20th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)
Picture: cc Mark Robinson
Sisters and brothers, if I were to ask you to imagine a safe place, a secure location, what image would come to your mind? What does a secure place look like to you? I’m not sure. But my guess is that at least some of us might think of a place surrounded by high walls and locked doors. Perhaps even protected by security alarms and armed guards. To some of us, a safe place is a well-defended one. And yet, if we think a little more deeply, won’t we agree that it is precisely such places that are unsafe? Insecure? Isn’t that why they need to be so fiercely defended?
In contrast, I’m reminded of another image. One that I’ve heard older citizens describe. People who used to live in the kampongs, or rural neighbourhoods, of days past. They speak of a place where there was little if any concern for security. Doors were left wide open. Neighbours walked freely in and out of one another’s houses. And yet, things were seldom stolen. Children did not feel threatened. A sense of safety prevailed. Wouldn’t you agree, sisters and brothers, that this is the more secure location? Safe in its openness? Secure in its lack of defensiveness?
And what is true of places is also true of people. Consider, for example, the difference between a teenager and a mature adult. Typically, adolescents are still finding themselves. Still growing into in their own identity. And, in the relative insecurity of their age, teenagers can sometimes be very difficult to live with. Very defensive. Pushing people away. Especially those who love them most. Don’t we all go through this stage of life? In contrast, a more mature and secure person doesn’t need to be defensive. Is able to be more open to others. Even and especially to those who may look and speak and think and live very differently. Sisters and brothers, as with places, so too with people. The more secure, the more open. The more safe, the less defensive.
And it may surprise some of us. But it would seem that something similar can also be said about God. In the first reading, we’re told that God wants to manifest God’s integrity, God’s sense of self, to the world. How does God do this? Not by being defensive. Not by pushing people away. But by welcoming, by being open to, everyone. By showing hospitality even to foreigners. Through the prophet, God proclaims a time when even foreigners will be brought to God’s holy mountain. A time when God’s house will be a house of prayer, not just for the people of Israel, but for all the peoples of the world. What we find in the first reading is a God who is secure and open enough to include everyone in God’s kingdom.
Of course, the more observant among us may raise an objection. We may notice that God’s welcome is not really extended to all foreigners indiscriminately. But only to those who follow God’s ways. Those who are obedient to God. This may be true. But notice also how God leads the disobedient into obedience. Again, not by being defensive. Not by exerting force. Not by resorting to violence. But by reaching out a gentle hand of mercy. Isn’t this what St. Paul writes about in the second reading? Paul says that he has been sent by God specifically to the pagans, the foreigners, as their apostle. And Paul’s is a mission not of condemnation, but of mercy. A mercy that will eventually reconcile, bring together, both Jews and Gentiles. Both believers and pagans. Both locals and foreigners. For God has imprisoned all in their own disobedience only to show mercy to all.
But what, we may ask, does mercy look like in the concrete? How do you recognise mercy when you see it? This is the question that the gospel reading helps us to answer. For Jesus himself is the highest expression of the mercy of God. And, in his encounter with the Canaanite woman, Jesus shows us something of what mercy looks like. Notice how, at the start of the reading, Jesus seems very sure of himself. He is very clear about the exact scope of his mission. About the boundaries of his concern. I was sent only to the lost sheep of the House of Israel. And yet, in the course of his conversation with the woman, Jesus seems to allow himself to change his mind. He is open enough to be impressed by the woman’s responses. To be moved by the faith of a foreigner.
So that, as in the second reading, it would seem that mercy is connected with conversion. With being willing to change one’s mind and heart about something or someone. Even to go beyond the boundaries of one’s concern. And isn’t this also an expression of security? So secure is Jesus in his mission to the Jews, that he is able and willing to reach beyond its boundaries. To entertain the urgent cries of a non-Jew. To heal the daughter of a foreigner. In the second reading too, so secure is Paul in his mission the Gentiles, that he is able to express concern even for those who lie beyond the scope of his calling. Those who belong to his own Jewish race.
A security that is willing to cross the boundaries of its immediate concerns. Even to change its mind. A mercy and a gentleness that brings about reconciliation. The bringing together of what was once kept apart. An integrity and a sense of self that is expressed not in hostility and anxious self-assertion. But rather in hospitality and an openness even to those who are different from ourselves. This, my dear friends, is the approach to security that our Mass readings present to us today.
And it is an approach that our world needs so very much to learn. For everywhere around us, we find people anxious to safeguard their own security only through defensiveness and violence. Instead of gentleness and mercy. Isn’t this what we are witnessing in northern Iraq? In order to securely establish a so-called Islamic State, a well-armed militia is willing to perpetrate all manner of atrocities on those it perceives to be different. Even against the innocent and defenseless. The sick and the elderly. Women and children.
And here, in apparently peaceful Singapore, don’t we find increasingly disturbing expressions of fear and hatred? Locals against foreigners. White against pink. Liberal against conservative. What are these rumblings, sisters and brothers, if not attempts to win security through the building of walls and the use of force. Attempts which demonstrate, quite ironically, the deep insecurity suffered by those who engage in them.
Faced with situations such as these, my dear friends, are we Christians not called to bear witness to a security that comes via a different route? Not violence but gentleness. Not hostility but hospitality. Not harshness but mercy. And we can do this only to the extent that we first allow ourselves to remain immersed in the mercy of God. The mercy that we celebrate at this Eucharist. The mercy expressed in the Body and Blood of Christ. Broken and poured out for us. And for the whole of creation.
Sisters and brothers, what can we do to deepen our experience of this merciful security of God? And to share it with others today?
In contrast, I’m reminded of another image. One that I’ve heard older citizens describe. People who used to live in the kampongs, or rural neighbourhoods, of days past. They speak of a place where there was little if any concern for security. Doors were left wide open. Neighbours walked freely in and out of one another’s houses. And yet, things were seldom stolen. Children did not feel threatened. A sense of safety prevailed. Wouldn’t you agree, sisters and brothers, that this is the more secure location? Safe in its openness? Secure in its lack of defensiveness?
And what is true of places is also true of people. Consider, for example, the difference between a teenager and a mature adult. Typically, adolescents are still finding themselves. Still growing into in their own identity. And, in the relative insecurity of their age, teenagers can sometimes be very difficult to live with. Very defensive. Pushing people away. Especially those who love them most. Don’t we all go through this stage of life? In contrast, a more mature and secure person doesn’t need to be defensive. Is able to be more open to others. Even and especially to those who may look and speak and think and live very differently. Sisters and brothers, as with places, so too with people. The more secure, the more open. The more safe, the less defensive.
And it may surprise some of us. But it would seem that something similar can also be said about God. In the first reading, we’re told that God wants to manifest God’s integrity, God’s sense of self, to the world. How does God do this? Not by being defensive. Not by pushing people away. But by welcoming, by being open to, everyone. By showing hospitality even to foreigners. Through the prophet, God proclaims a time when even foreigners will be brought to God’s holy mountain. A time when God’s house will be a house of prayer, not just for the people of Israel, but for all the peoples of the world. What we find in the first reading is a God who is secure and open enough to include everyone in God’s kingdom.
Of course, the more observant among us may raise an objection. We may notice that God’s welcome is not really extended to all foreigners indiscriminately. But only to those who follow God’s ways. Those who are obedient to God. This may be true. But notice also how God leads the disobedient into obedience. Again, not by being defensive. Not by exerting force. Not by resorting to violence. But by reaching out a gentle hand of mercy. Isn’t this what St. Paul writes about in the second reading? Paul says that he has been sent by God specifically to the pagans, the foreigners, as their apostle. And Paul’s is a mission not of condemnation, but of mercy. A mercy that will eventually reconcile, bring together, both Jews and Gentiles. Both believers and pagans. Both locals and foreigners. For God has imprisoned all in their own disobedience only to show mercy to all.
But what, we may ask, does mercy look like in the concrete? How do you recognise mercy when you see it? This is the question that the gospel reading helps us to answer. For Jesus himself is the highest expression of the mercy of God. And, in his encounter with the Canaanite woman, Jesus shows us something of what mercy looks like. Notice how, at the start of the reading, Jesus seems very sure of himself. He is very clear about the exact scope of his mission. About the boundaries of his concern. I was sent only to the lost sheep of the House of Israel. And yet, in the course of his conversation with the woman, Jesus seems to allow himself to change his mind. He is open enough to be impressed by the woman’s responses. To be moved by the faith of a foreigner.
So that, as in the second reading, it would seem that mercy is connected with conversion. With being willing to change one’s mind and heart about something or someone. Even to go beyond the boundaries of one’s concern. And isn’t this also an expression of security? So secure is Jesus in his mission to the Jews, that he is able and willing to reach beyond its boundaries. To entertain the urgent cries of a non-Jew. To heal the daughter of a foreigner. In the second reading too, so secure is Paul in his mission the Gentiles, that he is able to express concern even for those who lie beyond the scope of his calling. Those who belong to his own Jewish race.
A security that is willing to cross the boundaries of its immediate concerns. Even to change its mind. A mercy and a gentleness that brings about reconciliation. The bringing together of what was once kept apart. An integrity and a sense of self that is expressed not in hostility and anxious self-assertion. But rather in hospitality and an openness even to those who are different from ourselves. This, my dear friends, is the approach to security that our Mass readings present to us today.
And it is an approach that our world needs so very much to learn. For everywhere around us, we find people anxious to safeguard their own security only through defensiveness and violence. Instead of gentleness and mercy. Isn’t this what we are witnessing in northern Iraq? In order to securely establish a so-called Islamic State, a well-armed militia is willing to perpetrate all manner of atrocities on those it perceives to be different. Even against the innocent and defenseless. The sick and the elderly. Women and children.
And here, in apparently peaceful Singapore, don’t we find increasingly disturbing expressions of fear and hatred? Locals against foreigners. White against pink. Liberal against conservative. What are these rumblings, sisters and brothers, if not attempts to win security through the building of walls and the use of force. Attempts which demonstrate, quite ironically, the deep insecurity suffered by those who engage in them.
Faced with situations such as these, my dear friends, are we Christians not called to bear witness to a security that comes via a different route? Not violence but gentleness. Not hostility but hospitality. Not harshness but mercy. And we can do this only to the extent that we first allow ourselves to remain immersed in the mercy of God. The mercy that we celebrate at this Eucharist. The mercy expressed in the Body and Blood of Christ. Broken and poured out for us. And for the whole of creation.
Sisters and brothers, what can we do to deepen our experience of this merciful security of God? And to share it with others today?
No comments:
Post a Comment