If you have ever played a video game, then you know there’s always a series of levels.
The first level is the easiest, and the final level is the most difficult. Sometimes it takes multiple tries before you succeed in beating that final level.
But if you do, then you’ve mastered the game.
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If Christianity were likened to a video game, then today’s Gospel would be the final level: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.
If you can do this, then you’ve mastered Christianity.
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This Gospel is always a tough pill to swallow.
But how much bigger – and how much more bitter – is that pill when it’s personal? When it strikes at the heart of our lived experience?
Think of the civil unrest in America.
People are angry and frustrated for a variety of reasons. Nearly every story in the news is centered around racism, politics, violence, or the Coronavirus.
We are a house divided.
And yet, providentially, Jesus reminds us we must love one another, even our enemies, and pray for those who persecute us.
On a natural level it seems impossible. Maybe it is.
But nothing is impossible for God.
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Just it takes multiple tries before you master a game, so it takes multiple tries, perhaps a lifetime or longer, to master Christianity.
But all that’s required to start is an open heart and an open mind. God will take it from there.
Social media is saturated with divisive language and clips of violence. People are pouring into our streets crying for justice.
Others remain cooped up, terrified of contracting the Coronavirus. Millions more are barely making ends meet.
What’s happening to our nation? How can we make sense of it?
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It feels like we’ve contracted an autoimmune disease.
Autoimmune diseases confuse the body’s natural defense system, so that the body can no longer tell the difference between healthy and unhealthy cells; normal cells are mistaken for a threat.
As a result, the body starts attacking itself.
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America is attacking itself.
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Evils like racism, inequality, poverty, and corruption, cause some to mistake their neighbors for a threat.
The root of our civil – even spiritual – unrest lies in this scary truth.
Sometimes we mistake other human beings for threats, as if they don’t belong in our society, much like foreign or malignant cells in the body.
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This “us versus them” mentality has festered for generations. Now it’s boiling to the surface again, causing fear and division to spew across America.
But a house divided isn’t simply an American problem. It’s global, stretching back to the beginning of our shared human story.
Consider the first question a human being asks God in the bible.
“Am I my brother’s keeper?”
Meaning: Am I responsible for contributing to the well-being of my neighbor? Should I consider another person’s health and happiness? Or does the world revolve around me and my own desires?
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This is the question Cain asks God after murdering his own brother Abel. “Am I my brother’s keeper?”
It’s a question we’re still wrestling with today.
But as Christians, we know the answer is a resounding, YES!
Yes, we are our brother’s keeper. Yes, we are responsible for caring for the poor, the sick, the imprisoned, and the marginalized. It’s exactly what Jesus himself did and taught.
It’s what our faith demands of us. Love your God. Love your neighbor.
But as we’re finding out once again, it’s much easier said than done. This “autoimmune mentality,” can infect every human heart.
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Today we celebrate the feast of Corpus Christi, the Body and Blood of our Lord.
As Catholics, we believe that Jesus offers us his Body and Blood in the Eucharist. The Eucharist is what binds us to God.
In today’s Gospel, Jesus declares, “Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him… The one who feeds on me will have life because of me” (John 6:54-57).
We feed on Jesus in order to have life. It’s that simple.
But what do we do with that life we’re given?
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We become our brother’s keeper.
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Christians need to be their brother’s keeper now more than ever. Look to the streets. There’s growing unrest. There’s fear, frustration, and anger in people’s voices crying to be heard.
There’s also the added fear of a global pandemic, a possible recession, and long-term unemployment.
Many people are questioning, “Where is God in all of this?”
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God is in us.
It’s a humbling, frightening truth, but we are the body of Christ here on earth.
It’s a truth the Saints have understood well. Consider Saint Francis of Assisi. He experienced enough turmoil in his own day to write his magnificent prayer for peace:
“Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy.”
That’s what we’re called to do today – to bring light where there is darkness, justice where there is injustice, a voice where there is silence.
Perhaps this is only the beginning, a smidgeon of the answer.
But we are our brother’s keeper. Instead of perceiving our neighbor as a threat like a malignant cell in the body, we were created to love one another the way Christ has loved us.
Both in and out of season.
With every act of love, we can say those sacred words with Jesus, “This is mybody, this is myblood.”
This is my voice, my time, my energy, my heart, my strength, my talent, given up for you. We do it in memory of Christ.
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In this Eucharist, may the Lord give us a renewed sense of commitment to accepting the role of our brother’s keeper, regardless of the person’s race, gender, religion, or politics.
Because love is the foundation to any promise of lasting peace.
Love is what Christ would do, for he is our brother’s keeper.
At the mountain of God, Horeb, Elijah came to a cave, where he took shelter. But the word of the LORD came to him, “Go outside and stand on the mountain before the LORD; the LORD will be passing by.” A strong and heavy wind was rending the mountains and crushing rocks before the LORD— but the LORD was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake— but the LORD was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake there was fire— but the LORD was not in the fire. After the fire there was a tiny whispering sound. When he heard this, Elijah hid his face in his cloak and went and stood at the entrance of the cave. A voice said to him, “Elijah, why are you here?” He replied, “I have been most zealous for the LORD, the God of hosts. But the children of Israel have forsaken your covenant, torn down your altars, and put your prophets to the sword. I alone am left, and they seek to take my life.” The LORD said to him, “Go, take the road back to the desert near Damascus. When you arrive, you shall anoint Hazael as king of Aram. Then you shall anoint Jehu, son of Nimshi, as king of Israel, and Elisha, son of Shaphat of Abel-meholah, as prophet to succeed you.”
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I much prefer music to silence while driving in the car.
Nine times out of ten, it’s music I’ve downloaded onto my iPhone. Listening to the radio just demands too much attention.
I literally have to turn the knob to the left or the right until I find the right station.
It’s terribly frustrating, because one turn too far to the left or the right creates static, muffling the music; you have to dial the station in perfectly.
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Doesn’t it feel, at times, like our lives are turned one click too far to the left or the right? As if there’s just a bunch of static playing in our ears?
Think of all the voices constantly vying for our attention. There’s the radio; the news; social media; friends; family; voices at home and at work.
Silence is rarely an option.
But that’s most often when we hear the voice of the Lord.
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In our first reading, for example, the Lord tells Elijah that he will pass by. So, Elijah rushes outside and waits.
First comes a strong, heavy wind. But it wasn’t the Lord. Then an earthquake follows. Then fire. But the Lord wasn’t present in any of it.
The Lord spoke in a whisper, a voice so quiet Elijah needed silence to hear it.
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How much time do I spend in silence each day, listening for the voice of the Lord?
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Often, it’s much easier said than done. But like Elijah, we all want to hear God speak.
It’s just a matter of making the right adjustments like a radio; of tuning out – and tuning in.
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Image credits: (1) Pin on Giving Pause (2) The Gentle Art of Blessing (3) Chronic Joy
