Sent for what?

Introduction

Memorial Day

The Nation has a liturgical cycle of its own. It begins with Memorial Day summoning us to the joys of summer. It explodes and peaks with the Fourth of July. It starts to wane with the falling leaves of Labor Day and is finally put to sleep with Thanksgiving in gratitude for the blessings of the harvest. Today we wish each other a joy-filled Memorial Day weekend with get-togethers and barbecues. We also wish each other a thought-filled Memorial Day weekend. Remind yourself and your kids that originally Memorial Day began not with picnics in parks but with solemn services in cemeteries which bear the remains of those who have fallen in battles past and present.

 

The mission mandate of the gospel

But before we get on to barbecuing we have the business of the Ascension to take care of this morning. The gospel of St. Mark has Jesus bestowing a great mission mandate upon his disciples as he ascends to his Father in heaven. “Go into the whole world and proclaim the gospel to every creature. Whoever believes and is baptized will be saved; whoever does not believe will be condemned“(Mk 16:15-20).  In Matthew’s gospel Christ bestows the mandate with these words:  “Go into the whole world and make everyone my disciples, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you” (Mt 28: 19-20).

 

Matthew’s mandate has Jesus commanding even the very words to be used when baptizing: “Go baptize in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” My gosh, you’d think that Jesus had a Roman Catholic ritual in his hands with the very rubrics themselves for validly conferring baptism:  “As the celebrant pours the water he is to say, `I baptize you in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti.’”

 

Scripture scholars think it’s quite unlikely that Matthew’s explicitly Trinitarian formula for baptizing is really the words of Jesus. The synoptic gospels were written about forty years after his death. By then the early church had a well-developed Trinitarian formula for baptizing, and when Matthew wrote his gospel, he simply put that formula into the mouth of Jesus. That’s no big problem.

 

My gosh!

The mission mandate of the gospel raises a more substantial problem than that one. “Go into the whole world and preach the good news. Whoever believes and is baptized will be saved. Whoever does not believe will be condemned” (Mk 16:15-16). My gosh, think of all the Chinese, Indians (from India), Jews and Muslims who don’t believe the gospel and are not baptized. Are they all condemned? St. Augustine in the very early fifth century called them the “massa damnata”— the damned mass.

 

“Go into the whole world and preach the good news. Whoever believes and is baptized will be saved. Whoever does not believe will be condemned.” My gosh, that sounds like a mission of conquest which basically sees people as jobs to be done— converts to be made. That sounds like a mission that does something to people (makes them converts) instead of doing something for people.  How ambiguous such a mission can be! Some of the most embarrassing pages of church history were written by missionaries of the past.

 

An institutional mandate?

We wonder whether a mandate which threatens condemnation for not believing and being baptized is more a mandate of the early church herself than of Jesus. We wonder whether the church as a budding institution in need of assuring its survival and propagation made the claim to be absolutely necessary for salvation and then put that claim into the mouth of Jesus to give it authority. At the end of the day, we ask is it at all possible to put such a bleak claim, which excludes Chinese, Indians, Jews and Muslims from heaven, into the mouth of him who said, “In my Father’s house there is much room for everyone” (Jn 14:2). We ask is it possible to put such a bleak claim into the mouth of him who is the Savior of the world? Without the Chinese, Indians, Jews and Muslims there isn’t much more of the world left.

Judaism is not mission-minded

Of the three great monotheistic religions (Judaism, Christianity and Islam) Judaism is the least mission-minded of all.  The Talmud (which is a great reservoir of rabbinical teachings of many centuries) says that the righteous people of all faiths have a place in paradise. In the Acts of the Apostles, Peter says, “It’s beginning to dawn on me that God has no favorites but gives welcome to anyone who fears him" (Acts 10:34-38). If the righteous people of all faiths have a place in paradise, if God gives welcome to anyone who fears him, then it is not incumbent upon Judaism to go forth on mission and make disciples of all men. Bernard Lewis calls this the “relativist approach” to religion. It says, “I have my god, you have your god and others have theirs.” So peace! There’s no reason for nervous mission and much less for war.

 

Christians and Muslims have rejected the relativist approach to religion. Both have shared the conviction that there is only one true faith--theirs. When you figure yours is the only one true faith then it is incumbent upon you to go forth into the whole world and make disciples of all men. When you figure you are the privileged recipient of God’s final message to mankind, then it is your duty to go forth into the whole world and bring that good news to others (which you fortunately have but others don’t have) instead of keeping it selfishly to yourself.

 

Bernard Lewis calls that the “triumphalist approach” to religion. He says it’s classically summed up in the formula “I’m right, you’re wrong, go to hell.” The triumphalist approach divides the world into believers and infidels. Muslims speak of themselves as believers and others as infidels. Christians do the same. We speak of ourselves as believers and others as infidels. That approach, Lewis says, is increasingly under attack among Christians (thanks be to God) and is rejected by a good number of Christian clerics (myself among them). He adds, however, there is little sign as yet that something similar is happening in Islam.

 

Islam is mission-minded

Unlike Judaism, Islam is very mission-minded.  One of the five great pillars of Islam is Shahada: a personal, ardent, one-line profession of faith that “Only Allah is God, and Muhammad is his Messenger.” There is a mountain of mission mandate implicitly packed into Shahada. Implicitly, at least, it mandates conquering the world for Allah by converting or even by eliminating, if necessary, the infidels--those people who don’t profess that “Only Allah is God, and Muhammad is his Messenger.”

 

Sometimes considered as a sixth pillar of Islam is Jihad, Holy War. That can mean something as innocent and as spiritual as a battle with one’s self to surrender completely to God.  (Remember that “Islam” in Arabic means “to surrender.”) On the other hand, Jihad can also mean nothing less than a downright declaration of a mission of holy war to spread Islam. Islam, in fact, is the fastest growing religion today. It is on a veritable roll in England, Spain, France, Germany and Italy.  Islam is building mosques all over the world. There is a gorgeous towering mosque in Rome, the very center of Christianity. But hell could freeze over before a single Christian church would ever be allowed to be built in Saudi Arabia. (“I’m right, you’re wrong, go to hell!” That should fill us with a bit of terror, politically incorrect as that might sound.)

 

Christianity is mission-minded

Like Islam Christianity, too, is very mission-minded. It cannot be otherwise.  Jesus chooses not only twelve apostles but also seventy-two disciples and mandates them to go forth on mission (Lk 9:1; 10:1).  The rite of baptism chooses us and mandates us to go forth on mission. Every Sunday Mass concludes with an ”Ite, Missa est”— “Go, the Mass is ended.”  That weekly dismissal is not simply permission to peal out of church and get on with real life. It’s a mandate to go forth on mission. [1]

 

The question

We are, indeed, sent on mission but the question is what’s the mission we’re sent on? Are we sent on a mission to get people to believe in Jesus? Are we sent on a mission that sees people as jobs to be done, converts to be made, infidels to be baptized? That smacks of conquest and triumphalism. We are, indeed, sent on mission but what’s the mission we’re sent on? Is it to do something to people (convert and baptize them) or to do something for them? The gospels say that Jesus chose twelve apostles from his many disciples and sent them forth with the instruction, saying, “Go. Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers and cast out the demons” (Lk 6: 12-14; Mt 10: 1, 8). That’s a mission to do something for people.

 

Francis Xavier: a famous missionary model

St. Francis Xavier, a Jesuit, has gone down in the books as the greatest of all Christian missionaries with the possible exception of St. Paul. Born in the Basque area of Spain in 1506, he became the “Apostle of the Indies” and the “Apostle of Japan.” He counted thousands and thousands of converts to Christianity.  When he died in 1552, his body was buried in the city of Goa on India’s west coast, but mind you, his right arm, which baptized so many thousands of converts, was cut off and carried to the Jesuit Church of the Gesu in Rome, where it is now preserved in a reliquary as a kind of triumphalist trophy.

 

One day this great missionary was speaking with a Muslim who complained that devotion was declining in his Islamic community. The man wondered whether that was because of some great sin of Muslims.  Xavier couldn’t help telling the poor guy “that God, the all-faithful one, did not abide with infidels and took no pleasure in their prayers.”[2] On one missionary trip Xavier grew attached to the ship’s captain, a Chinese, who conducted him through some very dangerous waters and proved a more trustworthy comrade than most of the Christian Portuguese sailors. The man eventually died. From Japan Xavier wrote, “All through the voyage he was good to us, and we were unable to be good to him, for he died in his infidelity. Even after death we could not help him by our prayers to God, for his soul was in Hell.”[3] (I’m right, you’re wrong, so off to hell you go.) That’s the man who went down in history as the model for Christian missionaries. People cut off his right arm and carried it to Rome as a triumphalist trophy.

Mother Theresa: a new missionary model

After Vatican II there’s a new model for Christian missionaries. It is Mother Theresa of Calcutta, founder of the Missionaries of Charity. At her funeral a Hindu called this solidly Roman Catholic nun "the daughter of God."  Then he made the curious remark that her religion was unimportant to her.  That was a profound compliment.  He wanted to say that her religion was no obstacle to her embracing absolutely everyone. It was not only no obstacle for her, it was what inspired it in the first place.

That great missionary lady with her army of nuns gathered thousands of dying Hindus from the streets of Calcutta where they were dying mostly from the terrible self-image that they weren’t human beings worthwhile bothering about. Can you imagine anything worse in your whole life than dying believing you aren’t a human being worthwhile bothering about?  Mother Theresa and her army picked them all up, hoisted them on her beast of burden and hurried them off to the nearest inn: her hospice, her House for the Dying. There she did nothing to them but everything for them. There in her inn she kissed them all and sent them off to heaven believing, at long last, they were human beings worthwhile bothering about.  She didn’t convert and baptized a single one of them. After her death her right arm wasn’t cut off and sent to Rome as a triumphalist trophy. It’s a new day with a new model for missionaries.

The Good Samaritan: an old missionary model

But new is sometimes a return to the old. Before Mother Theresa, there was the Good Samaritan. He also was a great missionary. Like her, he too went forth on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho. Like her he too came upon the dying. A man journeying from Jerusalem to Jericho was waylaid by robbers and left dying by the roadside.  Along came a Jewish priest and Levite, who, like the people in Calcutta, figured the guy wasn’t worthwhile bothering about. Then along came the Good Samaritan who, like  Mother Theresa, stopped and poured the oil of compassion upon the dying man, hoisted him on his beast of burden and carried him off to the nearest inn—a house of comfort (Lk 10: 25-37). As you know by now, you can drag this parable into any homily you want without being far-fetched. Today it’s a parable about mission. The mission is neither more nor less than this: not to pass by someone in need but to stop and make a difference on the highway of life.

Conclusion

The new mandate

In this new day, it is a relief to know that the mission is not to make our Jewish or Muslim friends or anyone else a Christian like ourselves. It is a relief to be freed from that vague nagging feeling that people of other religious persuasions are jobs to be done--converts to be made. It is a relief to be able to accept and respect other believers and not merely tolerate them.  The new mandate is not to do something to others but for others. The new mandate is to not pass by someone in need but to stop and make a difference on the highway of life. That won’t get your right arm cut off as a trophy, but it will get your name written in the book of life, side by side with the names of the Good Samaritan and Mother Theresa.



[1] Though Islam and Christianity are both very mission-minded, historically they have been capable of tolerance. When and where Christianity was in power, it was tolerant of Islam. When and where Islam was in power, it was tolerant of Christianity. But tolerance is no feather in anyone’s hat. At heart it says, “I am the boss. I will allow you some, though not all, of the rights I enjoy as long as you behave yourself according to the rules I shall lay down.” That is tolerance, and it is not a virtue.

[2] James Broderick, S.J., St Francis Xavier (New York. The Wieklow Press, 1952, pp. 107-108.

[3] Ibid., p. 357.