Tuesday in the 4th Week of Ordinary Time (II)
Memorial of St. Agatha, Virgin & Martyr
The View From The Top

Readings: 2 Samuel 18:9-10, 14b, 24-25a, 30–19:3; Psalm 86:1-2, 3-4, 5-6; Mark 5:21-43

Those who have ever climbed a high mountain or been up a tall building will know how different things look from the top. At the bottom your view is obscured by so many different things. But at the top you are able to feast your eyes on a much wider view. At the top the same things that looked so big and formidable from the ground suddenly seem so trivial and small. Is it any accident, then, that Jesus’ most important sermon in the gospel of Matthew – the beginning of which we heard on Sunday – is preached at the top of a mountain? In the bible, the mountain is where God reveals the divine view of things.

Even so, you don’t literally have to climb a mountain to see and hear God. There are mountains of different sorts. Consider the situation of King David in today’s first reading. Everyone thinks they are bringing him good news when they inform him of the death of Absalom. But they are wrong. They are only looking at things at ground level. From there, Absalom is a treasonous rebel, a dangerous troublemaker, a serious threat to Kingdom and Crown, someone to be exterminated at all costs. But David sees things from a different vantage. Absalom’s death sharpens David’s vision, just as his rebellion might have served to obscure it. Even though it means victory for the king, the killing of Absalom evokes no joy in David, not even relief, but instead deep sorrow. Grief places David on a lofty height from which he sees beyond the fleeting to that which is enduring. The impact of Absalom's death enables David to forget the terrible treachery of a subject towards his king, and to feel only the weight of the tender affection of a father for his child. If only I had died instead of you, Absalom, my son, my son!

Climbing a mountain is often difficult. And even if the view from the top may be breathtaking, it is not always easy to bear.

The gospel presents us with yet another kind of mountain. Commentators have likened this rather long passage to a sandwich. The important bit is to be found in the middle, bracketted by the ongoing story of the healing of Jairus’ daughter. But from a non-expert’s point of view, the passage can perhaps just as easily be seen as a literary mountain, affording the best view from the top. Whether sandwich or mountain, the crucial verse is clear. It is found in Jesus words to the woman with the haemorrhage: Daughter, your faith has saved you…

If David is able to see clearly from the mountaintop of his grief, then Jesus invites his listeners to enjoy the breathtaking panorama of faith. Viewed from this high vantage point, apparently insurmountable obstacles begin to pale into insignificance. From here, the mere caress of a garment has power to cure a chronic and painful affliction. On this mountaintop, even the dead can be raised to life. Do not be afraid; just have faith…

And how can we forget that it is also this same faith-inspired viewpoint that ultimately emboldens Jesus to walk the way to Calvary, to climb the wood of the Cross, to humbly submit to the One who alone has the power to raise him on the third day?

As we find ourselves on the threshold of the great season of Lent, perhaps it will do us good prayerfully to consider what mountains we are being invited to climb, what breathtaking views to enjoy, today…

Monday in the 4th Week of Ordinary Time (II)
Getting Your Hands Dirty

Readings: 2 Samuel 15:13-14, 30; 16:5-13; Psalm 3:2-3, 4-5, 6-7; Mark 5:1-20

Blessed are the merciful, for they shall have mercy shown them. This is one of the Beatitudes that we heard proclaimed at Mass yesterday. It is one of the eight (or nine, depending on how you count them) crucially important statements of Jesus that point us the way into the Kingdom of Heaven. But what, we may wonder, does it mean to be merciful? What does it look like when mercy is shown to others? Both our readings today help us to deepen our meditation on these questions.

In the first reading, David demonstrates for us one dimension of mercy. Consider his situation. Although he is fighting a rebellion led by his own son, David is still ruler of the kingdom. And although he is fleeing his own capital city, we’re told that all the soldiers, including the royal guard, were on David’s right and on his left. Thus when Shimei starts throwing stones and hurling insults and curses at him, David could very easily have had him killed without a second thought. Instead, David spares him. We may wonder why. Perhaps it was David’s sorrow at the painful treachery of his son. Perhaps it was his appreciation of the partial truth in Shimei’s accusations. It also seems clear that David’s reaction had something to do with his relationship with God: the Lord has told him (to curse)… Whatever the exact reason, David models for us the mercy that endures insult without retaliation, the mercy which lets people alone.

But this far from exhausts the mystery of mercy. Jesus shows us something more. Just as Shimei ambushes David in the first reading, so does the demoniac accost Jesus in the gospel. And yet, not only does Jesus not punish him for his rude intrusion, but he actually frees him from his enslavement to the legion of unclean spirits that have been forcing him to constantly do harm to himself and to live among the dead. In so doing, Jesus goes beyond the mercy shown by David, the mercy that only lets people alone. Instead, what Jesus models for us is the mercy that gets involved. It is a mercy is not afraid to get its hands dirty, that is willing to somehow enter into the suffering of the other. It is a mercy that endures not just the discomfort of the demoniac’s presence, but also the rejection that results from his healing: seized with fear, the townsfolk began to beg Jesus to leave their district. And it is through this mercy that the demoniac is led out from the isolation of the tombs and back into the embrace of his community: go home to your family… Freed from spiritual bondage, the once possessed man is now filled with the Holy Spirit and empowered to bear witness to the goodness of God: he went off and began to proclaim in the Decapolis what Jesus had done for him…

Even more importantly, the demoniac’s story points to what Jesus does for all of us. It recalls the mercy that God has shown us in Christ, the mercy that moves God to enter into our human reality, to become one like us, even to the extent of suffering, dying, and rising on the third day. The demoniac’s story reminds us that we have all benefited from this mercy, this divine willingness to get its hands dirty. And, more likely than not, we will also quite easily recall instances in our respective histories when this same mercy has been shown to us also through others who have been willing to accompany us in our struggles.

Recalling these memories of mercy, will we not, in our turn, find ourselves moved to show mercy to others, to get involved in some way in their situations, even at some cost to ourselves?

How are we being invited to be merciful to others today?

Friday in the 3rd Week of Ordinary Time (II)
Tale of Two Trees

Readings: 2 Samuel 1:1-4a, 5-10a, 13-17; Psalm 51:3-4, 5-6a, 6bcd-7, 10-11; Mark 4:26-34

Some might recall that not too many days ago we had occasion to reflect upon the similarities between a vibrant spiritual life and a thriving tree. Our readings today invite reflection along the same lines by presenting for our attention not one but two distinct species of tree. In particular, it will be helpful for us to consider their similarities and differences.

One tree is found in the gospel. Here, in Jesus’ parables, we find the tree that is the Kingdom of God. Among the characteristics of this tree, Jesus is careful to highlight its amazing power of growth. Like the seed that is scattered indiscriminately, the Kingdom grows secretly, of its own accord. Its power to germinate is innate. It only requires the right soil. And when it does find favorable conditions it’s capable of phenomenal growth. What starts out as the smallest of all seeds becomes the largest of plants. Finally, we find what is perhaps the most distinctive characteristic of this tree. When fully grown, it provides a dwelling for the birds of the sky. It is, after all, the Tree of Life.

The other type of tree is found in the first reading. Like the first tree, it too is capable of growth. But its growth is of a far more sinister kind. What begins as a casual attraction to a beautiful woman escalates into adultery, and then deception, and finally murder. Perhaps what’s most striking about this insidious progression are the terrible demands it makes upon the one involved. Unlike the natural growth of the Tree of Life, this second tree grows only at the expense of the one who tends it. Like the strange plant in the Little Shop of Horrors, it feeds upon the life-blood of those around it. And once it’s fully grown, it bears fruit in alienation and destruction. It’s no surprise then that it should be called the tree of death.

Faced with these two specimens, what more is there for us to do today, than to consider carefully the kinds of trees that we may be cultivating, knowingly or unknowingly, in the gardens of our own lives?

Thursday in the 3rd Week of Ordinary Time (II)
Memorial of St. John Bosco, Priest
Revealing Love

Readings: 2 Samuel 7:18-19, 24-29; Psalm 132:1-2, 3-5, 11, 12, 13-14; Mark 4:21-25

For there is nothing hidden except to be made visible; nothing is secret except to come to light…

I’m reminded today of a brief encounter between two characters on a TV series, a man and a woman. The woman comes across a photograph of the man, taken by a well-known photographer. The shot is so well taken that she is moved to exclaim: wow, she really got you to glow! What were you doing at the time? The man hesitates to answer because, at the time the shot was taken, he’d been admiring a photo that the same photographer had taken of the woman. And, of course, he’s secretly in love with her. What I find interesting in the scene is the parallel between the talent of the photographer and the power of love. What defines the latter is its capacity to cause a person to glow, just as what defines the former is his or her ability to reveal that glow and capture it for posterity. I’m reminded here of Jean Vanier’s definition of love. To love someone, according to Vanier, is to reveal to that person his or her inner beauty.

I wonder if these thoughts might not help us to make sense of what Jesus is telling us in the gospel today. When we hear Jesus speak about the lamp that is meant to be placed on a lampstand, it is usual for us to hear it first as a moral obligation. We are that lamp and so we need to let our light shine out for all the world to see. We need to go out and do things. That is, of course, true. Even so, I wonder if there might not be more to it than that, especially when we consider that these words of Jesus follow immediately upon his explanation of the parable of the sower. In that parable, while there is mention of the bearing of a rich harvest, this seems to come more as the result of our receptivity than activity. The power of the seed that is God’s Word, is such that it always bears fruit, if only the soil is right.

And it stands to reason that this should be so, especially when we consider that God’s Word is also a word spoken in love. Indeed, as John the Evangelist reminds us, God is love (1 John 4:8). Thus, to be good soil, to be receptive to God’s Word, is first to allow the love of God to reveal to us our own inner beauty. Isn’t this how the lamp comes to be placed on the lampstand, so as to shine its light for all the world to see?

Isn’t this, also, what we see happening in the first reading? We may recall from yesterday that King David has just received a word from God through the prophet Samuel. We may think, at first, that it is bad news, for it thwarts his plan of building a temple. But David is so receptive to the word that he is able to go beyond the apparent bad news to hear the loving promise that is extended to him, to his household, and to the whole people of Israel. And, in today’s first reading, we have his response: a beautiful prayer of praise and thanksgiving to God. Not only does his receptivity to God’s word evoke a prayer of great beauty, but through his leadership, the kingdom of Israel becomes a light to the nations. This is the result of receptivity to the power of God’s love, which reveals inner beauty to a waiting world…

How does God, the divine photographer, wish to love us into light today?

Wednesday in the 3rd Week of Ordinary Time (II)
Preparing the Ground

Readings: 2 Samuel 7:4-17; Psalm 89:4-5, 27-28, 29-30; Mark 4:1-20

Disappointments and setbacks are difficult to endure. When our plans are thwarted, when our dreams fail to come true, we are often left feeling sad and angry and confused. And, if we are religious, we may even blame God for not helping us to succeed. One will not be surprised if these might have been among the first reactions of King David when the prophet Samuel relayed to him the message that we hear in today’s first reading. Why does God not allow David to build a temple? It’s a worthwhile project, isn’t it? Why must it be Solomon who builds it and not David himself?

A story comes to mind about two children who used to walk by a large field on their way to school. They loved the field because of the green grass and the beautiful wild flowers that grew there. Sometimes, on their way home, they would even stop to play on the field. Then, one day, to their great dismay, they found that someone had dug up the field. All the grass and wildflowers that they loved so dearly had been killed. The ground was instead scarred with ugly furrows and mounds of freshly upturned earth. At this point, you can probably already predict the story’s ending. What at first appears to be a foolish, even cruel, and inexplicable act of destruction turns out to be only the first stage of a necessary process of preparation. The ground is tilled to receive the seed that will be sown. And the result is a rich harvest.

This story resonates with Jesus’ parable in the gospel. The power of the seed that is God’s word is such that, if it only falls into good soil, it is capable of bearing fruit to an unbelievable degree: even thirty, sixty and a hundredfold. But first, on its part, the soil must be receptive. Otherwise, even if the plants seem to spring up quickly, they may be too vulnerable to survive, let alone to bear fruit. Could this gospel lesson perhaps shed some light on David’s predicament (and our own)?

Whatever might have been the exact historical context behind the story, one wonders if what God is doing is precisely tilling the soil of David’s heart (and that of the people of Israel). And notice how God seems to be doing this. Through Samuel, God helps David to put his proposed project into the right perspective. In spite of the grand scale of David’s construction plans, God reminds him that God doesn’t really need a house. More than that, God invites David to remember all the marvels that God has performed thus far, for him and through him. And God also promises continued fidelity in the future, even after David is no more. In short, God reminds David who is boss. It is God who will establish a house for you. One can only imagine how humbling it must have been for David to hear this message and to have his plans apparently thwarted by God. And yet, like the farmer scoring ugly furrows into a beautiful field, perhaps God is simply doing what is necessary for preparing David and the people of Israel to receive the fullness of God’s designs.

And what of us? How receptive is the soil of our hearts? How willing are we to have our plans thwarted, to have our fields dug up in preparation for all that God desires for us?