Beyond A Fresh Coat of Paint

14th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

Readings: Zechariah 9: 9-10; Psalm 144 (145): 1-2, 8-11, 13b-14; Romans 8: 9, 11-13; Matthew 11: 25-30

Picture: By Wolfgang Hasselmann on Unsplash

My dear friends, what are we likely to think, if we were to walk along the corridor of a block of flats, and come across a unit where both the main door and front gate have been rudely splashed with bright red paint? Will we conclude that those who live there must have an appreciation for abstract art? Probably not. More likely we’ll recognise the paint-spattered entrance as a sign that the occupants are labouring under a heavy burden. The burden of debt. And not just any debt, but debt owed to a loan-shark. And what if, after making discreet inquiries, our suspicions are confirmed, and we feel moved to help them? Will it be enough to give the entrance a fresh coat of paint? Or even to pay off the debt? Doing so will surely go a long way. And yet, to truly help, isn’t it necessary also to explore the circumstances that led to the loan in the first place? To uncover other, less obvious, burdens? Even tracing these to their roots?…

Recognising the signs, and tracing the roots, the better to truly set the burdened free. Isn’t this what we find in our Mass texts today? As we’ve probably already noticed, both the Collect––the prayer we offered at the start––and the responsorial psalm, present us with a moving image of God as One who humbly bends low, in order to mercifully raise up all who are bowed down by heavy loads. And the other readings help us ponder more deeply just how God does this…

The first reading is addressed to a people oppressed by foreign armies, bowed down by the horrors of war. To them, God proclaims a consoling message, promising to send a king to set them free. But, when examined closely, this message is also puzzling. For although this king is described as victorious and triumphant, the enemy he vanquishes isn’t just any foreign army, but war itself. And the peace he brings is not just for Israel alone, but for all the nations. Since his empire shall stretch… to the ends of the earth. And how does he bring this about? Not by the usual instruments of war. But through his own lowliness and humility. Instead of chariots and horses, he comes riding on a baby donkey… Some of us may recall that old war movie, Crimson Tide, in which a nuclear submarine’s second-in-command, played by Denzel Washington, speaks these memorable lines: Yes, the purpose of war is to serve a political end, but the true nature of war is to serve itself…. In the nuclear world, the true enemy is war itself… The true nature of war is to serve itself… In other words, war isn’t just an obedient servant, but a self-serving tyrant. Isn’t this a possibility our world is now having to face, again and again, with every passing day?

Recognising the signs, and tracing the roots, the better to set the burdened free… Isn’t this also what Jesus is doing in the gospel? As in the first reading, the people he addresses are oppressed by foreign armies. They live under the yoke of Roman occupation. And yet, it is not on this heavy load that Jesus chooses to focus. Instead, scholars tell us that, when the Lord speaks of people who labour and are overburdened, he is referring first to those bowed down by the arbitrary rituals and practices imposed by the religious authorities of his day. The scribes and Pharisees, who tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on the shoulders of others; but they themselves are unwilling to lift a finger to move them (Mt 23:4). In their place, Jesus invites the people to come to him. To enter into an intimate relationship with him. To take upon themselves the gentle yoke of his merciful love. A yoke that he chooses to bear with them. A yoke that will lead him to Calvary and beyond.

But why? Why focus on something so apparently trivial, in the face of something as urgent and terrible as military occupation? Could it be that, like the red paint on a debtor’s door, Jesus sees the conquest of the land by a foreign political power as a sign pointing to the occupation of the heart by alien spiritual powers. And rather than simply re-painting the door, Jesus chooses to enter through it. To trace the sign to it roots. The better to truly set the burdened free. Which explains what St Paul is telling us in the second reading, when he says that there is no necessity for us to obey our unspiritual selves? Or, in another, more literal, translation (RSV), we are debtors, not to the flesh… By our acceptance of the Lord’s gentle yoke, we are freed from the crushing burden of our debt to sin. Our hearts are no longer occupied by alien powers, but possessed by the Lord’s Spirit. And we can now share in the fullness of life in him.

Recognising the signs, and tracing the roots, the better to set the burdened free. Isn’t this something we Christians need to remember whenever we encounter those labouring under a heavy burden of some kind? Including our own fragile selves? Burdened people, such as migrant workers owed months of unpaid wages. Or victims of bullying and other forms of abuse. Or silent sufferers of loneliness and depression. As well as those who fall prey to various addictive behaviours, while struggling to cope with the overwhelming stresses and strains of daily life….

Sisters and brothers, could it be that, whether or not it’s splashed with paint, behind the door of our burdens, the lowly Crucified and Risen Lord patiently awaits, and gently beckons? If so, how might we help each other to hear and answer his call?