Thursday in the 13th Week of Ordinary Time (I)
On the Mountain the Lord Provides
Readings: Genesis 22:1b-19; Psalm 115:1-2, 3-4, 5-6, 8-9; Matthew 9:1-8
As with many other stories in the bible, the story of Abraham & Isaac is so familiar to us that we can quite easily miss its shock-value. What could be more stunning than God asking Abraham to sacrifice his own son, the precious long-awaited heir, born to him when he was already a hundred years old? How could God do such a thing – instruct his chosen one to take an innocent life? What could be further from our experience of God? And yet perhaps the story is closer to our experience than we think. Isn’t Abraham’s experience of testing not unlike, for example, the alarm and anguish of parents whose children fail an important exam, or stray from the faith, or lurch towards a life of delinquency and even crime? All frantic efforts to save the endangered one seem fruitless. Nothing seems to work. And, of course, the examples can be multiplied. Though the experiences might differ in their practical details, what they all have in common is the utter helplessness of those involved. What to do?
Our readings suggest a way. In such situations, even as we continue to try our best to make things better, perhaps we’re being invited to offer the cause of our difficulty as a sacrifice to the Lord. Perhaps we are being asked to climb our respective Moriahs, to lay our powerlessness before the Lord. Isn’t this what the friends of the paralytic do in the gospel? They have no power to heal their friend. But they do not give up. In their own way, they climb God’s mountain. They bring their friend to Jesus. And not only does Jesus heal him, but he also cleanses him from his sins. The paralytic and his friends experience what Abraham experiences: on the mountain the Lord provides… For Abraham speaks more truly than even he himself is aware when he says that God himself will provide the lamb for the burnt offering. Isn’t this who Jesus is: the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world? In him, do we not share the experience of the psalmist who proclaims: the Lord protects the simple hearts; I was helpless and he saved me?
How are we being invited to climb the mountain of sacrifice? How does God wish to provide for us today?
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Wednesday in the 13th Week of Ordinary Time (I)
The God who Blesses Mistakes
Readings: Genesis 21:5, 8-20; Psalm 34:7-8, 10-11, 12-13; Matthew 8:28-34
It was quite a proud moment when our schoolteacher let us make the switch from writing with pencils to pens. But it came at a cost. Now it wasn’t so easy to erase mistakes. You ran the risk of messing up the page or even tearing it. Which is why it was such a boon when they finally invented correction fluid. And now, there’s even correction tape, which allows you not only to wipe out your mistakes but also to write over them immediately. And perhaps the best development of all must be word processing. Now you can draft documents on a computer and wipe out mistakes without a trace, almost.
Such is the human aversion to keeping our follies and foibles in plain sight. We prefer to cover them up. Which isn’t always a good thing, is it? For one thing, that’s how scandals develop. We keep sweeping things – even perishable things – under the carpet, until the smell becomes unbearable. And sometimes, those perishable things can even take the form of other people.
How different is God’s approach. In the first reading, for example, we know that Ishmael is something of a mistake. We know that his conception and birth, when Abraham was eighty-six years old, was the result of the impatience of Abraham and Sarah for an heir. They took matters into their own hands even after God had promised to intervene. And now, after Isaac has finally been born, when Abraham is already a hundred years old, Sarah cannot bear the sight of Ishmael. The boy and his mother are sent away. The attempt is made to have the mistake wiped away. And yet God continues to extend a hand of blessing. God’s favour upon Abraham and his family is such that God even blesses their mistakes. God remains with Ishmael, who grows up to be a bowman. How different are God’s actions from ours. And this difference in action is rooted in a deeper difference in priorities, a difference that is brought out quite sharply in the gospel.
Here we notice the priorities of Jesus. Given a choice between two demoniacs and a herd of swine, Jesus chooses the former. In allowing the latter to perish he makes his priorities quite clear: he chooses people over possessions. In contrast, the townsfolk prefer to mourn the loss of their livestock than to celebrate the liberation of their brethren. And their preference for possessions over people is such that they even drive Jesus away. In this they show themselves to be no different from Sarah, who chooses Isaac over Ishmael because the first boy is hers whereas the second belongs to another.
In our own experience, how does God continually choose to bless us, even our mistakes? And in the decisions we make each day, which do we show ourselves to prefer, possessions or people?
The God who Blesses Mistakes
Readings: Genesis 21:5, 8-20; Psalm 34:7-8, 10-11, 12-13; Matthew 8:28-34
It was quite a proud moment when our schoolteacher let us make the switch from writing with pencils to pens. But it came at a cost. Now it wasn’t so easy to erase mistakes. You ran the risk of messing up the page or even tearing it. Which is why it was such a boon when they finally invented correction fluid. And now, there’s even correction tape, which allows you not only to wipe out your mistakes but also to write over them immediately. And perhaps the best development of all must be word processing. Now you can draft documents on a computer and wipe out mistakes without a trace, almost.
Such is the human aversion to keeping our follies and foibles in plain sight. We prefer to cover them up. Which isn’t always a good thing, is it? For one thing, that’s how scandals develop. We keep sweeping things – even perishable things – under the carpet, until the smell becomes unbearable. And sometimes, those perishable things can even take the form of other people.
How different is God’s approach. In the first reading, for example, we know that Ishmael is something of a mistake. We know that his conception and birth, when Abraham was eighty-six years old, was the result of the impatience of Abraham and Sarah for an heir. They took matters into their own hands even after God had promised to intervene. And now, after Isaac has finally been born, when Abraham is already a hundred years old, Sarah cannot bear the sight of Ishmael. The boy and his mother are sent away. The attempt is made to have the mistake wiped away. And yet God continues to extend a hand of blessing. God’s favour upon Abraham and his family is such that God even blesses their mistakes. God remains with Ishmael, who grows up to be a bowman. How different are God’s actions from ours. And this difference in action is rooted in a deeper difference in priorities, a difference that is brought out quite sharply in the gospel.
Here we notice the priorities of Jesus. Given a choice between two demoniacs and a herd of swine, Jesus chooses the former. In allowing the latter to perish he makes his priorities quite clear: he chooses people over possessions. In contrast, the townsfolk prefer to mourn the loss of their livestock than to celebrate the liberation of their brethren. And their preference for possessions over people is such that they even drive Jesus away. In this they show themselves to be no different from Sarah, who chooses Isaac over Ishmael because the first boy is hers whereas the second belongs to another.
In our own experience, how does God continually choose to bless us, even our mistakes? And in the decisions we make each day, which do we show ourselves to prefer, possessions or people?
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Feast of St. Thomas, Apostle
Citizenship as Gift
Readings: Ephesians 2:19-22; Psalms 117:1bc, 2; John 20:24-29
The cover of a recent issue of Time magazine depicted a smiling Caucasian family complete with blue eyes, blond hair and golden retriever. But the cover story was surprisingly entitled Singapore’s New Look. The point was well made. Singapore’s population is becoming ever more cosmopolitan. And it is true that, in its concern to remain plugged into the global economy, our tiny island-nation is trying its best to attract foreign talent to its shores. And yet it remains no less true that becoming a Singaporean is not as easy as one might expect. There are requirements to be met, stringent requirements of relationship or residence, especially if one has neither the oodles of talent nor the bundles of cash to attract attention. Citizenship in Singapore doesn’t come cheap.
Can we expect it to be otherwise for God’s household? On this feast of St. Thomas our first reading reminds us that we are all citizens of a divinely instituted economy. And perhaps this is something we tend to take for granted, even as we live the routine of weekday work and weekend worship. But even in God’s household, citizenship has requirements, or at least one central requirement. This is the same requirement we see Thomas satisfying at the end of the gospel reading today, when he exclaims to the crucified and risen Christ: my Lord and my God! To be a citizen of God’s kingdom, one must have the faith to profess Christ as Lord. And we know, of course, that such a profession involves far more than mere lip service. It requires that one align one’s life on Christ, that one make the life, death and resurrection of Christ the cornerstone of one’s daily existence. As it is in Singapore, so it is in God’s household. Citizenship has its requirements.
But there is one crucial difference. The faith that is the central requirement for being a member of God’s household is not something one can simply acquire through hard work or inherit from rich parents or stumble upon via a happy coincidence of circumstances. Rather is it a personal gift from God, a gift that needs to be gratefully received and generously lived out. Isn’t this Thomas’ experience too? Even though the other apostles have come to believe in the resurrection, Thomas needs to experience the risen Lord for himself in order to receive the same gift. And Jesus does not disappoint. He satisfies Thomas’ requirements and gives Thomas what he needs to believe. He presents Thomas with the gift of faith. And tradition has it that this gift led Thomas to preach the gospel even in faraway India.
How have we received, and how are we living out, Christ’s gift of citizenship today?
Citizenship as Gift
Readings: Ephesians 2:19-22; Psalms 117:1bc, 2; John 20:24-29
The cover of a recent issue of Time magazine depicted a smiling Caucasian family complete with blue eyes, blond hair and golden retriever. But the cover story was surprisingly entitled Singapore’s New Look. The point was well made. Singapore’s population is becoming ever more cosmopolitan. And it is true that, in its concern to remain plugged into the global economy, our tiny island-nation is trying its best to attract foreign talent to its shores. And yet it remains no less true that becoming a Singaporean is not as easy as one might expect. There are requirements to be met, stringent requirements of relationship or residence, especially if one has neither the oodles of talent nor the bundles of cash to attract attention. Citizenship in Singapore doesn’t come cheap.
Can we expect it to be otherwise for God’s household? On this feast of St. Thomas our first reading reminds us that we are all citizens of a divinely instituted economy. And perhaps this is something we tend to take for granted, even as we live the routine of weekday work and weekend worship. But even in God’s household, citizenship has requirements, or at least one central requirement. This is the same requirement we see Thomas satisfying at the end of the gospel reading today, when he exclaims to the crucified and risen Christ: my Lord and my God! To be a citizen of God’s kingdom, one must have the faith to profess Christ as Lord. And we know, of course, that such a profession involves far more than mere lip service. It requires that one align one’s life on Christ, that one make the life, death and resurrection of Christ the cornerstone of one’s daily existence. As it is in Singapore, so it is in God’s household. Citizenship has its requirements.
But there is one crucial difference. The faith that is the central requirement for being a member of God’s household is not something one can simply acquire through hard work or inherit from rich parents or stumble upon via a happy coincidence of circumstances. Rather is it a personal gift from God, a gift that needs to be gratefully received and generously lived out. Isn’t this Thomas’ experience too? Even though the other apostles have come to believe in the resurrection, Thomas needs to experience the risen Lord for himself in order to receive the same gift. And Jesus does not disappoint. He satisfies Thomas’ requirements and gives Thomas what he needs to believe. He presents Thomas with the gift of faith. And tradition has it that this gift led Thomas to preach the gospel even in faraway India.
How have we received, and how are we living out, Christ’s gift of citizenship today?
Monday, July 02, 2007
Monday in the 13th Week of Ordinary Time (I)
Homing of the Homeless
Readings: Genesis 18:16-33; Psalms 103:1b-2, 3-4, 8-9, 10-11; Matthew 8:18-22
What an impressive and awe-inspiring scene we have in today’s first reading, when a mere mortal dares to stand before the eternal God to plead for mercy. And how consoling it is too that God should be so willing to listen to human intercession and to grant so many concessions. Yet, in spite of Abraham’s persistence, and in spite of the Lord’s compassion and love, we all know how the story of Sodom ends. Not even ten just men can be found in the city. On the contrary, the people of Sodom even make so bold as to attempt to abuse the angels that God sends into their midst, thus prompting God to destroy the whole city and its inhabitants in a shower of fire and brimstone. Only Lot and his family are spared (except for Lot's wife). Such are the limits of human intervention. We cannot save ourselves, let alone one another. And our impotence is perhaps brought out quite strikingly in the last line of the first reading: when he had finished talking to Abraham the Lord went away, and Abraham returned home. For all the intimacy in the contact and conversation between Abraham and God, they both still end up going their separate ways.
Even so, the psalmist is right to say that God will not be angry for ever. The compassion and love of God is such that God actually leaves God’s heavenly home in search of straying humanity. Isn’t this why Jesus says of himself that he has nowhere to lay his head? Isn’t this because, in Christ, God demonstrates the full extent of God’s mercy by choosing to remain by our side even when we are far away from home? As is written in Romans 5:20, where sin increased, grace abounded all the more.
Seen in this light, we understand better Jesus’ call to follow in his footsteps in leading an apparently homeless existence. This is not an inhuman call to shun all contact with others, or to avoid all familial ties and emotional attachments. Rather is it an invitation to make our home solely in Christ and, through him, in the Father whose desire to be with his children causes him to leave home in search of them.
In Jesus, the God-become-human, we finally have an intercessor who actually gets the job done. In Christ, we can finally be united with God our Father in our heavenly home.
How are we being invited to follow in his steps today?
Homing of the Homeless
Readings: Genesis 18:16-33; Psalms 103:1b-2, 3-4, 8-9, 10-11; Matthew 8:18-22
What an impressive and awe-inspiring scene we have in today’s first reading, when a mere mortal dares to stand before the eternal God to plead for mercy. And how consoling it is too that God should be so willing to listen to human intercession and to grant so many concessions. Yet, in spite of Abraham’s persistence, and in spite of the Lord’s compassion and love, we all know how the story of Sodom ends. Not even ten just men can be found in the city. On the contrary, the people of Sodom even make so bold as to attempt to abuse the angels that God sends into their midst, thus prompting God to destroy the whole city and its inhabitants in a shower of fire and brimstone. Only Lot and his family are spared (except for Lot's wife). Such are the limits of human intervention. We cannot save ourselves, let alone one another. And our impotence is perhaps brought out quite strikingly in the last line of the first reading: when he had finished talking to Abraham the Lord went away, and Abraham returned home. For all the intimacy in the contact and conversation between Abraham and God, they both still end up going their separate ways.
Even so, the psalmist is right to say that God will not be angry for ever. The compassion and love of God is such that God actually leaves God’s heavenly home in search of straying humanity. Isn’t this why Jesus says of himself that he has nowhere to lay his head? Isn’t this because, in Christ, God demonstrates the full extent of God’s mercy by choosing to remain by our side even when we are far away from home? As is written in Romans 5:20, where sin increased, grace abounded all the more.
Seen in this light, we understand better Jesus’ call to follow in his footsteps in leading an apparently homeless existence. This is not an inhuman call to shun all contact with others, or to avoid all familial ties and emotional attachments. Rather is it an invitation to make our home solely in Christ and, through him, in the Father whose desire to be with his children causes him to leave home in search of them.
In Jesus, the God-become-human, we finally have an intercessor who actually gets the job done. In Christ, we can finally be united with God our Father in our heavenly home.
How are we being invited to follow in his steps today?
Sunday, July 01, 2007
13th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)
Let Freedom Ring!
Readings: 1 Kings 19:16b, 19-21; Psalm 16:1-2, 5, 7-8, 9-10, 11; Galatians 5:1, 13-18; Luke 9:51-62
I have a dream… I have a dream… These words call to mind that famous speech given in 1963 by the late leader of the American Civil Rights Movement, Martin Luther King, Jr. He was speaking of his hope that one day all those of the Negro race would enjoy freedom from discrimination. His dream was for a future in which all Americans would be treated equally, regardless of the colour of their skin.
Sisters and brothers, I too have a dream. I too dream of freedom. But my dream is of a far less lofty, far less noble, far less honourable freedom than Mr. King's. I’ve had this dream for quite some time now, though I can’t quite remember when it began. I’m not always aware of it. It seems to make its presence felt especially when things aren’t going so well. Its shape has been changing with the passing of the years. But at its core it has always remained the same dream.
As a child, for example, I sometimes found myself dreaming of a day when I would no longer have a nagging grownup breathing down my neck, insisting that I take a bath when I didn’t want to or refusing to let me out of the house to join the neighbourhood kids in their games. As a student, I dreamt of no longer having to suffer under the burden of mathematics exams and physics tutorials. In the army, I dreamt of no longer having to book into camp at some unearthly hour, of no longer having to spend those seemingly senseless nights performing guard duty. At work, I dreamt of not having deadlines to meet, or a boss to answer to. And, to be honest, now that I’m a religious, there are days when I dream, dare I say it, of being free from one or other of my confreres in community, or even of my superior.
In other words, what I dream of from time to time is not so much to be liberated from the burden of discrimination as to be freed from the yoke of responsibility and accountability. My dream is to live the life of a free agent, one who can do whatever s/he wishes, one who is tied down by nothing and answerable to no one. Indeed, aren’t there people who seem already to be living this kind of life? Aren’t there people who seem rich enough and unattached enough to be burdened with no worries, to be able to do whatever they want?
To use an image from our readings today, my dream is to no longer have a field to plough. Of course, I’ve never actually ploughed behind an ox before, let alone twelve of them. But I can imagine what a backbreaking job it must be. Such that there is a part of me that doesn’t quite understand the hesitation on the part of Elisha in the first reading and those people in the gospel who asked to follow Jesus. I don’t quite understand what the fuss is all about. Isn’t this what the Lord came among us to do? Doesn’t Jesus come to take us away from it all, to set us free from the burdens of life? Isn’t this the answer to our prayers – to finally be liberated from the tiresome grind of our daily responsibilities? Why hesitate?
Thankfully, Saint Paul comes to my rescue. He clarifies for me the true meaning of freedom. You were called to liberty, he says, but be careful or this liberty will provide an opening for self-indulgence. Quite surprisingly, he even refers to this self-indulgence as a yoke of slavery. Paul reminds me that my dream of freedom can quite easily turn into a nightmare of bondage. And really, deep in my heart, I know that he speaks the truth. I know that simply doing whatever I want can actually mean becoming a slave of some unseen force, and even of myself. Isn’t this how our different addictions arise? Isn’t this how we end up being enslaved by food and drink, or gambling and the Internet. Isn’t this also somehow connected to the violence that some of us do to ourselves, as for example, when people starve themselves to the point of death for the sake of keeping slim, or when they cut themselves so that the physical pain will help ease their emotional hurts. And aren’t the more respectable addictions just as, if not more, dangerous? We’ve spoken before, for example, of those other isms such as workaholism, perfectionism, and keeping up with the Jonsesism. If the neighbours change their car, shouldn’t we do the same? If the neighbours send their kids for ballet, violin, karate and art classes, shouldn’t we follow suit?
More than that, in light of today’s readings, my dream is shown up for what it really is: wishful thinking. There really is no such thing as a life of absolute freedom. At least not in the way I understand it. The truth of the matter is that to live a truly human life in this world is to always be ploughing a field, to always be labouring under some yoke of responsibility. Isn’t this what our readings tell us today?
In the first reading, even though, Elisha stops ploughing his field, even though he slaughters his oxen and uses his plough as fuel for cooking them, we are told that he then follows Elijah and becomes his servant. Instead of escaping from all responsibility, Elisha is merely trading one plough for another.
We see the same thing in the gospel as well. Even though Jesus challenges the three men he meets to leave their old lives, it is only so that they might wholeheartedly follow him, that they might lay their hands on the plough that Jesus will give them, without looking back. Indeed, isn’t this what Jesus himself does? Isn’t Jesus himself labouring under the yoke of responsibility? Isn’t he ploughing the field set apart for him by his heavenly Father? Isn’t this why he resolutely took the road for Jerusalem? And aren’t we well aware of the significance of his resolution? Jesus knows that the field he is ploughing will soon be sown with the seed of his own body and blood, so that we might all reap a harvest of life in its fullness. Jesus journeys resolutely to Jerusalem so as to climb Mount Calvary, to be lifted up on the Cross and to be raised from the dead on the third day.
And Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem is the image for us of what true freedom looks like. It is not the freedom of my dream. It is not the freedom of one who bears no responsibilities. It is not the freedom of one who cares only for the self and the fulfillment of its endless wants. Rather is it the freedom of one empowered by the Spirit of whom Paul speaks in the second reading. It is the freedom of one who loves God and neighbour even to the very last drop of his blood. It is the freedom of one who is able, resolutely, to lay down his life so that others might live. This is what true freedom looks like. This is the field in which we are all invited to labour, indeed, the only field worth ploughing. Today we are being awakened from the dream of living as free agents. We are being invited to leave the dead to bury their dead, so that we might labour in the field that bears fruit unto eternal life.
Sisters and brothers we began with that famous phrase spoken by Martin Luther King, Jr. in 1963: I have a dream… It’s only fitting that we end with three other words from that same speech. The words are: let freedom ring! Sisters and brothers, this is our prayer today. Let freedom ring! In the power of the Spirit, in the footsteps of Christ the Lord, let freedom ring! In our world and in our country, in our parish communities and in our families, in each of our own individual lives, let freedom ring! Let (true) freedom ring!
Let Freedom Ring!
Readings: 1 Kings 19:16b, 19-21; Psalm 16:1-2, 5, 7-8, 9-10, 11; Galatians 5:1, 13-18; Luke 9:51-62
I have a dream… I have a dream… These words call to mind that famous speech given in 1963 by the late leader of the American Civil Rights Movement, Martin Luther King, Jr. He was speaking of his hope that one day all those of the Negro race would enjoy freedom from discrimination. His dream was for a future in which all Americans would be treated equally, regardless of the colour of their skin.
Sisters and brothers, I too have a dream. I too dream of freedom. But my dream is of a far less lofty, far less noble, far less honourable freedom than Mr. King's. I’ve had this dream for quite some time now, though I can’t quite remember when it began. I’m not always aware of it. It seems to make its presence felt especially when things aren’t going so well. Its shape has been changing with the passing of the years. But at its core it has always remained the same dream.
As a child, for example, I sometimes found myself dreaming of a day when I would no longer have a nagging grownup breathing down my neck, insisting that I take a bath when I didn’t want to or refusing to let me out of the house to join the neighbourhood kids in their games. As a student, I dreamt of no longer having to suffer under the burden of mathematics exams and physics tutorials. In the army, I dreamt of no longer having to book into camp at some unearthly hour, of no longer having to spend those seemingly senseless nights performing guard duty. At work, I dreamt of not having deadlines to meet, or a boss to answer to. And, to be honest, now that I’m a religious, there are days when I dream, dare I say it, of being free from one or other of my confreres in community, or even of my superior.
In other words, what I dream of from time to time is not so much to be liberated from the burden of discrimination as to be freed from the yoke of responsibility and accountability. My dream is to live the life of a free agent, one who can do whatever s/he wishes, one who is tied down by nothing and answerable to no one. Indeed, aren’t there people who seem already to be living this kind of life? Aren’t there people who seem rich enough and unattached enough to be burdened with no worries, to be able to do whatever they want?
To use an image from our readings today, my dream is to no longer have a field to plough. Of course, I’ve never actually ploughed behind an ox before, let alone twelve of them. But I can imagine what a backbreaking job it must be. Such that there is a part of me that doesn’t quite understand the hesitation on the part of Elisha in the first reading and those people in the gospel who asked to follow Jesus. I don’t quite understand what the fuss is all about. Isn’t this what the Lord came among us to do? Doesn’t Jesus come to take us away from it all, to set us free from the burdens of life? Isn’t this the answer to our prayers – to finally be liberated from the tiresome grind of our daily responsibilities? Why hesitate?
Thankfully, Saint Paul comes to my rescue. He clarifies for me the true meaning of freedom. You were called to liberty, he says, but be careful or this liberty will provide an opening for self-indulgence. Quite surprisingly, he even refers to this self-indulgence as a yoke of slavery. Paul reminds me that my dream of freedom can quite easily turn into a nightmare of bondage. And really, deep in my heart, I know that he speaks the truth. I know that simply doing whatever I want can actually mean becoming a slave of some unseen force, and even of myself. Isn’t this how our different addictions arise? Isn’t this how we end up being enslaved by food and drink, or gambling and the Internet. Isn’t this also somehow connected to the violence that some of us do to ourselves, as for example, when people starve themselves to the point of death for the sake of keeping slim, or when they cut themselves so that the physical pain will help ease their emotional hurts. And aren’t the more respectable addictions just as, if not more, dangerous? We’ve spoken before, for example, of those other isms such as workaholism, perfectionism, and keeping up with the Jonsesism. If the neighbours change their car, shouldn’t we do the same? If the neighbours send their kids for ballet, violin, karate and art classes, shouldn’t we follow suit?
More than that, in light of today’s readings, my dream is shown up for what it really is: wishful thinking. There really is no such thing as a life of absolute freedom. At least not in the way I understand it. The truth of the matter is that to live a truly human life in this world is to always be ploughing a field, to always be labouring under some yoke of responsibility. Isn’t this what our readings tell us today?
In the first reading, even though, Elisha stops ploughing his field, even though he slaughters his oxen and uses his plough as fuel for cooking them, we are told that he then follows Elijah and becomes his servant. Instead of escaping from all responsibility, Elisha is merely trading one plough for another.
We see the same thing in the gospel as well. Even though Jesus challenges the three men he meets to leave their old lives, it is only so that they might wholeheartedly follow him, that they might lay their hands on the plough that Jesus will give them, without looking back. Indeed, isn’t this what Jesus himself does? Isn’t Jesus himself labouring under the yoke of responsibility? Isn’t he ploughing the field set apart for him by his heavenly Father? Isn’t this why he resolutely took the road for Jerusalem? And aren’t we well aware of the significance of his resolution? Jesus knows that the field he is ploughing will soon be sown with the seed of his own body and blood, so that we might all reap a harvest of life in its fullness. Jesus journeys resolutely to Jerusalem so as to climb Mount Calvary, to be lifted up on the Cross and to be raised from the dead on the third day.
And Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem is the image for us of what true freedom looks like. It is not the freedom of my dream. It is not the freedom of one who bears no responsibilities. It is not the freedom of one who cares only for the self and the fulfillment of its endless wants. Rather is it the freedom of one empowered by the Spirit of whom Paul speaks in the second reading. It is the freedom of one who loves God and neighbour even to the very last drop of his blood. It is the freedom of one who is able, resolutely, to lay down his life so that others might live. This is what true freedom looks like. This is the field in which we are all invited to labour, indeed, the only field worth ploughing. Today we are being awakened from the dream of living as free agents. We are being invited to leave the dead to bury their dead, so that we might labour in the field that bears fruit unto eternal life.
Sisters and brothers we began with that famous phrase spoken by Martin Luther King, Jr. in 1963: I have a dream… It’s only fitting that we end with three other words from that same speech. The words are: let freedom ring! Sisters and brothers, this is our prayer today. Let freedom ring! In the power of the Spirit, in the footsteps of Christ the Lord, let freedom ring! In our world and in our country, in our parish communities and in our families, in each of our own individual lives, let freedom ring! Let (true) freedom ring!
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