The Kiss of Peace

 

August 19, 2007:  20th Sunday of Ordinary Time

 Jeremiah 38:4-6, 8-10      Hebrews 12:1-4      Luke 12:49-53

 

To the church in the diaspora[1]

& to the church of the unchurched[2]

 

Alleluia, alleluia.

A reading from the holy Gospel according to Luke.

Glory to you, Lord.

Luke 12:49-53
 
Jesus said to Peter: “I have come to set fire upon the earth,
and how I wish it were already ablaze! There is a terrible baptism ahead for me and how anguished I am until it is all over! You don’t think that I have come for peace, do you? No, not for peace but for strife and division. From now on a household of five will be split apart, three in favor of me, and two against – or the other way around. A father will decide one way about me; his son, the other. Mother and daughter will disagree; and the decision of an honored mother-in-law will be dismissed by her daughter-in-law.”


The Gospel of the Lord.

Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

Introduction

A strange prince of peace

The great Messiah oratorio by Handel soars to lofty heights many times. It soars at the great Alleluia Chorus. It soars again at the Easter part of the oratorio as the trumpets lift up their voices to summon the dead from their tombs.  It soars also at the great Amen bringing the curtain down on a miraculously inspired piece of religious music.

 

It soars at the Christmas part of the Messiah  as it announces tidings of great joy that “Unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given, and the government shall be upon his shoulder, and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, the mighty God, the everlasting Father and the Prince of Peace” (Is 9:6).  When the Prince of Peace grew up, he declared, “Blessed are the peacemakers for they shall be called the children of God” (Mt 5:9).  But then one day he was heard saying to Peter, “I have come to set fire upon the earth…. You don’t think that I have come for peace, do you?  No, not peace but strife and division…” (Lk 12:49-51).  A strange Prince of Peace who comes for strife and division! A strange Prince of Peace who comes to disturb the peace!

 

Peace as a patched-up affair

In T.S. Eliot’s play, Murder in the Cathedral, Thomas a Becket, the Archbishop of Canterbury (exiled by King Henry II of England), is returning to England. The people are wondering whether the two have made peace with each other.  Someone in the crowd remarks, “Yes, peace, but not the kiss of peace -- a patched-up affair.” The patched-up affair didn’t last long.  On the night of December 29, 1170, to the shock of all Europe, some of the king’s men murdered the archbishop in his cathedral. The peace Jesus says he has come to disturb is peace that’s a patched-up affair!

 

King and peace as a patched-up affair

Peace as a patched-up affair was reigning supreme in Birmingham, Alabama, in 1963 when Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., made a civil rights march on that most segregated city in the USA.  King was thrown into jail. As he sat there, 8 white clergymen (4 bishops, 3 reverends and 1 rabbi) made a public statement to King. The civil rights leader responded with his famous Letter from Birmingham Jail. Those men of the cloth in their public statement said in effect, “Marty, be a nice boy! Your agitation is not well-timed!  You must be patient and wait!” In his letter King wrote back that black folk had already waited 340 years, and that “wait” had come to mean “never.”  In their statement the reverend gentlemen also reminded King that he was rocking the boat and disturbing the placid peace of Birmingham! King responded with very much the same words which Jesus spoke to Peter: “You don’t think I have come for peace, do you?” Like the prophets of the eight centuries before Christ, King said that he had come to carry forth their “’Thus saith the Lord.”[3] That he did, and that, indeed, disturbed the placid peace of Birmingham. At the end of the day, King was, in fact, a true peacemaker. He disturbed the peace of Alabama, which wasn’t really the kiss of peace but simply a patched-up affair.

 

Pope John XXIII and peace as a patched-up affair

Placid peace reigned undisturbed in the Catholic Church for a good four hundred years. That peace was forged by the Council of Trent (1545-1563), and it lasted till the Council of Vatican II (1962-65). Many of us grew up contentedly under the aegis of that old peace. Then in the papal conclave of 1958, the College of Cardinals chose Angelo Roncalli who chose the name of John XXIII as the 261st successor of Peter. The new pope was 77 years old and somewhat rotund in stature.  Word had it that the cardinals had elected the old man because they figured he wouldn’t rock the Bark of Peter and disturb the slumbering peace of the church.  To their surprise the new pope said to them in so many words, “You don’t think I have come for peace do you?” Then he summoned the universal church to Vatican II, and that, indeed, disturbed the slumbering peace of the church.

 

Bishop Gumbleton and peace as a patched-up affair

Thomas J. Gumbleton was formerly an auxiliary bishop in Detroit, the founding president of Pax Christi USA (a Catholic peace movement) and president of Bread for the World (an interfaith organization that fights world hunger). Gumbleton has a brother Dan who is gay, got married and had children. The bishop’s mother one day asked her bishop son whether his brother Dan was going to hell. In 1997 Gumbleton initiated and co-authored a pastoral letter of the US Catholic Bishops entitled Always Our Children. It is a message to the parents of homosexual children with suggestions for pastoral ministers. In a presentation on May 25, 2002, in Lexington, MA, Gumbleton said, “We must further the steps we took in our pastoral letter Always Our Children to overcome the homophobia within our culture and within the Church. We must be a truly welcoming community for homosexual people.... Always Our Children pointed out that homosexuals are a gift to the Church, and we should not marginalize them and push them aside.” Gumbleton, indeed, disturbed the peace of the church.

 

In America magazine for Nov. 20, 1963, he is quoted as saying, "I can vouch for the fact that very many bishops share the same conviction [that not every contraceptive act is intrinsically evil]. However, sadly enough, fewer and fewer are willing to say this publicly.” Gumbleton, indeed, disturbed the peace of the church.

 

He also predicted that, “Priestesses will inevitably come. Already, female parochial administrators are proving their competency and laying the groundwork for the ordination of women.” If someone had said to Gumbleton that the ordination of women was, if not impossible, at least untimely, and that they should be patient and wait, he would have answered them, “They have been waiting 2000 years!” Whenever he was told that he, especially as a bishop in the church, was disturbing the peace, he said in effect,”You don’t think I’ve come for peace, do you?” At the end of the day, Gumbleton is, in fact, a peacemaker. He disturbs the peace of church, which isn’t really the kiss of peace but a patched-up affair.

 

A peace theology for a time of war

The peace disturbed by Vatican II had been forged four hundred years earlier at Trent by a church at war with the Protestant Revolution. Strange to say, when we are at war (as Trent was), we write a theology which makes for peace! We write a theology which puts all moral, theological and liturgical life into a deep freeze. We codify everything. We carve everything in stone in order to save it from being chipped away by attackers.  The old Latin altar missal, for example, which we were using daily at Mass right up to the very eve of Vatican II (Oct. 11, 1962) was written by Trent in indelible ink. On the very first page of that old Latin missal which we were still using in the 1960s were written the words Missale Romanum ex Decreto Sacrosancti Concilii Tridentini --  The Roman Missal as Decreed by the Sacred Council of Trent.  

 

Benedict’s motu proprio

With such indelible ink was that written that last month, on Saturday, July  7th 2007, Pope Benedict XVI was able to revive the  old Tridentine ( Latin)  Mass which had been slumbering for forty plus years after  Vatican II in 1963 stipulated that “a suitable place may be allotted to the people’s mother tongue” (Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy  no. 54). In a motu proprio (a pope’s personal initiative) Benedict now permits any priest to celebrate the Tridentine or Latin Mass without first receiving permission from his bishop! Benedict  says he gives this permission in order to make peace easier with conservative groups. That might make for peace, but it’s not the kiss of peace. It’s a patched-up affair.

 

A war theology for a time of peace

As a result of Trent’s deep freeze, a deep slumbering peace fell upon the church. It was a peace that came from the lid being securely placed on everything. It was a peace that brooked no questions because now all the questions had been officially asked and officially answered. There were no more questions to ask and no more answers to seek. And none were asked and answered for four hundred years! That makes for a peace which is not the kiss of peace but a patched-up affair.

 

By the middle of the 20th century, however, the fury and hard feelings caused by the Protestant Revolution had well spent itself. Catholics and Protestants grew tired of fighting one another. (You can quarrel only so long, and then you grow tired and bored of it.) In fact, ecumenism started to thrive. The old Question of Justification (How are we set right with God -- by works or by grace?) which fired Luther and his revolution no longer fires us today. We are now exercised by different  theological issues. With the fury and hard feelings of the past spent, a kind of peace settled in.

 

Strange to say, when we are at peace, we write a theology which makes for war! When there’s nobody or nothing around to fear anymore, we can afford to take the lid off  things. We can afford to ask questions and seek answers which we were too pious and too obedient to ask and seek before.  When we shed fear we can even afford to invite the Reformers to the bitter-sweet banquet of Vatican II, as, indeed, good Pope John XXIII (filled with love and not fear) did. No wonder Vatican II was destined to disturb the long-standing peace of Tent.

 

How well we remember the countless little wars that broke out among us shortly after Vatican II. There were wars over what  nuns and priests should or should not wear. Wars over  Communion in the hand or in the mouth. Wars over Latin or the vernacular. Wars over rubrical or free-style celebrations of Mass.  And then there were, and still are, those bigger wars over open-Communion, divorce and remarriage, celibacy, birth control, homosexuality and the ordination of women.  Vatican II did not cause those strifes and divisions; it simply surfaced and exposed them. At the end of the day, Vatican II was, in fact, a peacemaker. It disturbed the peace of the church, which wasn’t really the kiss of peace but a patched-up affair.

 

Conclusion

The Kiss of Peace

We can’t rid our lives of every peace that’s nothing more than a patched-up affair. We don’t have enough time or energy for that. Furthermore, there’s a place in life for compromise and truce, both of which lack a kiss.  But there are, at times, critical situations (privileged moments) which challenge us to make war on a peace that’s not the kiss of peace but just a patched-up affair.  Sometimes there are critical situations (privileged moments) which challenge us to join the company of Jesus, Dr. King, Pope John and Bishop Gumbleton. They all disturbed a peace which was a patched-up affair. Sometimes we are challenged, as they were, to settle for nothing less than the Kiss of Peace not only in the House of God but also in our households.


[1] Diaspora is a Greek word meaning dispersion. Originally it referred to the settling of scattered colonies of Jews outside Palestine after the Babylonian exile. It’s now come to mean the migration or scattering of a people away from an established or ancestral homeland or parish!

[2] By “the unchurched” is especially meant not those who have left the church but those whom the church has left!

[3] The expression used by the O. T. prophets when they were about to say something prophetic, i.e. something the people didn’t want to hear.