Homily for the Fourth Sunday of the Year- January 31, 2010

None of us likes to be deceived. We prefer the truth even though it may be unpleasant. It is disturbing for your doctor to tell you that you have a serious illness. But it is even worse to have a serious illness and your family and your doctor NOT tell you. It is far better to be troubled with the painful truth than to be consoled with a pleasant lie. There are many other areas of life when this is a reality. Suppose your child’s teacher should call and report that he/she is failing in school. That would be disturbing, and it is the kind of call that all parents would rather not get. But suppose your child is failing in school, and the teacher lets you think that all is well. That would be even more disturbing. As I said: it is far better to be troubled by a painful truth than to be consoled by a pleasant lie.
I believe that most of us would agree with this premise most of the time. But one notable exception comes to mind. There is a kind of truth that we prefer NOT to hear. And for sure, we do not want to discuss it. Our preference is just to leave it alone, let it lie there and pay no attention to it. There was a philosophy professor with a wry sense of humor. He has a plaque on his office door that said: “my mind is made up. Please do not disturb me with the facts?” That is how most of us feel about this particular kind of truth. We simply do not want to deal with it.
Jesus encountered this attitude in his hometown. He had gone there for a visit in the early days of his ministry. On the Sabbath, he went to the synagogue and he ended up as teacher for the day. And his teaching was well received for the most part. Our gospel reading says: “All who were present spoke favorably of him. They marveled at the appealing discourse that came from his lips.” But the mood did not last very long. Very soon, it turned from admiration to open hostility. The change came when Jesus touched on a truth that nobody wants to hear.
His words do not seem offensive to you or me. All he did was recall two vignettes of Israel’s history. One was from the life of Elijah. A terrible drought had come upon the land. People were on the verge of starvation, especially widows and orphans. But God sent his prophet to the aid of a widow, but she happened to be a Gentile (not of their kind.) The other story was from the life of Elisha. Leprosy was wide spread in Israel. But God used his prophet to heal a leper, and he was a Gentile and a Syrian also. Jesus simply pointed out these two facts of history. But that was enough to outrage his audience. We resent the truth, when it contradicts our established way of thinking. This was what offended the citizens of Nazareth. They had thought of themselves as God’s people, and that means God’s favorites. They thought that God preferred them over and above all other nations and they truly believed that. Their parents and their grandparents had believed it. This concept had been handed down from generation to generation. It was regarded as axiomatic. No one questioned it. The people of Israel were God’s special people, and in time of need, God was always on their side. When all else failed, this was the one thing they could count on, no matter what. Then Jesus came along and dared to suggest that this idea might not be true. It offended them very deeply because Jesus showed his care for ALL people.
Suppose we thought that our race, or religion, or our nation was superior. If someone tried to tell us otherwise, we would not want to hear it. If someone presented evidence that refuted our theory, chances are that we would become angry. Thinking is hard work. And once we have something figured out, we want to leave it that way. Any truth that contradicts what we already know is resented. We are like that plaque on the professor’s door: “My mind is made up, please don’t confuse me with the facts.”
One can be sure that this is what Jesus was after. His purpose was not simply to introduce interesting ideas. He did that at times and baffled people with his skill as a thinker. He could have done that here, and these two bits of history had the making of a lively discussion. Someone in the congregation might have said: “Well isn’t that fascinating. I never noticed it before. I wonder why God sent Elijah to a Gentile instead of a Jewish widow. My, how very interesting. We mist schedule a full scale discussion at some later date.” But of course, that is now what happened.
The people knew that they were faced, not with a topic of debate, but with a call for change. If it really was true that God cared for Gentiles and all people, then it was incumbent upon God’s people to do the same. And that was the one thing that the people of Nazareth had no desire to do. No doubt, their society was much like ours. They used racial slurs and told racial jokes. They had many ways of putting second-class citizens in their proper place. And no self-respecting Jewish person at the time saw anything wrong with any of this. It was they way they always lived, and they did not plan to change it. The same is true of us today. The truth that calls for change is the most unwelcoming kind. We had rather deal with most anything else.
A county truck pulled to a stop on a quiet street. A workman armed with a pick and shovel climbed out and set to work. Laboriously, he dug a large hole between the curb and sidewalk. Then a second man exited the truck and filled in the hole, and tamped down the earth. And that was their pattern all the way down the street, the one carefully digging holes to just the right depth, the other filling them in and tamping them down to just the right height.
“What in the world are you doing?” Asked a woman who had been watching them. “We’re part of an urban beautification project.” Was their reply.
“Beautification,” sniffed the woman. “I fail to see what’s so beautiful about a row of filled in holes.”
“Well, you see” said the worker, “the man who plants the trees is out sick today.”
God wants our lives to be stretched and full. We are made in God’s own image and likeness. But breaking out into the bigness of life is not an easy task. So many things stand in the way, so many defeating ideas that we cling to for dear life, so many fears that we cherish as if they were best friends, so many crazy patterns of acting that make no more sense than digging holes and filling them up again.
The villagers first reaction to hearing Jesus is delight. But then something shuts down. The fear of change is so great; in fact it rouses up a mighty, self destructive anger within them. The price of a bigger life was just too much for them.
That’s a lot for a mere human person to do. But we don’t have to do it alone. Jesus has invited us to a bigger life and has shown us the path to it and He will walk with us all the way to the end of the road.
I would like to share a reflection today with a prayer by Fr.Arrupe called FOR GRACE.
“Teach me your way, O Lord, of treating others-sinners, children, Pharisees, Pilates and Herods, and also John the Baptists. Teach me your way of eating and drinking, how to act when I’m tired from work and need rest. Teach me compassion for the suffering, the poor, the blind, and the lame. You who shed tears, show me how to live my deepest emotions.
Above all, I want to learn how you endured your Cross. Teach me your way to looking at people: the way you glanced at Peter after his denial, the way you touched the heart of the rich young man and the hearts of your disciples. I would like to meet you as you really are, since you change those who really know you. If only I could hear you speak as when you spoke in the synagogue of Capernaum or the Mount of Beatitudes! Give me grace to live my life, within and without, the way you lived your life, O Lord. Amen.”