On Digging into Our Own Pockets

 

Introduction

The dismissal of Christmas

Last Sunday was the feast of Epiphany. Three kings from the East, led by a star, brought gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh to the babe in the stable. That feast brings down the curtain on the Christmas season for us. Years ago I came across this little piece written by some unknown author. It’s a kind of dismissal of the
Christmas season, and it goes like this:

 

When the song of the angels is stilled,

and the shepherds are back with their flocks,

and the bright shining star in the sky is gone

and the three kings have returned to the East;

when the bright lights of Christmas have been turned off

and all the toys and gifts have lost their lure,

and the tree has been defrocked

and thrown out on the curb,

then the real business of Christmas has just begun:

to follow him whom we found wrapped in swaddling clothes

 and lying in a manger.

 

The theme: discipleship

With Epiphany we exit the Extraordinary Time of Christmas, and we enter now into the first weeks of Ordinary Time, 2006. The theme of these first weeks is discipleship--the following of him whom we found wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger. That’s the theme of the readings and of the responsorial psalm today: “Here we are, Lord, we’ve come to do your will.” Here we are, Lord, we’ve come to follow you.

 

In the first reading, the prophet Samuel as a young boy is serving the Lord in the temple under the direction of an old priest named Eli. Both are living in the temple precincts, and each had his own room. One night Samuel hears someone calling him.  He thinks it’s Eli who’s calling. The kid runs to the old man’s room and says, “Here I am. You called me?” Eli replies, “No I didn’t call you. Go back to sleep.”(It calls to mind the congressional hearings of the past week over the confirmation of President Bush’s nomination of Samuel Alito to the US Supreme Court. Sam Alito cried out, “Here I am!” and Democrats, like Ted Kennedy, cried out, “No, we didn’t call you. Go back to sleep!”)

 

A second time the young Samuel hears himself being called. And again he runs to Eli’s room, and again the old priest tells the boy that he didn’t call him and bids him go back to sleep. When this happens a third time, Eli realizes that it is the Lord God himself who’s calling Samuel. So he instructs the boy that if he hears himself being called again, he should reply, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.” He goes back to sleep, and again a voice calls out, “Samuel, Samuel!” This time the lad replies, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening” (I Sam 3:3-10). “Here I am, Lord, I’ve come to do your will” (responsorial psalm).

 

The same theme of call and response is in the gospel reading. One day the apostle John is standing with two of his disciples, and the Lord is passing by. John says to them, “Look!  There is the Lamb of God,” and the two disciples take off and follow Jesus.  One of them, Andrew, later on in the day rounds up his brother Simon Peter who also follows Jesus. They’re all saying to the Lamb of God passing by, “Here we are, Lord. We’ve come to do your will” (Jn 1:35-41). With young Samuel and Andrew and Simon Peter we, too, today are saying to him whose birthday we’ve just celebrated, “Here we are, Lord. We’ve come to do your will.”

 

Discipleship is not moralism

But what, we ask, does the Lord want from us? Fifty long years in the priesthood has crystallized a few thoughts for me on this matter. For one thing, it’s not moralism that he wants from us. The computer doesn’t recognize the word and turns red at it. But it’s in my dictionary. Moralism is placing an exaggerated moral emphasis on something that doesn’t deserve it, while neglecting to place a moral emphasis on something that does, indeed, deserve it. For example, in the not very distant past, it was often considered morally wrong  to dance or drink. It was also considered morally wrong for women to wear slacks. But all the while it was perfectly OK to make black folk sit as inferior human beings in the back of the bus.

 

The Lord doesn’t call us to puritanical moralism. We recall how he attended the wedding feast in Cana of Galilee and there perhaps even danced, and there, for sure, he changed gallons of water into wine for all to drink and celebrate (Jn 2: 1-11).

 

One form of moralism which has particularly annoyed me over these fifty long years is sexual moralism. Down through the centuries sexual moralism has been the favorite pastime of the churches and of society. Such moralism makes sexual purity the highest peak of all morality, and sexual impurity the lowest depth of all immorality.  For such moralism the only sin there is is sex. So we never call immoral a politician who enjoys the very best of healthcare coverage (paid for by the taxpayers) but is not honestly concerned about adequate healthcare coverage for his constituents. We might not vote for him the next time around, but we simply don’t call him immoral. For that we need to catch him in a good juicy sex scandal. That’s sexual moralism.

 

Brokeback Mountain is a current movie which has won seven Golden Globe nominations. It is about two Wyoming cowboys in the 1960 who are gay. Last week the film was swiftly withdraw from being shown in a theatre in Salt Lake City. The point to be made is this: the same staunch sense of morality, which swiftly removed Brokeback Mountain from being shown, should with equal swiftness attack the injustice which makes black folk sit in the back of buses or any other kind of injustice. That, indeed, is true morality. Anything less is sexual moralism.

 

Jesus was never caught up in it. See how he treats those prurient old men who caught a woman in adultery and want to stone her to death. He challenges them saying, “Let the one among you who has no sexual escapade of his own to hide throw the first stone at her.” On the other hand, he consoles the frightened woman, saying, “Is there no one to condemn thee? Neither do I. Go and sin no more” (Jn 8:1-12). 

Discipleship is not legalism

Here we are, Lord. We’ve come to do your will. But what, we ask, do you want from us?  It isn’t moralism. Nor, we add, is it legalism. That’s something else fifty years in the business has crystallized for me. In Milwaukee I celebrate daily Mass at the church of Old St. Mary’s. One Sunday a woman from out of state dropped in for Mass. She later wrote me a letter describing what a horrible experience it was for her. In the very first sentence she came quickly to her bottom line:  “My son, as well as the entire community of Old Saint Mary’s, has a right to have Mass celebrated in obedience to liturgical rules and regulations.”  And then came a flood of legalism:

 

“How come you failed to give the prescribed absolution at the penitential rite? How come you failed to recite or sing the Gloria prescribed for Sunday Mass?  How come you did not read the gospel in its entirety? You shortened the reading of the Gospel proclaiming only verses 27-39 from the tenth chapter of Matthew.  In the reading the Gospel how come you failed to use the masculine words prescribed by the Church, but instead you went ahead and changed them to gender-neutral words.  How come you failed to take Communion at the prescribed time; instead you took Communion after everybody else had communicated?  How come you failed to read the concluding prayer and to give the dismissal as prescribed by the Church? Etc., etc.”

 

The Scribes and Pharisees were always nagging away at Jesus for his illegalities. ”How come you and your disciples don’t observe the tradition of our ancestors and wash your hands before eating?” (Mt 15:1-2).  “How come you and your followers don’t observe the ritual ablution of the produce you bring in from the market place? How come you don’t observe the right ceremonial washing of pots, pans and copper kettles” (Mk 7:3-4)?  “How come you and your followers violate Sabbath law by picking grain to eat on the Sabbath” (Mk 2:23-28)?

 

Jesus, in return, lashes out at their legalism. Read the 23rd chapter of St. Matthew. It’s a litany of nine woes uttered against the Scribes and Pharisees. He woes them for placing heavy burdens upon people’s back and for not lifting a finger to help them carry their burdens. He woes them for scrupulously paying tithes on mint, cumin and dill, while neglecting the weightier matters of the Law, like compassion and justice (Mt. 23: 13-29).

 

 Discipleship is not orthodoxism

Here we are, Lord. We’ve come to do your will. But what, we ask, does he want from us? It is not moralism. It is not legalism. It is not even orthodoxism. Here’s another word I’ve invented over the years, at which my computer blushes. Here’s another thought which fifty years in the business has crystallized for me. In my dictionary orthodoxism (admittedly a clumsy word) is the exaggeration which places too much stock upon the correct formulation of religious truths or upon the rote recitations of answers to the questions of the catechism. We remember (though we wish we could forget) that the Inquisition burned St. Joan of Arc at the stake for being a heretic--for not giving the right answers to the questions the Inquisitors put to her.

 

Discipleship is compassion.

If it isn’t moralism or legalism or orthodoxism that the Lord wants from us, then what is it that he wants? It’s compassion.   One Sabbath Jesus’ disciples are hungry and are plucking grains of wheat to eat. The Pharisees seeing it complain saying, “How come your disciples are doing what is forbidden on the Sabbath?”  Jesus replies by quoting the prophet Hosea to them: “Oh, if you people only understood the meaning of the scripture from Hosea which reads, “It is compassion and mercy that I want from you, not your animal sacrifices“(Mt 12: 1-8; Hosea 6:6).

 

If it isn’t moralism or legalism or orthodoxism that the Lord wants from us, then what does he want?   Again, it’s compassion. In the Parable of the Good Samaritan (that mother of all parables) Jesus tells us most eloquently what he wants from us. It’s a parable about the lowest depth of all immorality and the highest peak of all morality.

 

Once upon a time a man is journeying from Jerusalem to Jericho and is waylaid by robbers, beaten to a pulp, relieved of his money and left half-dead. Along comes a Jewish priest who sees him, does nothing and passes by. Along comes a Jewish Levite who sees him, does nothing and passes by. My gosh! How much more immoral than that can you get!

 

Then along comes a Samaritan, who stops and pours the oil of compassion into the poor man’s wounds, hoists his dead weight upon his beast of burden and hurries him off to the nearest inn. There he dips deeply into his pockets to pay for the poor man’s care and cure (Lk 10:25-37).  My gosh! How much more moral than that can you get! That’s what the Lord wants from us. To that we respond, “Here we are, Lord. We’ve come to do your will.”

 

Conclusion

On digging into our own pockets

All three (moralism, legalism and orthodoxism) have something in common. They’re all distractions. When we’re overly concerned about people dancing and drinking or about the Gloria being omitted at Mass or about the correct formulations of faith, and not too much concerned about someone who’s been waylaid on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho, then we are distracted. Distracted from what? Distracted from the true following of him whom we at Christmas  found wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.

 

All three have also this in common: they all dig into other people’s pockets to make them pay up. As those prurient old men with their self-righteousness were making the woman caught in adultery pay up. As that out-of-state visitor at Mass with her legalism was making me pay up. As those Inquisitors with their passion for orthodoxy were making St. Joan of Arc pay up. Moralism, legalism and orthodoxism don’t cost a guy one bloody red cent, but they do, indeed, cost others, and sometimes very dearly.

 

On the other hand discipleship, the following of Jesus, asks us to dig down deep into our own pockets and asks us to pay up. It’s called the cost of discipleship.  Costly though discipleship is, it has its reward. When the Jewish priest and Levite returned home from Jericho that day, there was an uneasy, glum feeling in their hearts. It was the feeling that chills the hearts of all those who live for themselves. But when the Good Samaritan returned home that night, though his encounter with the poor man waylaid by robbers had cost him dearly in time, energy and money, there was a sweet song singing in his heart. It was the song that sings in the hearts of all Good Samaritans.

 

Costly though discipleship is, it has its reward. It bestows immortality. The Jewish priest and Levite are gone but the Good Samaritan lives eternally on.