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13th Sunday in Ordinary Time
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It is obvious from today’s gospel that Jesus
is not promising us a rose garden. He cannot even promise His followers
a place to lay their heads. He even seems harsh in His demands of
loyalty. His concern is more for quality rather than quantity. And He
will not take excuses. The man who said “let me bury my father” was, in
effect, saying I am not yet ready to give my life to you. There is no
indication that his father was already dead. In His compassion, Jesus
would surely have given the man time to go to the funeral. The father
was probably still alive, and these words only highlight the urgency of
the invitation.
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You see, in everything, there is a critical
moment. If that moment is missed, the thing most likely will never be
done at all. The man in the story wanted to make changes to follow
Jesus. Now was the time. If he did not seize the moment, he would let it
slip through his fingers. Psychologists tell us that every time we have
a fine feeling and do not act on it, the less likely we are to act on
it at all. The emotion becomes a substitute for action. Sometimes we
feel we would like to write a letter; perhaps a letter of sympathy, a
letter of thanks, or a letter to heal a relationship. If we put it off
until tomorrow, it will in all likelihood never be written.
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Our gospel today tells us that there was
nothing eccentric about Christ. In many ways He was quite ordinary. He
was a Jew of His time. He was born of a Jewish maiden and died five
miles from His manger. He came in his own words, eating and drinking. He
came to Cana for a wedding to Bethany for a burial. He ate with
respectable people like Martha and with outcasts like Matthew, the tax
collector. He felt at home with everyone, not only with Peter’s
mother-in-law, but with Mary who had seven devils and the Samaritan
woman who had five husbands. Children curled up in His arms, and grown
men like Nicodemus talked far into the night with Him.
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He could grow angry, angry enough to whip
money changers from the temple. He could also sympathize with a widow
who had lost her son. He wept over Jerusalem and over Lazarus. He knew
the thoughts of shepherds, farmers and fisherman. He spoke the language
of His people, He spoke of war and peace, He worked with His hands and
He learned what hunger and thirst were. He was tired enough to sleep
through a storm in an open boat. He knew what it meant to flee for His
life. To be cursed and spat upon; yes, Christ was very human. And yet,
He was more than human. Not simply because He was God. His life is a
living proof that human life can be thoroughly human. And yet, He lived
on a level above human.
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In His every action, whether He came eating
and drinking or preaching and praying, living or dying. In His every
action, there shone a love that was not born of man. His life was a
living lesson. Love God with your whole heart; love your neighbor as
yourself. His life, human as it was, was one long act of love that found
its consummation in the crucifixion. His crucifixion was for the
objects of His love, for every human being who has ever come or ever
will come into His world. In His public life, Christ could not be
disregarded and He intended it so. He intended that every human being
who touched the hem of His garment or looked into His eyes or heard His
voice should put a question to themselves.
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“Is this for me? Is this the way human life
was meant to be lived? Is this fascinating marriage of the human and the
more than human…is this what is lacking in my life?” And there, I
submit, lies your vocation as Christians. Christians are very much a
part of their world. We work and eat and sleep just like everyone else.
We sorrow and laugh; we are moved to anger and pity. We are quick to be
hurt and maybe a little slower to forgive. We marry or stay single, we
vote as we please and statistics show very little difference between us
and non-Christians. And yet, there should be a difference, because your
life-human as it is- is more than human. Scripture tells us that to be a
disciple of Christ; you have to lose your life in order to find it.
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I do not know what life it is that Christ is
asking you to surrender? What is keeping you from Him? I do know there
are special moments; critical moments in every life where to be a
Christian you have to choose to commit yourself. To risk and give up
something that rules your life or something that takes the place of
Christ. It could be anything from material goods to position and power,
honors and glory. The peril is simply that they are mine and can
dominate my existence and manipulate me. Like money, never enough. More
power, never enough. If they do, all else takes second place, including
Christ.
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In other words, what rules your life? What
makes you tick? Who or what rules your heart? Something does or someone
does; or-dreadful thought-perhaps nothing does. Today’s gospel my
friends is heavy metal. There is nowhere to lay your head; do not look
back and keep plowing. But still, it is good news and glad tidings. What
is so good about it? It answers a critical question-how shall I live?
Make sure no person-however deeply loved-no thing however precious,
pre-empts the place Christ should occupy in your priorities. Stop trying
to fit Christ into your life, instead try fitting your life around
Christ. And ask yourself, is this for me? Here is a life, thoroughly
human and yet more than human. Is this the way human life was meant to
be lived?
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There is something about the human spirit
that rises to the challenge when asked. The trouble is that we are not
confronted with such challenges very often. So, we drift along in our
self-serving and self-satisfied ways. But God meets us every day with a
challenge. If we have eyes to see it and ears to hear it, He calls for
the best in us every day of our lives. Following the one who said, “I am
the way, the truth, and the life.”
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| Yours in Christ, |
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| Fr. Bob Warren, SA |
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