the trail of the wise men, at least on paper. We

profess that Bethlehem is our city, not Washington. We believe that other nations should walk by our light, not march to our military drum. We earnestly believe that our religious and civil leaders should shepherd instead of coerce and mislead.And yet, how far have we really traveled along that nine-mile route? How far

would we get in life if we actually followed that Bethlehem Shepherd? If we were humble instead of proud, cooperative instead of competitive, peaceable instead of aggressive, lovable instead of spiteful?Honestly — don’t we prefer money to poverty? Wouldn’t we rather be

autonomous than dependent, to be part of an industrial giant instead of a nation of farmers, to be citizens of the most powerful nation in history and members of the largest religious body in the world?On this feast of Epiphany, we celebrate the day when three wise people

admitted that they had missed their goal by nine miles and corrected their course. Then, they had to go home by a different route because they had a totally different map of life.

BAPTISM OF THE LORD (C) January 10, 2010

Rite and RealityPatricia Datchuck Sánchez

Isa 40:1-5, 9-11Titus 2:11-14; 3:4-7

Luke 3:15-16, 21-22

In the Didache (also called “The Teaching of the Twelve Apostles,” written around the year 100), there are instructions concerning the rite of initiation into Christ: “Baptize in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, in living water. But if you have not living water, baptize in other water. If you cannot baptize in cold, then in warm … pour water three times on the head.”

Unchanged through the centuries, the sacramental rite of baptism always involves water, whether it is from a small font, a full-size immersion bath or even a freshwater river or lake. For the most part, the water is clear, clean and an appropriate symbol for expressing the baptismal cleansing by which sins are forgiven and the newly initiated are incorporated into Christ and the church. Today’s feast, with its focus on Jesus’ baptism, invites each of us to remember the grace and blessing of our own baptism.

Other images can help us deepen our understanding of how this rite is translated into the reality of our everyday lives. One is in The Shawshank Redemption, Stephen King’s novella — made into a movie in 1994 — about Andy Dufresne’s more than 20-year incarceration at Shawshank Prison in Maine for a crime he did not commit. Set in the 1940s, the tale details the escape of an innocent man: his redemption. After years of burrowing his way through the cell walls, Dufresne finally swims through the filthy waters of the prison sewer system and emerges a free man ready to make a new beginning at life. That new beginning is made all the more poignant by the fact that he exchanges his prison garb for a new suit, his former name for a new one and his prison cell for a beautiful new home on a beach in Mexico. In those waters through which he swam, he experienced a “baptism.” King has given us here a story that encourages each of us to accept our own struggles, to view the evil and suffering of life as a redemptive passage to a new and holier existence.

Similarly baptismal in character are the experiences of thousands of immigrants from Mexico and elsewhere in Central America who risk their lives to cross the Rio Grande into the United States. Despite prosecution and almost certain persecution, these so called “wetbacks” are willing to make this watery passage in order to try to find a life for themselves and their loved ones. The fact that immigrants are willing to cross that river again and again attests to the preciousness of the gift of life that they continue to seek. Their many “baptisms” continue to testify against immoral and biblically unjust policies that persist in withholding life and dignity from them. When they are asked why they continue to risk the “baptism” of the Rio Grande, their replies are simple and truthful: “There is no other way.” “There is no hope for us anywhere else.” “We want to live freely and make a life for our families.”

Also seeking a better life are the thousands of immigrants and refugees from Africa who board makeshift boats and travel across the Mediterranean Sea in search of a welcome. Many die on the way from hunger, thirst, disease and exposure to the elements. Hundreds crowd aboard makeshift boats that are not seaworthy — so great is their desire for life; so profound is their hope. Yet these desires and hopes are repeatedly dashed as many drown and others are detained and then deported. Theirs is a virtual death sentence, yet they continue to set out daily on the watery journey, at which end they hope to find life and welcome. History preserves the accounts of similar waves of boat people from Vietnam, Cuba, Haiti and other war-torn or poverty-stricken regions of this world. Some have survived their “baptismal” passages and have succeeded in starting their lives anew, but for most, the rigors of their watery journey have ended badly.

While today we celebrate with serenity and solemnity the baptism of Jesus, and while we praise God for our own sacramental sharing in the life of God in Christ, we cannot help but remember those countless others who are dying in the hope of having a similar experience.

Isa 40:1-5, 9-11

When the descendants of Abraham found themselves enslaved in Egypt, divine intervention came to them in the person of Moses, who was cast adrift as a baby on the waters of the Nile by his mother. Little Moses, whose name was derived from the root mashah or “to draw” (as from out of the water), was rescued from certain death by Pharaoh’s daughter (Exod 2:10). Later, Moses would lead his people out of slavery in Egypt to freedom via the Sea of Reeds. This watery passage became a pivotal moment in Israel’s history because it marked their deliverance by God and their emergence as a nation unto themselves with a land and a history and a future of their own. All later experiences of deliverance would be interpreted in light of that initial exodus event.

For that reason, the sixth-century B.C.E. prophet Deutero-Isaiah comforted his exiled contemporaries with the hope that God would effect for them a new exodus and a new experience of deliverance. During their first journey to freedom, they traveled from west to east through the Arabian desert, but on this trip God would lead them from Babylon in the west to their homeland of Judah. Their initial desert trek had been eased by the gifts of God’s presence and food in the form of manna, quail and water from the rock. As promised by the prophet, their second desert experience would be enriched by the glory of God revealed for all to see. With their sins forgiven and their guilt expiated, the refugees from exile would be free to travel homeward through a wasteland transformed into a highway by God.

In the second half of this excerpted text, Deutero-Isaiah has described his people’s restoration as “glad tidings” or “good news” — that is, as gospel (v. 9). The prophet called for his people not to fear any evil or exile or suffering or any sort, but to cry out, “Here is your God who comes with power!” This declaration, also called by scholars an oracle of salvation, announces that the tide has turned and all will be well. The announcement, insists Paul D. Hanson, can transform the darkest tragedy into the deepest blessing (Isaiah 40-66, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 1995). However, the transition for the Israelites from divine absence to divine presence would not be an easy one. They were very far from home, from their temple and from their way of life. Babylon’s great army and its powerful leaders stood in their way. Nevertheless, throughout the remainder of his Book of Consolation (Chapters 44-55), the prophet would never call for military rearmament. On the contrary, he would call for his contemporaries to focus again and again on their one defense against all that threatened them: the very power of their God, exercised in their behalf with the strong arm of compassion. Here, as elsewhere in the scriptures, the divine compassion is defined in terms of a shepherd feeding and gathering the lambs and carrying them with great care.

When Jesus appeared in flesh and blood, in time and space, this announcement or oracle of salvation was fulfilled in him. “Here is your God!” This is indeed good news.

Titus 2:11-14; 3:4-7

When athletes take up a sport, it is necessary for them to enter into a process of training in order to learn the rules, to become adept at playing it and to become accustomed (if it is a team

sport) to cooperating well with others. Artists also undergo periods of training, as do other professionals, so as to maintain their proficiency in their chosen field. In this excerpted text, the author of this pastoral letter to Titus made a similar point regarding baptized believers. Those who are baptized into Christ Jesus are thereby also agreeing to enter into a process of training. For believers, this training is supervised and moved forward by grace. Through grace, the baptized are guided by God in all things and are enlightened and empowered to know how to choose the good and to recognize and reject what is not.

If the consensus of scholars is correct, Titus was pseudonymously attributed to Paul by one of his disciples near the end of the first or the beginning of the second century. Addressed to Titus and the newly founded churches of Crete, this letter was an attempt to bring the wisdom and pastoral insights of Paul to subsequent generations of Christians. These believers belonged to a growing and developing church dealing with issues of church organization, false teaching and community relations. Today’s excerpted text is from a longer section of the letter, which touched upon the proper relationship among members of the community and the unity that all should find in their shared faith. In all their works and words, in all their choices and decisions, the community of those who are trained by grace should bear witness to that grace and to the One who gave himself up for us, the Savior Jesus.

To further illustrate the transformative grace of baptism, the ancient author described the sacramental experience as a “cleansing” and as a “bath of rebirth.” Raymond E. Brown has pointed out that many of the ideas in this text and its beautiful hymn are Pauline or Deutero-Pauline, but “rebirth” (palingenesia) is not used elsewhere by Paul (An Introduction to the New Testament, Doubleday, New York: 1997). Some suggest that the image was borrowed from Stoicism or the mystery cults. But the idea that accepting Christ can be a new birth, Brown insisted, has particular significance against a background of Judaism where birth from a Jewish parent made one a member of God’s chosen people.

Because of the letter’s poetry and sacramental significance, some have suggested that the author of Titus was quoting from an early baptismal hymn (especially in verses 4-7). Hymns such as this occur frequently throughout the Christian letters; those lyrical expressions are rich in symbolism and profound in their Christology. In the verses immediately following this short hymn, the ancient writer called it “a trustworthy saying.” It’s a saying we can carry forth with us from today’s liturgy, and one that can help us continue our training in grace all through the week ahead.

Luke 3:15-16, 21-22

In this rather understated narrative of Jesus’ baptism by John, the Lucan evangelist has clarified the respective roles and identities of John and Jesus, as well as the character of baptismal initiation. John’s role was preparatory and temporary. He offered the prelude to the promise that would be fulfilled by Jesus. As God’s beloved Son and the servant with whom God was well pleased, Jesus would exercise the role of the Christ and baptize with Spirit and fire.

After Jesus’ baptism, Luke narrated a revelatory experience in three stages. With the opening of the heavens (v. 21), Luke indirectly referenced the prayer of Trito-Isaiah, who begged God to “rend the heavens and come down” (Isa 63:19) to intervene on behalf of a sinful people. From the opened heavens, the Holy Spirit descended and remained with Jesus throughout his ministry (Luke 4:1, 14, 18). In his second volume, Luke assured his readers that the same Holy Spirit had come upon and would remain with Jesus’ followers (Acts 2:1-11). That same Spirit continues to

come upon every baptized believer to enlighten every word and work with grace. Then, as if to confirm the witness of the Spirit and the opened heavens, a voice identified Jesus in terms that established his royal messiahship (Psalm 2:7) and his ministry as the beloved Servant of God (Isa 42:1).

Although some scholars attach little importance to the presence of the dove in this narrative, others insist that it is reminiscent of several references from the Hebrew scriptures. For example, a dove signaled the end of the flood and a new beginning for the primeval Noah and his companions (Gen 8:8). Just as the appearance of the dove signaled to Noah that his watery journey in the ark was taking a new turn, so the dove at Jesus’ baptism indicated that his ministry (and that of John) was about to strike out in a new direction. After his baptism, Jesus’ ministry began in earnest and John’s came to an end (Luke 3:20). The dove was sometimes featured as a symbol of the Israelites themselves (Hosea 7:11; Psalm 68:14, Song of Songs 2:14; 5:2; 6:9), and so the dove at Jesus’ baptism could be understood as a sign that God was doing something new for Israel and for the world in the person and through the mission of Jesus.

This narrative was presented in a decidedly peaceful manner. It represents only one aspect of what baptism would mean for Jesus and what it would entail for his followers. Later in the Gospel, the Lucan Jesus will declare, “There is a baptism with which I must be baptized, and how great is my anguish until it is accomplished.” Jesus would also allow himself be immersed in the baptism of suffering and death. Through these saving actions, all who are baptized in Jesus’ name enter fully into his life and his death, and pass with him through the passage of death to life everlasting.

Sample Homily for Jan 10, 2010Baptism of the Lord“How Must I Live?”Fr. James Smith

We cannot know exactly how or why the sinless Jesus ended up at the Jordan to be baptized. But we can create a psychological profile from what we know about him and his circumstances. In general, he got there the same way all of us get anyplace: step by step, one decision at a time. It started early with parents who were observant Jews. Jesus was taught that

God was the Father of Israel. He took that very personally, and by his teen years, when he went on pilgrimage to the temple, Jesus was overwhelmed with a sense that God’s business was his business.And as he grew in wisdom and grace, he looked around at his world and

wondered, as all young people do, if things were as they should be. He saw the occupying military forces and wondered if his people always had to be under foreign domination. He saw that 95 percent of his people were impoverished and wondered if that must always be the case.Then he heard about a wandering desert prophet who was haranguing everyone

about the impending end of the world and the harsh judgment of God. The man clearly understood that the world was not as it should be and that God himself was coming to set things straight. God would do that by establishing his own rule on earth as it was in heaven. The kingdom of God was at hand!Jesus listened to this spellbinder and thought: God is with this prophet. I

will become his follower. So Jesus took his place among the throng rushing into the water. Whether or not he had sinned never occurred to him; he was simply aware of being part of the chosen people and wanted to share their blessing and curse.

When he was baptized, a voice said, “This is my beloved Son.” And Jesus must have thought, “My God, that adolescent intuition was right: God really is my personal Father! Now, how shall I live?”He went into solitude to plan his strategy. Like all of us, Jesus was

tempted to doubt his vocation. He was tempted to feed everyone, but realized that they would be hungry again after he was gone. He was tempted to establish God’s reign by compromising with evil, but he knew that evil always wins in every compromise. He was tempted to cash in on his special relationship with God, but he realized that the whole point of his existence was that he was totally human.But what should he do with the sad world that his Father had created glad?

He knew the answer wasn’t economic — there will always be rich and poor. He knew the answer wasn’t political — there will always strong and weak. He knew it was not a matter of fixing the system but of creating an alternative system. He called it the kingdom of God, and dedicated his whole life to that cause.You and I probably did not have an epiphany at baptism. Most of us didn’t

even know what was going on. But someone made certain promises for us, and some time in life we must decide whether to confirm or deny them. We have to decide whether being incorporated into the body of Christ really makes any difference to us. We must look at the balance of good and evil in the world and decide whether we are responsible for any part of God’s world beyond ourselves.When we are mature enough to deal with the fact of our baptism, it confronts

us with the very same question it asked Jesus: If I am a child of God, how must I live?

SECOND SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIMEJanuary 17, 2010Honeymooning with the Holy OnePatricia Datchuck Sánchez

Isa 62:1-51 Cor 12:4-11John 2:1-11

English clergyman William Paley (1743-1805) professed that if a person found a watch in an empty field, its intricate design and practical purpose would lead that person to conclude that the watch had a watchmaker. When Paley expanded his vision to look beyond the watch to the world, he concluded that the beauties and complexities he saw pointed to the existence of God. This view was adopted by some of the founding fathers of this nation and swept through Europe in the Age of Enlightenment. This view, however, often precluded a personal relationship with God, who was envisioned as the One who made the watch, wound it and then left it on its own to tick or not.

If you were to offer an analogy to describe the relationship humans share with God, what would it be? Would it be a Big Brother or bookkeeper figure who keeps careful account of all human deeds, both good and bad? Would you see God as a fearsome ruler ordering subjects according to whim, or as a manager sending out sales reps to sell the goods of religion? Would

your God be the coach spurring the team on to victory or the referee making sure everyone plays the game fairly and is properly penalized for their faults and fouls?

Perhaps your God would be a teacher whose efforts at enlightening and educating prepare students to face the world. Maybe a better analogy would be to imagine God as a conductor and humans as the musicians of a great orchestra who play the notes they are given in the tempo and style set by the maestro. Some have even imagined God as a chess master and human beings as the pawns and rooks that move in accord with the divine strategist.

While these analogies might be interesting, none can compare with those being proposed by the authors of today’s sacred texts. In the Gospel, the Johannine Jesus reveals God’s desire to relate to human beings by becoming one of us. In Jesus, God reaches out to each of us as a caring, compassionate brother whose involvement in every aspect of the human experience is astounding. In the flesh, he attended weddings; he cried at funerals; he walked and talked and shared the same table with people from every walk of life. He even drew so near to us that he offered his very self as food and his life so that our lives might be saved.

Paul, in today’s second reading, reminds the Corinthians and us that our God has a palette of colors. Through the gift of one Spirit, each of us has been artfully, differently endowed with a charism that is ours to tend and develop. These gifts have not been given for our sake but for the good of others and for the honor of the one Spirit. This Spirit analogy reminds us that an inflated ego puffed up with pride and self-importance allows no room for the Spirit to blow where it will.

In the first reading, Deutero-Isaiah offers an even more intimate way of appreciating the relationship God wishes to extend to human beings. He says: God espouses you! God espouses you with a love that chooses to be committed unconditionally. Unlike human love, which sometimes grows less passionate after the honeymoon, God’s spousal love does not diminish but grows stronger despite our straying and despite our sins. In spite of ourselves, Isaiah insists, God loves us like a bridegroom loves a bride. This quality of love means that God chooses to belong to each of us, and God desires, but does not force, our belonging in return. To be loved by God as spouse means that as incredible as it may be, God has set us on equal footing; God the Creator of the universe chooses to be our partner in life. In sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, in good times and in bad, God loves us.

Of all the analogies that could be chosen to express the relationship God wishes to share with us, this one is the most shocking. We, for our part, need only be faithful and forever grateful that even death will not part us from the God who loves us so deeply, so truly, forever.

Isa 62:1-5

When poet Francis Thompson sought to describe God’s love for him, he used the analogy of a hound ever on the heels of the beloved. His poem “The Hound of Heaven” reads like a story of seduction — a beloved is pursued by a Lover whose will to love the other is relentless. But, like Israel, Thompson was too often averse to the overtures of God. Calling God “this tremendous Lover,” Thompson admitted, “I fled Him, down the nights and down the days; I fled Him down the arches of the years; I fled Him down the labyrinthine ways of my own mind … I hid from Him.” Near the end of the poem, the Pursuer speaks: “How little worthy of love thou art! Whom wilt thou find to love ignoble thee; save Me, save only Me? All which I took from thee I did but take, not for thy harms, but just that thou might seek it in My Arms.”

Although he composed this poem centuries after the time of Trito-Isaiah, Thompson shared a similar appreciation of God with that sixth-century B.C.E. prophet. Both regarded God as a

Lover whose only desire is to love, protect and care for the Beloved. But just as Thompson initially preferred his will to God’s, so did the people of Judah stray in search of fulfillment in other relationships and alliances. For that reason, the prophets compared the sins of the Israelites to the infidelities of a wayward and adulterous wife whose actions offended her divine bridegroom, God.

Similarly, the prophets compared Israel’s return to God as the reconciliation of a loving husband with a repentant bride. In this instance, Trito-Isaiah was describing the return home from exile in Babylonia as God’s vindication of the Israelites. They were forgiven and reconciled, and this new beginning or second honeymoon between Judah and God was celebrated with the bestowal of new names. Freshly emerged from her disgrace, Judah should thereafter be known as “God’s Delight” and “God’s Espoused.” Their nuptial relationship was completely reinstated.

Later, this nuptial analogy would provide Christians with a treasured image for understanding the relationship between Christ and the church. This image, as Gail Ramshaw has pointed out, continues to inspire believers by bringing to arid and sterile liturgical practice the joyous wine of the wedding feast (Treasures Old and New, Images in the Lectionary, Augsburg Fortress Press, Minneapolis: 2002). It can also, says Ramshaw, enliven a dead spirituality with the image of marital ecstasy; it can ultimately recall the church to its commitment as a partner with God. God chooses to love as our Spouse! Can there be any more intimate gift?

1 Cor 12:4-11

With another intimate image, Paul reminded the Corinthians that because of their faith in Jesus, they were no longer mere individuals but a community of beloved persons inspired and enlivened by the same Spirit. While retaining their God-given uniqueness, they were nevertheless intended to cooperate so that their Spirit-endowed gifts would be a source of edification for their community and for the world in which they were to witness to God’s love for humankind.

As he named their gifts, Paul repeatedly affirmed both their diversity and their unity. Wisdom in discourse endows the gifted one with the ability to explain and elucidate the deepest spiritual truths. Knowledge and the power to express it makes its recipient responsible for teaching how to translate those deep spiritual truths into one’s day-to-day lifestyle. Faith is that depth of belief and trust in God that would dare to say to a mountain, “Throw yourself into the sea!” and then stand back far from the shore so as not to be swept away by the splash. Healing and mighty deeds are gifts that allow those who possess them to confront the gamut of physical, psychological, spiritual and economic ills that can beset any member of any community. Those whom the Spirit endows with the gift of prophecy are responsible for helping others to discover, interpret and follow the will of God in every human circumstance. Discernment of spirits enables believers to sort out authentic prophets from frauds and to follow the way of truth. Tongues (or glossolalia) may refer to the ability to bridge the gap between those who speak different languages or to that spirit-inspired utterance that is unintelligible until it is discerned by another who is also gifted by the Spirit of God.

All of these gifts were being exercised among the believers in Corinth, and although each was intended to contribute toward the harmony of the community, some gifts were being exercised in such a way as to create divisions and conflicts. Divisiveness is not just an ancient phenomenon. It continues to threaten communities where different charisms are used as an impetus for

competition rather than cooperation. Perhaps the root of such divisions lies in the fact that we human beings tend to identify with the gifts God has given us. We see them as extensions of ourselves, and we claim ownership of them and then superiority over others.

Today Paul invites us to remember that every good gift is an extension of God. We do not own these gifts. We did not bring them with us from the womb, nor shall we be able to take them with us to the tomb. These gifts preclude ownership but welcome stewardship that carefully values God’s gift, accepts it in humility, treasures it with love, cares for it with great patience and offers it to others fully, freely and for as long as it is ours to share.

John 2:1-11

Because their marriage and the feasting that accompanied it were one of the most joyous moments of a couple’s life, the wedding celebration proved a most apt symbol for representing the blessedness that would accompany the appearance of the Messiah. In Jesus’ day, the wedding ceremony itself usually took place late in the evening after a great feast. Instead of going away on a honeymoon, the newlyweds opened their home to family, friends and neighbors and hosted a party that often went on for a week. Considering the struggle that burdened their ordinary lives and the effort it took to eke out a living, such a feast was a wondrous occasion for the entire town or village. Weddings were a bright and joyous moment in an otherwise difficult existence. For that reason, Jesus followed the lead of the prophets and taught many truths about the reign of God against the backdrop of a wedding celebration.

In their descriptions of the era of salvation, the prophets (Isa 54:4-8; 55:1; Amos 9:13-14; Hos 14:7; Jer 31:12), psalmists (104:14) and sapiential authors (Prov 9:1-5) had drawn upon wedding imagery and promised that an abundance of wine would signal the advent of the Messiah. Fully aware of the messianic inferences of such a celebration, the Johannine evangelist chose a wedding in Cana as the venue for Jesus’ first public appearance after choosing his disciples. Jesus appeared at the event as a guest, but he was actually being presented by the evangelist as the divine Bridegroom coming to court his “bride” — that is, the church or community of believers who would, by faith, choose to be his life-partners.

In addition to announcing Jesus as Messiah and the advent of the era of salvation, this uniquely Johannine narrative also introduced what scholars have described as the evangelist’s “replacement theology.” Beginning here and continuing through John 10, the fourth Gospel’s author has effectively illustrated, through Jesus’ actions and through the discourses that explained those actions, that Jesus came to replace the Law, the temple, its feasts and the institutions with himself. He would become the truth by which human beings are to live, the source of life and the way to God and to salvation.

John’s replacement technique is dramatically illustrated in the changing of water to wine at Cana. Held in six stone water jars was water used to ritually purify the guests at the wedding. When these containers were filled to the brim, as Jesus ordered, the amount of wine that resulted from Jesus’ action (120-180 gallons) was far greater than what the hosts would have needed. But the abundance signaled the Messianic era. The fact that Jesus’ wine replaced the water for purification indicated that true purity before God would thenceforth be found in the words and works of Jesus and through baptism into his saving death and resurrection.

Cana would be the site of the first of the seven Johannine signs, each revealing something of the identity of Jesus while challenging those who witnessed the sign to believe in him. With each successive sign, the saving purpose of Jesus would also be further revealed and clarified. Yet

while some accepted the challenge offered by the sign and believed that Jesus was the loving Bridegroom sent by God to love and save humankind, others did not. Jesus continues to be revealed through the signs of the sacraments and the word and in the faces of God’s least ones. Can you see him? Will you believe?

Sample Homily for Jan 17, 2010Second Sunday in Ordinary Time“Where God Feels at Home”Fr. James Smith

It’s hard to believe that Jesus’ first miracle was in a dinky little village at the end of the world. We think of God as living in our part of the world, that his home office is here; and that then he occasionally takes business trips to all parts of his far-flung empire. Of course, we recognize that as a conceited view of God, and we would

vehemently deny it in public. But in the privacy of our fantasy world, we actually think of God looking at the world from our point of view. That is why liberation theology, in spite of its shortcomings, was such a

burst of creativity. Until then, theology, or God-talk, was limited to European concerns and concepts. For heaven’s sake, what could “primitives” and “colonials” know about God?When America came into its own, an offshoot of European theology took root

here. But it was basically the same First-World perspective of a successful life under the patronage of a friendly God. That was a God who rewarded hard work and goodness while punishing sin and laziness. It was a capitalistic God who looked askance at losers and shunted suffering off to his peripheral vision.Then liberation theology enlightened and even startled the rest of the world

by insisting that God in fact lived in the Third World. They said that the only way to understand God was to look at God from the position of the poor, from the misery of people struggling to survive, from the vulnerability of dependent peasants.American theologians took notice and agreed that, yes, God was concerned

with the homeless, worried about AIDS, upset over endless war, peeved with pathological dictators, angry at greedy extortionists. We talked about solidarity with God’s poor and invented a new phrase: “preferential option for the poor.” It’s unlikely that we really believed God preferred the poor over us — but maybe if we helped take better care of the poor God would take better care of us.There was now serious talk about “God at the margins” rather than at the

center of the universe. That is certainly progress in God-talk, since it recognizes God as the Father of all. But the feeling is still that God lives in New York and Paris while having a real concern for people on the margins. The next necessary step is to pack all of God’s earthly possessions and relocate God in Haiti, so that instead of being God at the margins, God becomes a marginal God.God at the margins can give food to starving children in the Congo, but a

marginal God is a starving child in the Congo. God at the margins can give shelter to a vagrant in São Paulo, but a marginal God is a vagrant in São Paulo. God at the margins can give penicillin to a mother with AIDS, but a marginal God is a mother with AIDS.Sooner or later, we have to get serious about how God operates in this

world, where God lives in the world, how God relates to his various children

in a multitude of situations. We must accept that God feels equally at home everywhere and loves everyone equally well and lives the same lives they live.Nobody has God in their pocket. No theology can totally encompass God.

Everybody has only a glimpse of the immensity of God. We cannot see God except from our own limited angle. But we can recognize, accept and incorporate as many other views of God as we can. And right now, a marginal God is needed to offset the middle-class God we get from central casting.

THIRD SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME (C) January 24, 2010Powered by the WordPatricia Datchuck Sánchez

Neh 8:2-4, 5-6, 8-101 Cor 12:12-30Luke 1:1-4; 4:14-21

An unnamed ancient historian once pointed out the difference between Cicero, the eloquent orator, and Demosthenes, who spoke with burning passion. After a great speech Cicero delivered in Rome, every tongue was loud in praise of his polished tongue. But the people who listened to Demosthenes caught the fire he carried in his belly. They hurried home and, with clenched fists, muttered in voices that resembled distant thunder, “Let us go and fight Philip!” Demosthenes inspired his fellow Greeks to resist Philip of Macedonia — and when Alexander acceded to Philip’s throne, he tried to silence Demosthenes by killing him, so powerful were his words, so effective was his message.

In the late 16th century, Elizabeth I addressed her British troops in Tilbury: “I am come among you as you see, not for my recreation and disport, but being resolved, in the midst and heat of battle, to live and die among you, to lay down for my God … for my people, my honor and my blood, even in the dust.” Elizabeth — who claimed to “have the heart and stomach of a king” — so inspired her army with her words and example that they went forth to defeat the Spanish Armada.

Demosthenes and Elizabeth spoke words that inspired armies to undertake wars that changed empires. Agnes Gonxha Bojaxhin (Mother Teresa) also spoke words that changed lives. When she was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1979, Mother Teresa said in her acceptance speech, “With this prize I am going to make a home for any who have no home … if we can create a home for the poor, love will spread and we will be able through this understanding love to bring peace, to be good news to the poor.” Before her death in 1997, this tiny woman’s words had inspired the establishment of more than 200 different operations in 30 of this world poorest countries.

Powerful and effective words are also at the heart of today’s liturgy. In the first reading, Ezra read the words of the Law to the gathered assembly so that those words would become the source of their life, the cause of their union and the bond that would forever unite them with God. Paul, in today’s second reading, used graphic words to drive home the importance of mutual respect for the differences that make community a true reflection of the God in whose image each of us is made. Jesus, in today’s Lucan Gospel, took the scroll of the prophet Isaiah and combined two texts to deliver the words that would outline his agenda. His were powerful words of promise made all the more powerful by the fact that he spent his life and went to his

death in order to fulfill them. Through Jesus’ words and works, the Good News was heard by the poor, captives were liberated, the blind began to see and the oppressed went free. Today, as these words are proclaimed in our hearing, their power challenges us. Will we listen and be lulled by eloquence, as were those who heard Cicero? Or will we be moved to action like those who were fired up by the words of Demosthenes? Surely there is one greater than Demosthenes who speaks to us today, and it has become our great privilege to keep his words alive.

Walter Brueggemann has affirmed the importance of repeating and rehearing these powerful words (Texts That Linger, Words That Explode: Listening to Prophetic Voices, Fortress Press, Minneapolis: 2000). In the moment of proclamation, the sacred text is offered by the lector and received by the listener as revelatory. That is, the sacred word discloses something about this moment that would, without this utterance, remain unknown, unseen and unavailable. Therefore, it becomes the privilege and responsibility of the gathered assembly to keep the text available, to linger over the sacred words together, to let them speak their truth to the present situation. Out of that lingering, says Brueggemann, from time to time the words of the text erupt into new usage. They are seized upon by someone in the community who, powered by grace and inspired by the Spirit, finds a new light in the text, a nugget of new truth. Then the community is moved to see and believe with fresh eyes and fuller faith. What has been handed on through the centuries as tradition becomes an available experience, and the word that has been allowed to linger explodes with new vigor, moving the community to work together for its realization.

May we fulfill the words of Jesus in today’s Gospel, which we have cherished as our shared tradition.

Neh 8:2-4, 5-6, 8-10

Anyone who has watched an American president address Congress or a British prime minister speak to Parliament knows the leader will get a varied reception. Members of that political party will be quick to applaud, while those of a different persuasion will be silent, refusing to show their approval. No such partisanship characterized the community who gathered to listen to Ezra. In this excerpted text from Nehemiah, all were attentive, and all agreed to accept the word of the Law with a wholehearted double Amen.

The formal reading of the Law in the open place before the Water Gate represents a climactic moment in the process of reconstruction that took place in Judah after the return from exile. After being freed through the edict of Cyrus, the exiles came home to find a deplorable situation (which was well documented in Malachi 1-2). To hasten the reconstruction of the temple and Jerusalem’s infrastructure, as well as the morale and religious fervor of the Israelites, the Persians sent aid, supplies and artisans. When reports of poor progress reached the Persian court, Emperor Artaxerxes sent his royal cupbearer, Nehemiah, to Jerusalem to supervise the rebuilding of the city.

As the city walls and the temple were reinstated, so was the liturgy, and Nehemiah called upon the services of Ezra the priest and scribe to conduct what would later be the basis for synagogue worship: The scroll of the Torah was brought forth, the dais or platform (ambo?) was mounted, the scroll was opened, God was blessed, the word was read and the people responded. The interpretation “of the Law” (v. 8) may refer to the translation of the word of the Law from Hebrew to Aramaic. Understood by all the peoples of the Persian Empire, Aramaic was replacing Hebrew as the common language in Judah. Hence, there would be some encountering the Law who were no longer fluent in Hebrew. Added to that translation may have been a commentary or

sermon-like explanation of the text. This task fell to the priests and scribes, who had expertise in the Law. Without a king to rule the people in post-exile Judah, the Law and those who interpreted it became the uppermost authorities within the community.

For their part, the people were to listen and obey. As Gordon F. Davies has explained, the people’s reception of the Law became the paradigm for Israel’s faith (“Ezra and Nehemiah,” Berit Olam: Studies in Hebrew Narrative and Poetry, David Cotter, ed., The Liturgical Press, Collegeville, Minn.: 1999). Although Israel was no longer politically powerful after the exile, it had an autonomous faith that was sincere about conversion. Ezra and Nehemiah could not keep the people from sinning, but they were able to keep the Law before the eyes of their contemporaries as the continuous vehicle for conversion.

As an interpretive extension of the Law, Christians also have the Great Sermon of Jesus, which calls each of us to daily conversion. Through the sermon, Jesus continues to speak powerful words that call us to service, to witness and to an altruistic love of others. Do I hear an Amen?

1 Cor 12:12-30

More than 40 years after the U.S. military involvement in Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos came to an end, citizens there are still suffering loss of life and limbs due to the thousands of hidden land mines that continue to detonate in those countries. Every day, news services report on car bombs and IEDs that continue to kill and maim those engaged in the seemingly endless conflicts in Iraq, Afghanistan and Iran. What do these words of Paul have to say to victims of violence? How can Paul’s imagery speak to their loss?

Paul’s point becomes clearer if we keep in mind the fact that he used the analogy of the one body and its many parts enlivened by one Spirit to affirm the unity of the community as a whole. Paul was describing the necessary complementarity of each individual to the whole community. Even a person without all his limbs has a unique value that enhances the community and calls forth its generosity and support. This must be what Paul meant when he insisted that “the parts have the same concern for one another. If one part suffers, all the parts suffer with it. If one part is honored, all the parts share its joy” (vv. 25-26).

The comparison between the body and human society was commonplace in the ancient world, especially in essays and speeches advocating social harmony. Traditionally, Paul’s contemporaries used the analogy to keep people in their place so as not to disturb the status quo. Members of subordinate classes were urged to be satisfied with their lot rather than to strike out against those who enjoyed a superior status. According to this model, the “foot” really was inferior to the “hand,” and the “eye” to the “ear.” However, Paul offered a different interpretation of this analogy — he used the body-parts imagery to argue for the blessed diversity of the members of the Body of Christ (vv. 14-20) as well as their harmonious complementarity (vv. 21-26). Thus, as Richard B. Hays has pointed out, Paul’s analogy was not intended to designate subordinates but to urge the more privileged members of the community to respect and value the contributions of those whom they deemed inferior, both socially and spiritually (First Corinthians, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 1997). The mutual respect of all members of the community for one another is rooted in the unity each shares in the Spirit. “For in one Spirit we were baptized into one body,” said Paul; “we are all given to drink of the one Spirit.”

In the mid-first century, Paul insisted that the one Spirit unified Jews and Greeks, slaves and free people. Today, his words linger among us and explode with the truth that the Spirit

continues to be the factor longing to unite us and break down the barriers between men and women, clergy and laity, rich and poor, and people of every ethnic and racial background.

Luke 1:1-4; 4:14-21

Six centuries before Jesus, a prophet suffering the shame of exile along with his contemporaries prayed: “The Lord God has given me a well-trained tongue that I might know how to speak to the weary a word that will rouse them” (Isa 50:4). The ancient prophet was intensely faithful to God and also deeply sympathetic to the plight of his people. Convinced that their sins had brought the consequences they were then suffering, he made every effort to call his people to the repentance that would return them to God, to Judah and to freedom. In addition to urging their repentance, the prophet promised that they would enjoy a new beginning, which would be accomplished for them by an anointed servant of God.

On a Sabbath day at the synagogue in Nazareth, that promised servant, the Lucan Jesus, roused his listeners as he laid out for them the purpose of his life and the reason for his death. From then on, good news, liberation and healing would characterize his mission and that of the community that took up his cause after his passing.

In this Gospel, Luke has combined his own rationale for writing (vv. 1-4) with Jesus’ reason for coming into the world. Both reasons were to offer the good news of salvation to a world so much in need of its message. Luke acknowledged the existence of other versions of the good news while affirming his desire to lend “certainty” (v. 4) to those who were hearing the good news without the benefit of experiencing the earthly Jesus. Luke would repeat this intention at the beginning of his second volume, Acts.

Jon Sobrino has suggested that ev-aggelion or gospel can mean three things: (1) what Jesus proclaims and initiates; that is, the reign of God is gospel, to which believers are to respond with welcome; (2) Jesus’ Passover from death to resurrected life, to which we also respond with faith; (3) Jesus’ manner of being in his service to the kingdom and in his relationship to the Father, to which we respond by making his manner of being our own (Christ the Liberator, Orbis Books, Maryknoll, N.Y.: 2001).

Through the Gospel narratives we hear the echo of the positive impact Jesus made through his manner of being. In Jesus, says Sobrino, women and children found a welcome; the poor found someone who loved and defended them and sought to save them simply because they were in need. Through his words and good actions, Jesus was able to establish a relationship with the least ones of his society, such that they were given the desire and the strength to try to break the chains that robbed them of their freedom.

Jesus’ followers were continuously impressed by his genuineness, his justice, his mercy — and above all, his goodness. His impact on the individual and collective consciousness of others continues to be good news. We who live in the interim between Jesus’ first impact on earth and the coming of his ultimate impact are charged with carrying out his agenda. We are to be good news, as he was, in the very manner of our being. We are charged not only to point out the needs of the poor, but to work to fulfill them. We are not only to proclaim a coming liberation, but to labor diligently in the manner of Jesus so that freedom will be enjoyed, here and now, by everyone.

Sample Homily for Jan 24, 2010Third Sunday in Ordinary Time

“These Words Will Come True”Pat Marrin

Even 45 years later, I can vividly recall taking the train home from college for holidays. I was excited to be going home, but I also knew that whatever independence I had established in going away would slip away as I got closer, then would be swallowed up in the assigned roles and unspoken expectations beneath the warm embrace of our large family. I would become one of the “little kids” again, assuming my place at table with my parents, older brothers and younger siblings still at home. Any pretensions I might have had about being changed, better than when I had left home, would dissolve.Jesus reserved his inaugural address for his first trip home to Nazareth

after the tumultuous experience of his baptism in the Jordan and his time in the wilderness. He came home and — as a faithful, observant Jew — went to the synagogue on the Sabbath. He already had a reputation as someone singled out by the Baptizer. The synagogue was crowded. It had been arranged that he would do the reading from the Torah scrolls.But no one was prepared for the audacity Jesus showed that day. He selected

from the scroll of the prophet Isaiah a familiar messianic text: “The spirit of the Lord is upon me and he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor.” He read the words, paused, then announced that this text was about himself. This word was fulfilled in their hearing.Even more disturbing to these simple villagers, farmers, tradesmen and

peasants was that this was about them, as well. God had announced in Jesus a year of jubilee, amnesty, freedom. The status quo was about to be disrupted by new possibility. If the reign of God was at hand, then all other reigns and rules were about to fall.Jesus announced not just some private conversion or spiritual renewal, but a

program of social transformation that would produce a new economy, a neighborhood atuned to the needs of the poor and vulnerable, a true religion of compassion whose hallmark would be open table fellowship, reconciliation within families and the restoration of outcasts to the community.Is it any wonder Jesus was regarded as an upstart, his message as a utopian

pipe dream? It might stir up the have-nots, but was totally unrealistic within the framework of Roman control and privilege of the ruling class. As eloquent as he was, even though he possessed mysterious power to heal the sick and command spirits, Jesus was a danger to stability and perhaps a charlatan. The town rose up against him.We know the rest of the story, and so we feel safe in continuing to trust in

Jesus, but the original challenge of that day in Nazareth remains before us: a radical program of social transformation that is good news for the poor, freedom for captives, sight to the blind, new hope for the oppressed.Five centuries earlier, when Ezra and Nehemiah read the word of God to the

people just returned from exile, they wept at the challenge of conversion before them, and they wept also with joy that God had restored them to the covenant. Twenty centuries after Jesus’ inaugural address in Nazareth, we stand in our own moment of challenge. The word of God comes to us no less than to those in the past. Jesus, now risen from the dead and our source of life, is in our midst, in the word, in the assembly, on the altar and in the presider, proclaiming God’s intentions for the world. Where there are ears that hear and hearts that welcome the Gospel, these words will come true in our hearing.

FOURTH SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME

Jan 31, 2009Lyrical Love Come to LifePatricia Datchuck Sánchez

Jer 1:4-5, 17-191 Cor 12:21-13:13Luke 4:21-30

In today’s sacred texts the praying assembly is presented with rich theological fare, a sandwich of sorts, where the loving lives of Jeremiah and Jesus are wrapped around Paul’s celebration of the virtue of love. Paul’s address to the Corinthians is quite beautiful and lyrical — he lifts his readers to the heights of idealism and takes their imaginations to that perfect place where love endures to conquer all with its grace and magnanimity. Jeremiah and Jesus illustrate most poignantly through their lives that love not only sings and celebrates; love also answers God’s call, despite the difficulty that will entail.

In Jeremiah’s case, love meant accepting the criticism that he was too young to speak and too unimportant to warrant the serious attention of others who thought themselves wiser and more experienced. Love for God and for God’s word would lead Jeremiah to accept a mission he did not choose. Love would cause him to accept that the seductive power of the word was not to be silenced. Despite all the risks, Jeremiah was to speak the word of God so pointedly that his contemporaries would want to crush him. Through his great love for God, Jeremiah would know great suffering, but through it all he would also know the presence and deliverance of a loving God.

Love for God and for God’s people would also lead Jesus to persevere in proclaiming a Gospel that was often regarded as an unpopular challenge by unwilling listeners. Love led Jesus to suffer loneliness, rejection, personal injury and even death for the sake of the mission he had come to fulfill. As is reflected in today’s Gospel, love led Jesus to dare to proclaim the fulfillment of Isaiah’s presence in his hometown synagogue. Love empowered him when he was confronted by people who allowed their familiarity with him to breed contempt and would not accept him or his message. Love also motivated Jesus to reflect God’s compassion for those who were not considered to be among God’s chosen. Even a widow in Zarephath and a leper in Syria were loved by God, and love prompted Jesus to be similarly ecumenical and indiscriminate in his loving.

As we listen to Paul’s celebration of love and remember the loving witness of Jeremiah and Jesus, each member of the praying assembly is challenged to examine the character and constancy of their love. Very often, couples choose to express their own new love for one another by having Paul’s lyrical celebration of love read at their wedding. Only later, however, will the happy couple learn that other verses to this song will be written as they live out their lives together. They will be called upon to prove that their promise to “bear all things, believe all things, hope all things and endure all things” is more than words, more than a feeling. Love is to be steady when circumstances become unstable, when jobs are lost, when home is robbed, when the future seems frighteningly insecure. Love is faithful despite the temptation to stray. Love is ready to forgive and makes valiant efforts at forgetting the hurtful aspects of life together. Love is a sure shelter against danger. Love is a rock to hold onto when the wedding vows about sickness and health, for richer and for poorer become everyday realities. Love holds out even

when nest eggs are forced to hatch too soon. Love survives when old age claims looks and memory and fervor.

Marital relationships are not the only opportunities for making real the lyrical love of Paul’s hymn. We can apply these words to the love of parents for children, children for parents and friends and relatives for one another. Calling love “a dreadful task,” William J. Bausch reminds readers that love is not a feeling but a matter of the will (Once Upon a Gospel, Twenty-Third Publications, New London, Conn.: 2008). Love is in the decisions we make, and the harder the decision, in spite of the feelings, the greater the love. That’s why, says Bausch, the Russian writer Fyodor Dostoevsky may still have one of the best lines on love: “Love in action is a harsh and dreadful thing.” Jeremiah knew this. Jesus and Paul knew this. How about you?

Jer 1:4-5, 17-19

In his provocative mediations on the prophet Jeremiah, Carlo Maria Martini, the archbishop of Milan, has suggested that the prophet recounted this narrative of his initial call from God much later in life (A Prophetic Voice in the City, The Liturgical Press, Collegeville, Minn.: 1997). Martini suggests that Jeremiah was living in a moment of great suffering in which he had realized the failure of his mission. He had spoken God’s word for more than 20 years, but to no avail. No one seemed to listen. No one seemed to learn. Suddenly, he felt divinely inspired to recall the memory of the original grace in order to draw strength from it against disappointment. We could say that the story shared in Chapter 1 of Jeremiah springs from his will to endure by remembering that despite everything, God is the one who has called him, and he has done all he could to obey that call. This is a deeply moving passage. It was not written by a young man full of eager longing for an encounter with the word but by a battle-scarred veteran who has paid the price of daring to listen to that word and to live in accord with its promptings.

The initiative was entirely God’s. This is shown in the several first-person expressions that describe the divine action: “I formed, I knew, I dedicated, I appointed, I command, I would not leave you crushed, I made you … a city, a pillar of iron, etc. I am with you.” Clearly, the prophet was to understand, as were his contemporaries, that his was God’s work, his was God’s voice, his message was not his own but that of the God who called and commissioned him for service.

That service would require Jeremiah to speak out boldly and relentlessly for God from the time of the reign of Josiah (which began circa 623 B.C.E.) to some time after the murder of Gedeliah around 582 B.C.E. Jeremiah felt compelled by the power of the word to predict — and then to endure and interpret — the downfall of Judah at the hands of the Babylonians. Rather than attribute their defeat to the superior strength of the foreign army, Jeremiah, like his colleagues Habakkuk and Obadiah, assigned all the tragedies they bore to the infidelities of the Israelites themselves.

Unlike his predecessor, Isaiah of Jerusalem, who had held out some hope that “the Lord of Hosts, like a bird hovering over its young, will be a shield over Jerusalem” (Isa 31:5), Jeremiah held out no hope for his contemporaries. He described them in terms of a shattered vessel that cannot be mended (Jer 19:11).

But the prophet was not without hope for future generations, to whom he promised a new and everlasting covenant, written within the hearts of a beloved and forgiven people (Jer 31:31-34). It was in this covenant that subsequent Israelites placed their hopes, and it was Jeremiah’s promise of eventual reconciliation with God that enabled the defeated and exiled tribes of Judah to come home to their beloved Jerusalem and start all over again.

1 Cor 12:21-13:13

Two employees at a convalescent home stood side by side at the serving line in the cafeteria. As the residents filed by with their trays, one of the servers silently slopped the food on each plate and swiftly moved on to the next. The other smiled at each resident of the home and served each a portion of food as if to an honored guest at a banquet. Essentially, both employees were offering the same service; both were feeding the hungry. One did so in a manner that deprived the one being served of dignity, while the other, who acted in love, bestowed honor along with the food being served. This is such a small and insignificant action, one might argue — yet Paul would see it as “a more excellent way” (v. 31). In small things as in great ones, love makes all the difference.

Paul’s hymn to love affirmed the conviction that spiritual gifts are to be fully informed and motivated by love. Without love, all are as vain and hollow as gongs and cymbals, which may produce a momentary display but are no more lasting or valuable than the echo.

Of the several Greek words for love, Paul chose to use agape in this hymn. As Kevin Quast has explained, agape is a general term used in the New Testament to describe bonds between people as well as between God and humankind (Reading the Corinthian Correspondence, Paulist Press, New York: 1994). Agape conveys a sense of altruistic and respectful love for the other regardless of shared affections, personal attraction, deservedness of being loved or ability to reciprocate. Using this general and inclusive term, Paul personified agape and described “her” by what she does or does not do with 15 verbs in verses 4 through 7. Love is portrayed as she who waits patiently, acts kindly. She doesn’t envy, boast, puff herself up or disgrace herself. Love does not seek her own advantage; she is not quickly annoyed and nurses no grudges. Love finds no joy in evil but celebrates the truth.

To put it another way, love is a way of living and being and doing that alone will survive every other spiritual gift. Moreover, love is portable in that it will remain with the believer through the passage of death and into eternity. Here Paul has referred to eternity as “the perfect,” and the present as “the partial that will pass away” (v. 8). With two distinct images, Paul compared the transiency of the partial to the perfect: He described a child putting away the things and the language of childhood to enter into maturity, and he evoked a reflection in the mirror becoming clarified in the age to come. Mirrors in the ancient world were made of polished metal and offered only a dim and distorted reflection. But the clarity of a face-to-face encounter with God will know no dimness or distortion, and can only be prepared by love.

Luke 4:21-30

Unlike many leaders who enjoy what has been called a honeymoon period after taking on the burden of authority, Jesus seems to have gone straight from the proverbial frying pan into the fire. No sooner had he amazed his listeners with his stated agenda of good news, healing and liberation than his detractors began to attack him, criticizing him for his all-too-familiar origins and for his willingness to offer his gifts to the heavily non-Jewish population of Capernaum before he did so for his hometown friends and neighbors. To add insult to injury, the Lucan Jesus was also quite favorable in his comments about gentiles. No doubt the situation was made even tenser by the fact that Jesus cited two narratives from their own Hebrew scriptures to defend his actions. Elijah and Elisha were their ancestral prophets, and both had seen fit to exercise their

power in God’s name on behalf of non-Jews (1 Kgs 17:8-14; 2 Kgs 5:1-17). Jesus, as presented by Luke, was merely following in the footsteps of their honored forebears in the faith. The fact that he did so in the synagogue, where all in attendance could hear, underscored how much Jesus’ ministry was rooted within the very heart of their shared traditions as Jews. Jesus’ presence and his participation affirmed his fidelity to the Sabbath, to the sacred texts and to the assembly of his fellow Jews gathered for prayer. Within that familiar place and among those familiar people, he attempted to reveal what was as yet unfamiliar and unwelcome to them — the full awareness that all nations are dear to God and are to be the beneficiaries of Jesus’ saving ministry. Not yet willing to hear this, they rejected him and tried to take his life.

In his commentary on this confrontation, Fred B. Craddock has noted that anger and violence are often the last defense of those who are made to face the truth of their own tradition, which they have long defended and embraced (Luke, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 1980). Being reminded of what we should already know is often painfully difficult, and such reminders are often met with animosity. When we are at war with ourselves, says Craddock, we sometimes make casualties of the innocent.

Jesus obviously survived that encounter and lived to preach and teach another day. His embrace, as portrayed by Luke, was all-encompassing, and for that reason tensions would continue to erupt until that time when Jesus, in the climactic moment of his ministry, chose to give his life for all of humankind. It would not be wrenched from him by an angry mob on the brow of a hill just outside Nazareth. On the contrary, Jesus’ life would be freely given, out of love, on a cross at Golgotha.

Those who believed in him and made his agenda their own would soon understand that Jesus had struck the path they were to follow. All through the Acts of the Apostles, the Lucan evangelist portrayed the efforts of those who pioneered the movement Jesus had begun. Their mission was always mobile, moving from Judah and Samaria to the ends of the earth. We who live in a world far more diverse than those first believers could have imagined are to continue what the Lucan Jesus began, one stranger, one foreigner, one “undocumented alien” at a time.

Sample Homily for Jan 31, 2009Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time“Jesus’ Inauguration”Pat Marrin

If a proven miracle worker were coming to your parish this weekend, the house would be packed. The families of the sick would stake out the aisle seats so they could reach out to touch the preacher as he passed by. Perhaps a skeptical reporter or two, with a photographer, would be on hand for the show. Boosted attendance might mean an extra collection, a chance to recruit more parishioners. Everyone would be proud that this phenomenon was taking place here, in our parish, our town.Today’s Gospel invites us to imagine such a scene in Nazareth. Add to the

excitement the fact that the miracle man who has already worked the crowds in Capernaum is a hometown boy, Jesus of Nazareth. His family is here, sharing the anticipation and the pride of place. One of theirs is in the news, already famous, a celebrity.How quickly the mood changes when, after his electrifying pronouncement that

the messianic promise of the prophet Isaiah is coming true in himself, in their very hearing, this Jesus so familiar to them as the son of Joseph the carpenter refuses to do a single miracle. Instead he quotes the saying “No

prophet is accepted in his native place,” and reminds them that other prophets worked their miracles among foreigners instead.The synagogue assembly rises up and hustles Jesus out of the town to the

brow of a high hill, ready to cast him down to his death. Jesus, bold as a prophet, gathers his cloak around him and marches through their midst and departs. His inaugural day ends in his expulsion from his own hometown.It seems an inauspicious, even disastrous beginning for one sent to bring

good news. But a necessary corrective had just taken place at the outset of his mission. Jesus was God’s servant, beholden to no other influence or loyalty, owned by no party, race or group, even his own blood family. The Holy Spirit that entered him at his baptism, drove him into the wilderness to be tempted, guided him back to Galilee and would soon be sending him down to Jerusalem was independent of any human consideration or control. Jesus would even astonish and disappoint his own disciples with talk not of success but of apparent failure, even death at the hands of the authorities. His rejection in Nazareth was just a preview of the rejection awaiting him in Jerusalem.When we assemble in our churches this Sunday to commemorate the death of the

Lord, we are being imprinted with the same pattern of the paschal mystery Jesus accepted in his baptism. Our holy ambition to be good, to do good, to succeed in serving God and loving our neighbors is inseparable from the cross. The Holy Spirit who dwells in us personally and animates us communally is forming us with the mind of Christ, the example of Christ, the suffering and triumph of Christ.Today’s Gospel tempers our vision of what it really means to be a follower

of Jesus. His own disciples must have been shaken by the events in Nazareth and the attempt by his own friends and neighbors to murder him at the very start of his mission. Yet they still decided to follow him, to see what came next. It was a mysterious journey that took them first to the cross, then to the glory of the resurrection. As we mark the beginning of another year in our own journey as disciples, we are invited to sign on for the long haul and the whole mystery.