RETREAT HOMILY
Many of us here this afternoon have either been, or have had the encounter with that overly eager student who, just after hearing the lofty description of the goals for a course, immediately shoots up the hand in the air and, when called upon, asks the question that every student in the class in thinking: “What do I have to do to get an ‘A’ in this class?
There is always in all of us, to a greater or less degree, a need for a kind of certainty that will give rationality and purpose to something we propose to do to ensure that we can be successful.
So we can identify with those disciples in today‘s gospel who ask Jesus: “What do we have to do in order to do the works of God?” And ever the responsive and patient teacher, Jesus tells them the truth: “Have faith in the One He has sent.” Have faith in the One He has sent.
Easier said than done.
Years ago, there was a TV commercial that began with this question: “How do you spell relief?” And the answer was R-o-l-a-i-d-s: Rolaids. And that was true: Rolaids isrelief for gastric distress, as are other bodily functions which are best not said in church. Rolaids we can say in church.
But the question today’s gospel begs is: How do you spell faith? My answer to that would be that faith is spelled: r-i-s-k: risk. Jesus is telling us today that, in order for us to do the works of God, we have to risk trusting in the One He sent. The question for us during these days of prayer is about the quality of our risking. A risking that will show itself primarily in how we choose to live every day. We know that many of those who heard Jesus speaking these words were not prepared to take this risk. This was the end of the line for many of them. But we, who have consecrated ourselves to Him, need to examine whether we are actually taking the risk both in word and in deed.
The risk we take is, it seems to me, not just living a life of virtue, not just living the kind of life any good person should live. We need to ask ourselves: is compassion enough, is justice enough, is hospitality enough? These are values every religion and every civilized community has in common.
I think Jesus is inviting us to something deeper, something more dangerous, something that is particular to His way of proceeding.
But back to our certainty for a moment: I think that we would agree that the great sin of our day, in both secular and religious culture, is the sin of certainty. Our world is noisy, polarized and almost hopelessly divided. We live in a climate of absolutism in which our own convictions, our own ideologies, our own prejudices, our own personal narratives are the only ones worthy of being called “the truth” and that no opposing worldview is acceptable. Those who disagree with us are, first, uninformed; then, they are stupid; and, lastly, they are evil. We trumpet as certainty which diminishes dialogue to lazy posturing, which deflates tolerance to condescension, and which makes faith unnecessary. Why would you need faith is you are never wrong?
All of the heroines and heroes of our faith took risks; they moved from good to better without the luxury of knowing they were right. Abraham, the father of faith, became the icon of this risk, not because he could explain the Trinity or the Immaculate Conception, but because he took the risk of taking God at His word when God said to him: “Go now and leave your homeland, I will be your home.” Moses, the prophets, Zechariah, Elizabeth, Mary, Joseph, the shepherds, the Magi, John the Baptist, the Apostles, the leper, the blind man, Martha, the woman with the hemorrhage, the widow with the two coins, the woman at the well, Magdalene, and all the martyrs, confessors and virgins from then until today: grace moved them from good to better because they risked the God would be faithful to His promises.
It might be helpful during the retreat to ask the Holy Spirit to teach us were we are not risking enough, where we are too tightly clinging to habits which protect us from having to take the greatest of all risks: that of “the grain of wheat that falls into the ground and dies, and, if it dies, it produces much fruit.”
The measure of our faith in the One God sent is not the Creed. The measure of our faith is this particular challenge from Jesus: Can you love an enemy? Can you move beyond your natural reactions and TRANSFORM negative energy that comes to you from outside so as not to give back bitterness for bitterness, harsh words for harsh words, troll for troll, tweet for tweet, curse for curse, hatred for hatred. Can you rise above your sense of being wronged? Can you give up your need to be right? Can you move beyond your need to insist upon what you believe you are entitled to? Can you forgive when every feeling inside of you rebels at how unfairly you have been treated? Can you take in bitterness, hatred, harsh judgments, and give back graciousness, blessing, love, understanding and mercy? This is the truly Christian risk and it is the bedrock of Jesus’ teaching: the vengeance of God is His mercy, and we have vowed ourselves to that risk.
Easier said than done. This risk challenges us to live in tension, to be able to transform negativity, rejection, and evil itself into positive energy and love. And this risk challenges us to do so WILLINGLY, and, as Pope Francis continually reminds us, JOYFULLY. We are sometimes willing to give our lives to others…and then send them the bill. That is not good enough, not nearly good enough for a disciple of Jesus.
The reward for living this risk is way beyond the smug triumph over adversaries; the reward for this risk is being able to live in freedom and peace in the spaciousness of the gentle, faithful, non-threatening, non-coercive, non-guilt-inducing, persistent and uncompromising love that is God.
What must we do to do the works of God? Have faith in the ONE He sent, the One who gives Himself to us as the nourishment we need to live as He did in this sad, dramatic, yet ultimately wonderful world.
They said to him: “Sir, give us this bread always.” Jesus said to them: “I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me will never hunger and whoever risks trusting me will never thirst.”