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?