14th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)
Picture: cc Riccardo Cuppini
Sisters and brothers, if I may, l’d like to invite you all to do something with me right now. At the count of 3, could you all please clench your fists as tightly as you can? And then try to pay attention to how you feel. Notice what clenched fists feel like. Can you do that? Good. Ready? 1-2-3, clench! And hold... Notice how you feel... Now, again at the count of 3, slowly unclench your fists. Open up your hands. And pay attention to how you feel. Ready? 1-2-3, slowly... open... How do you feel?...
So what was it like, sisters and brothers? What does it feel like to have your fists clenched? What does it feel like to open up your hands? Any difference? Of course there is, right? It’s the difference between tension and relaxation. Between stress and calm. Between exertion and rest. Between grabbing something and letting something go…
It’s helpful to keep this contrast in mind, because it can help us appreciate something that our liturgy is inviting us to consider today. Have you noticed what it is? Recall what we heard in the opening prayer just now. Remember what we prayed for. We asked God to fill us with holy joy. For, through the sacrifice of Christ, God has bestowed on us eternal gladness. And, remember also, how the first reading begins. Rejoice heart and soul, daughter of Zion! Shout with gladness, daughter of Jerusalem!… Sisters and brothers, if there is one thing that our liturgy is bringing to our attention today, it is joy.
And I think we can all agree that joy is something that everyone desires. Something we all seek. Except that we have different ways of going about it. Different approaches to finding joy. Do you know what your own approach is? I’m not sure, but I think that, for many of us, the way we seek to be happy is the way taught to us by the world. By the society in which we live. And often this is the way of constant effort. Of repeated self-exertion. The way of stress and strain. Of the clenched fist and the gritted teeth. We push ourselves hard in order to be able to grab as many of life’s pleasures as possible. In the belief that the harder we work, the more things we grab, the happier we will feel.
For many of us, joy is something we win for ourselves. Through sheer force of will. Through steely strength of determination. No one makes us happy. We earn it for ourselves. This is what we learn in society. And, more often than not, we assume that this must be true in our spiritual lives as well. Whether we realise it or not, we think that happiness in the spiritual life is also only about effort. How to be more joyful? Well, spend more time in prayer. Give more money to the church. Get involved in more ministries in the parish... More time. More money. More effort. Must mean more joy. Right? I’m not sure. Perhaps for some this approach does work. But, then again, isn’t it true that, it can also have the opposite effect? Very often, the demand for more only serves to make us more discouraged. More stressed out. More unhappy. Or, what’s worse, it can also make us more prideful. More arrogant. More self-righteous. More pharisaical.
Which is why it’s important for us to pay attention to the different approach to joy that our readings are offering us today. Notice the reason why Zion is asked to rejoice in the first reading. It’s not because of anything that she herself has done. Rather, Zion is invited to rejoice in the victory won for her by her king. Her joy is less something she earns than something she simply receives.
Not only that. Notice also the very curious way in which her king is described. He rides not on a war-horse. But a baby donkey. His is an image not of power and might. But of humility and gentleness. Indeed, some of us may remember that this is the very passage of scripture used by the gospel writers to describe Jesus. As he rides into Jerusalem on Passion Sunday. Quite clearly, the approach to joy being taught to us here is very different from the way of the world. It is less the way of exertion and grabbing. Than of resting and receiving. It is less the way of the clenched fist. Than that of the open hand.
And this is also the same approach that Jesus teaches in the gospel. Notice first how Jesus begins by speaking not of our joy, but of the joy experienced by God. Yes, Father, for this is what it pleased you to do... God rejoices in revealing Himself to mere children. And isn’t this the only true Source of our own joy? If we are able to rejoice, it is only by sharing in the joy of God. By humbly receiving God’s self-communication to us. Especially in the Mystery that we celebrate at this Eucharist. The Mystery of the Life, Death, and Resurrection of Christ. And isn’t this why the learned and the clever fall short? Not so much because God doesn’t reveal himself to them. For the responsorial psalm tells us that the Lord is good to all, compassionate to all his creatures. If the learned and clever fail to rejoice, it is only because they are too focused on themselves. Too full of their own expertise. Too wrapped up in their own efforts. Too busy clenching their fists.
In contrast, Jesus issues a moving invitation to those who labour and are overburdened. Those of us who find ourselves desperately struggling to meet the demands of the clenched fist. And perhaps often failing. Jesus invites us to come to Him. To approach Him. The victorious yet humble King. The King who is victorious precisely because he is humble. Humble enough even to let Himself be nailed to a cruel cross. To set His people free. We are invited to come to Him with open hands. To receive the joy that He has already won for us through His sacrifice. The joy of realising how much God loves us. How much God cherishes us. Takes pleasure in us. Wants to give us joy. Without our having to do anything to earn it.
And, quite paradoxically, it is when we do this. It is when we open our hearts and our hands to receive God’s love. Especially in this very Eucharist. That we find the energy to do what needs to be done. No longer out of an oppressive sense of obligation. But, instead, out of a deep and enduring gratitude. As the psalmist says, all your creatures shall thank you, O Lord, and your friends shall repeat their blessing. Isn’t this also what St. Paul is writing about in the second reading? When we open ourselves to receive the love of God in Christ, our interests begin to change. We turn away from the unspiritual toward the spiritual. Away from the ungodly toward the godly. Allowing the Spirit of God to make his home in us. Giving us the strength gradually to put an end to the misdeeds of the body. To pray more devoutly. To give more wholeheartedly. To serve more selflessly. To experience, even here on earth, something of the joys of heaven.
Sisters and brothers, if I might just invite you now to, once more, quickly clench your fists... And then to slowly open them up again... How do you feel?... Two different postures. Two contrasting approaches to joy. One grabbing. The other receiving. One anxious. The other trusting...
Which one do you choose today?
So what was it like, sisters and brothers? What does it feel like to have your fists clenched? What does it feel like to open up your hands? Any difference? Of course there is, right? It’s the difference between tension and relaxation. Between stress and calm. Between exertion and rest. Between grabbing something and letting something go…
It’s helpful to keep this contrast in mind, because it can help us appreciate something that our liturgy is inviting us to consider today. Have you noticed what it is? Recall what we heard in the opening prayer just now. Remember what we prayed for. We asked God to fill us with holy joy. For, through the sacrifice of Christ, God has bestowed on us eternal gladness. And, remember also, how the first reading begins. Rejoice heart and soul, daughter of Zion! Shout with gladness, daughter of Jerusalem!… Sisters and brothers, if there is one thing that our liturgy is bringing to our attention today, it is joy.
And I think we can all agree that joy is something that everyone desires. Something we all seek. Except that we have different ways of going about it. Different approaches to finding joy. Do you know what your own approach is? I’m not sure, but I think that, for many of us, the way we seek to be happy is the way taught to us by the world. By the society in which we live. And often this is the way of constant effort. Of repeated self-exertion. The way of stress and strain. Of the clenched fist and the gritted teeth. We push ourselves hard in order to be able to grab as many of life’s pleasures as possible. In the belief that the harder we work, the more things we grab, the happier we will feel.
For many of us, joy is something we win for ourselves. Through sheer force of will. Through steely strength of determination. No one makes us happy. We earn it for ourselves. This is what we learn in society. And, more often than not, we assume that this must be true in our spiritual lives as well. Whether we realise it or not, we think that happiness in the spiritual life is also only about effort. How to be more joyful? Well, spend more time in prayer. Give more money to the church. Get involved in more ministries in the parish... More time. More money. More effort. Must mean more joy. Right? I’m not sure. Perhaps for some this approach does work. But, then again, isn’t it true that, it can also have the opposite effect? Very often, the demand for more only serves to make us more discouraged. More stressed out. More unhappy. Or, what’s worse, it can also make us more prideful. More arrogant. More self-righteous. More pharisaical.
Which is why it’s important for us to pay attention to the different approach to joy that our readings are offering us today. Notice the reason why Zion is asked to rejoice in the first reading. It’s not because of anything that she herself has done. Rather, Zion is invited to rejoice in the victory won for her by her king. Her joy is less something she earns than something she simply receives.
Not only that. Notice also the very curious way in which her king is described. He rides not on a war-horse. But a baby donkey. His is an image not of power and might. But of humility and gentleness. Indeed, some of us may remember that this is the very passage of scripture used by the gospel writers to describe Jesus. As he rides into Jerusalem on Passion Sunday. Quite clearly, the approach to joy being taught to us here is very different from the way of the world. It is less the way of exertion and grabbing. Than of resting and receiving. It is less the way of the clenched fist. Than that of the open hand.
And this is also the same approach that Jesus teaches in the gospel. Notice first how Jesus begins by speaking not of our joy, but of the joy experienced by God. Yes, Father, for this is what it pleased you to do... God rejoices in revealing Himself to mere children. And isn’t this the only true Source of our own joy? If we are able to rejoice, it is only by sharing in the joy of God. By humbly receiving God’s self-communication to us. Especially in the Mystery that we celebrate at this Eucharist. The Mystery of the Life, Death, and Resurrection of Christ. And isn’t this why the learned and the clever fall short? Not so much because God doesn’t reveal himself to them. For the responsorial psalm tells us that the Lord is good to all, compassionate to all his creatures. If the learned and clever fail to rejoice, it is only because they are too focused on themselves. Too full of their own expertise. Too wrapped up in their own efforts. Too busy clenching their fists.
In contrast, Jesus issues a moving invitation to those who labour and are overburdened. Those of us who find ourselves desperately struggling to meet the demands of the clenched fist. And perhaps often failing. Jesus invites us to come to Him. To approach Him. The victorious yet humble King. The King who is victorious precisely because he is humble. Humble enough even to let Himself be nailed to a cruel cross. To set His people free. We are invited to come to Him with open hands. To receive the joy that He has already won for us through His sacrifice. The joy of realising how much God loves us. How much God cherishes us. Takes pleasure in us. Wants to give us joy. Without our having to do anything to earn it.
And, quite paradoxically, it is when we do this. It is when we open our hearts and our hands to receive God’s love. Especially in this very Eucharist. That we find the energy to do what needs to be done. No longer out of an oppressive sense of obligation. But, instead, out of a deep and enduring gratitude. As the psalmist says, all your creatures shall thank you, O Lord, and your friends shall repeat their blessing. Isn’t this also what St. Paul is writing about in the second reading? When we open ourselves to receive the love of God in Christ, our interests begin to change. We turn away from the unspiritual toward the spiritual. Away from the ungodly toward the godly. Allowing the Spirit of God to make his home in us. Giving us the strength gradually to put an end to the misdeeds of the body. To pray more devoutly. To give more wholeheartedly. To serve more selflessly. To experience, even here on earth, something of the joys of heaven.
Sisters and brothers, if I might just invite you now to, once more, quickly clench your fists... And then to slowly open them up again... How do you feel?... Two different postures. Two contrasting approaches to joy. One grabbing. The other receiving. One anxious. The other trusting...
Which one do you choose today?
I tried.... clench and relax......
ReplyDeleteMaranatha, Come Lord Jesus,
ReplyDeleteCome and dwell in me - broken, weak and very much in need of Your Loving Presence..
Come, O Lord, to heal me and make me whole.
Transform me and let me grow more and more into my true self - to be who You have made me to be - a child of God - held close and comfortable only in Your Loving and Warm Embrace.
O Lord, You are my Life - Only IN YOU can I find my true rest and peace.
Let me never be parted from You, my Lord, my God and my All.
Amen.
Seeing Is Believing
Sunday 6 July 2014