Threading the Needle of Love & Life

15th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Readings: Deuteronomy 30:10-14; Psalm 68 (69):14, 17, 30-31, 33-34, 36-37 or Psalm 18 (19):8-11; Colossians 1:15-20; Luke 10:25-37

Picture: By Bhupinder Singh on Unsplash

What does it take to thread a needle? In itself, it’s a simple enough task, right? Requiring neither great effort, nor special training. Yet to do it, I need at least two things, clarity of sight and sensitivity of touch. Which means, although simple, it may not be easy. Especially not if I happen to be long-sighted, if my eyes can focus only on things that are far away, and not on those that are near. And also not if my fingers happen to be numb. Both these conditions make threading a needle very difficult, perhaps even impossible. Don’t we find something similar in our readings today?

In the first reading, Moses shares with the people a wonderfully comforting piece of news. The Law of God, which they are supposed to obey, in order to live well in the Promised Land, is actually very simple to practise. It’s neither beyond their strength, nor beyond their reach. Instead, it is in your mouth and in your heart for your observance. And yet, isn’t it precisely the Law’s closeness and simplicity that make it difficult to keep? Isn’t this the experience of that man in the gospel, who interrogates Jesus, in order to disconcert him?

The reading describes this person as a lawyer. Which means he is more than just a regular scribe, who preserves and transcribes holy texts. He is also an expert in their interpretation. And yet, it’s this very expertise that gets in the way. Focused as he is only on the richness of the ancient writings, he fails to recognise the holiness of the One standing in front of him. And when Jesus asks him, What is written in the Law?, the man quickly responds out of the breadth of his expert knowledge. Forgetting that the Law is written not just in the sacred scrolls, but also on the human heart. And doesn't this same long-sightedness –– this focus only on what is distant, at the expense of what is near –– prevent both the priest and the Levite in Jesus’ parable, from helping the stricken stranger? Preoccupied with their own respective journeys, they see him, but not clearly enough to stop. Their hearts are numbed by their own busyness.

In contrast, it is the Samaritan, who proves sensitive to the inner stirrings of his own heart. Allowing himself to be moved with compassion at the sufferings of a fellow traveller. Finding the courage to get involved, even though this is likely a very risky thing to do. So not just clarity of sight, and sensitivity of heart, but also the courage to act. These are the qualities required to perform the simple, but also difficult, task of being a neighbour to someone in need. Qualities the lawyer, the priest and the Levite all seem to lack. Distracted as they are by their many other preoccupations.

But if the lawyer is truly impaired in some way. If he is indeed long-sighted, numb and lacking in courage. Then how is he to obey the Lord’s instruction to go, and do the same yourself? How to be moved with compassion like the Samaritan, when I can’t even see clearly? And without compassion, how to show mercy? Isn’t this the deeper difficulty –– even the impossibility –– that our scriptures are addressing today?

For like that wounded traveller in the parable, none of us can really justify or save ourselves. All of us need help to recover from the assault of sin. And who is our Samaritan, if not Christ Jesus himself? The image of the unseen God and the first-born of all creation. It is by continually gazing upon him, as he hangs upon the Cross, that our long-sightedness is corrected, and our numbness and cowardice are healed. And how to do this? Not just by recollecting ourselves in prayer, and gathering here for Mass, important as these activities are. But also by reaching out to, and speaking up for, those who suffer. Particularly those close by. And to do this not to justify ourselves –– we can’t –– but as a way to seek and find the Crucified and Risen Lord. For isn’t it only by striving to imitate, however imperfectly, the actions of our Good Samaritan, that we gradually let ourselves be healed by him?

Some of us may recall that famous 2014 work, by the British graffiti artist, Banksy, which depicts a couple locked in what at first looks like an intimate embrace. But on closer scrutiny, it becomes clear that the eyes of the couple are focused not on each other, but on their respective mobile phones, quietly held up behind the other’s back. The piece is ambiguously, and no doubt sarcastically, entitled, Mobile Lovers. An insightful comment on the long-sightedness and numbness that afflicts this society of distraction in which we live.

Sisters and brothers, what can we do to help one another allow the Lord to heal us of our impairment, so that together we may keep threading the needle of love and life today?

Changing Face & Constant Mission

14th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Readings: Isaiah 66:10-14; Psalm 65 (66):1-7,16, 20; Galatians 6:14-18; Luke 10:1-12, 17-20

Picture: By Museums of History New South Wales on Unsplash

What does a hospital look like? It depends on the time, right? A hospital in a time of calm looks different from one in a time of crisis, such as a pandemic. Then there are also different types of hospitals. In a public hospital there are rooms without air-conditioning, holding up to eight beds to a room. While in private hospitals, luxurious suites are more common. But even though hospitals may look different, depending on the time and their type, isn’t it reasonable to expect them all to share a common primary mission? To provide healthcare, and to preserve and promote the well-being of society? So that if a hospital focuses too much on turning a profit, it runs the risk of losing its own identity, of failing to stay true to its proper mission. Time, type, and truth. Three factors that determine what a hospital looks like.

But I have to confess that I really know nothing about hospitals. I mention all this only because, in our scriptures today, we find something like a hospital. A place offering healing and peace. (As we’ve probably already noticed, the word peace appears in all three of our readings.) And yet, the images used to describe this place vary according to different times and types. To a people broken by defeat and exile, and burdened by their own sin and guilt, the first reading proclaims a time of national restoration and revival. A time to receive the fullness of grace. And the images used are those of abundance and comfort. Peace like an overflowing stream. Prosperity like a mother, lovingly feeding her babies at her breasts. Tenderly fondling them on her lap. Bringing them joy and delight. All that people have to do, to experience this great blessing, is to go to the restored city of Jerusalem.

In the gospel too, healing and peace is what Jesus commissions the seventy-two disciples to dispense. But in contrast to the first reading, the Lord uses a far scarier image to describe their ministry. Neither a life-giving stream, nor a tender nursing mother, but lambs among wolves… For even though, with the coming of Jesus, the kingdom of God is already very near, it has still not yet been established in its fullness. The disciples remain in a time of danger, a time of crisis. Which may explain why they are taught to exercise caution, and to salute no one on the road. Not only is the time different, the type of hospital they operate is also different from the one in the first reading. Instead of waiting for people to come to them, they are sent out to bring the hospital to those who need it. And since they’re frequently on the road, meeting all manner of potential patients, they have to learn to carefully adapt their conduct according to the reception they receive. To know when to stay, and when to leave. When to accept hospitality, and when to shake the dust of hostility from their feet. And, upon their return, the Lord also teaches them where to focus their attention, in what to rejoice. Not in the success of their own efforts, but in their true identity as adopted children of God, whose names are written in heaven.

This precious God-given identity is also what is at stake in the second reading. Here St Paul too is operating something like a hospital. He too is offering healing and peace. And, like the disciples in the gospel, he too is working in a time of danger and crisis. Except that the danger is not just external. It’s also internal. It comes in the form of people spreading erroneous teaching. Those who insist that all Christians need to be circumcised to be saved. In response, Paul’s ministry takes the form of challenge and correction. He reminds his readers that our true Christian identity comes to us not through our own performance, but as a gracious gift. Not as an achievement of ours, but as the result of Christ’s loving sacrifice. So that the only thing we Christians can and should boast about is the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ. The Lord’s Cross is the only reliable mark of authenticity, which we are called to bear on our bodies. In this alone do we truly rejoice.

All of which may prompt us to recall that the late Pope Francis was fond of comparing the Church to a field hospital. A mobile place of healing and peace, operating in a time of crisis and war. A place where we Christians are called not just to be compliant patients, but also front-line personnel. Not just a place at which to stay and receive care, but also a place from which to be sent, to share with others what we have all received. And to learn to do this according to the particular times in which we may find ourselves, and the respective types of ministry we may be called to perform. Ministry that may look as simple as whispering a heartfelt prayer for the well-being of someone in need. Or patiently accepting our own personal trials, including the inevitable frailty that comes with age. Uniting our sufferings with those of Christ, and offering them up for the salvation of the world.

Sisters and brothers, how might we better help one another to remain true to our identity and mission in Christ today?