On a certain sabbath Jesus went into the synagogue and taught, and there was a man there whose right hand was withered. The scribes and the Pharisees watched him closely to see if he would cure on the sabbath so that they might discover a reason to accuse him. But he realized their intentions and said to the man with the withered hand, “Come up and stand before us.” And he rose and stood there. Then Jesus said to them, “I ask you, is it lawful to do good on the sabbath rather than to do evil, to save life rather than to destroy it?” Looking around at them all, he then said to him, “Stretch out your hand.” He did so and his hand was restored. But they became enraged and discussed together what they might do to Jesus.
The Gospel of the Lord.
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There’s a catch-phrase that’s seeped into our vocabulary as of late:
“See something, say something.”
Maybe you’ve seen the commercial. A man leaves a backpack next to a garbage can or a bench and then he suspiciously walks away.
“See something, say something.”
One of the underlying themes behind this message is that life is beautiful. It’s worth saving. If you notice someone may be in danger – if you see something – say something!
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This same idea is at work in today’s Gospel.
But instead of “see something, say something,” Jesus steps it up a notch.
“See something, do something.”
There’s a man with a withered hand. Tradition tells us that he was a stone mason; he needed his hands in order to earn a living. So, he approaches Jesus, and says, “Please, Lord, give me my hand back so that I may work and not beg.”
God always looks with approval upon the person who wants to do an honest day’s work. (We celebrate this truth today on Labor Day). And so, instantly, this man is healed.
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This Gospel passage not only reminds us of the dignity of human labor, it also reminds us that “impossible” is not a word that should exist in Christian vocabulary. Our God works miracles.
In my priestly ministry, I’ve witnessed the Lord heal three people physically just in the last six months. Two of them were on the brink of death! “Impossible” should not exist in our vocabulary.
But here’s a word for all of us: there are moments when we all encounter a person in need – either physically, emotionally, or spiritually. There’s always something we can do to alleviate their pain.
When you “see something, say something.” Or, better, “do something.”
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Image credits: (1) (2) Pauca Verba (3) Animal Activism
Great crowds were traveling with Jesus, and he turned and addressed them, “If anyone comes to me without hating his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple. Which of you wishing to construct a tower does not first sit down and calculate the cost to see if there is enough for its completion? Otherwise, after laying the foundation and finding himself unable to finish the work the onlookers should laugh at him and say, ‘This one began to build but did not have the resources to finish.’ Or what king marching into battle would not first sit down and decide whether with ten thousand troops he can successfully oppose another king advancing upon him with twenty thousand troops? But if not, while he is still far away, he will send a delegation to ask for peace terms. In the same way, anyone of you who does not renounce all his possessions cannot be my disciple.”
The Gospel of the Lord.
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I was praying on Tuesday morning and sent a few lines from today’s homily to a friend. I said, “It’s just a draft and incomplete.”
To which he responded, “Isn’t that a metaphor for our lives?”
Life is a first-draft… it’s incomplete. We’re all works in progress.
This is certainly true when it comes to faith – to my faith; it’s a work in progress. A first draft. Incomplete.
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In today’s Gospel, Jesus gives his most difficult command.
“If anyone comes to me without hating his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple.”
Clearly, Jesus didn’t go to business school. Nor was he a master in marketing. Telling someone to “hate” the people we love the most – even our own selves – is a great way to lose, not to gain, disciples.
So, why did he say this? What did he mean?
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This verb Jesus used, which we translate as “to hate,” means to choose one thing over another.
In other words, we must choose the Lord over everything and everyone else. Our family and friends should occupy second, not first, place in our hearts.
This makes more sense when using Saint Matthew’s translation: “Whoever loves his father and mother, his son and daughter, more than me is not worthy of me.”
Still, putting Jesus first in our lives – above family, friends, sports, careers, and our own desires – is just plain hard.
Which is why we’re all a first draft; incomplete; a work in progress.
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Consider how long it took the disciples to put Jesus first.
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They traveled with him for three years, all the way to Jerusalem. They witnessed miracles, conversions, demons subdued, and lives changed along the way. They themselves were changed.
But when Jesus was arrested and led off to be crucified, they turned away. Their hearts were filled with fear and disappointment. They didn’t have the strength – or the faith – to continue.
The disciples needed Pentecost. They needed the Holy Spirit.
Once the Spirit came upon them as tongues of fire, their hearts – and their lives – were forever changed. Their fear melted into courage; their doubt was molded into faith.
Many of them followed the Lord, even to the point of death. So, why didn’t they run away again?
Finally, Jesus came first.
After years of stumbling, failing, and trying again, they lived the great command of Israel: “You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your mind, with all your strength, and with all your soul.”
You shall put God “first.”
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What might this mean for us?
There is a distance we are all willing to travel with Jesus, even to Jerusalem. But at certain points along our faith journeys, we may begin to question whether or not we can continue in faith; we may even ponder giving up.
Today’s Gospel passage was that moment for me.
Many of you know the story.
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I spent five years living in Rome while studying for the priesthood.
Two years into my stay, my mother developed pancreatic cancer. I went home and spent the summer with her, but by August, we had to decide whether I’d stay with her until she went to the Lord or return to my studies.
I was confronted in the most unimaginable way with today’s Gospel. “Whoever loves his father and mother, his son and daughter, more than me is not worthy of me.”
In an effort to put the Lord first, I returned to Rome.
It was the most difficult decision I’ve ever made. But, as we are reminded repeatedly in scripture, God is never outdone in generosity.
If we put the Lord first – even for a moment – then everything else begins to fall into place, starting in our hearts.
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Looking back over your own faith journey, when did you feel the Lord inviting you to put Him first? What did you have to give up?
Maybe you’re still trying.
Perhaps we all are.
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As my friend reminded me on Tuesday morning, our journeys are in draft form. We’re each a work in progress.
But as our parish vision statement reminds us, “We’re all generations journeying together with Jesus to satisfy our hungry hearts. Come and see!”
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Image credits: (1) GotQuestions.org (2) Word on Fire (3)
The scribes and Pharisees said to Jesus, “The disciples of John the Baptist fast often and offer prayers, and the disciples of the Pharisees do the same; but yours eat and drink.” Jesus answered them, “Can you make the wedding guests fast while the bridegroom is with them? But the days will come, and when the bridegroom is taken away from them, then they will fast in those days.” And he also told them a parable. “No one tears a piece from a new cloak to patch an old one. Otherwise, he will tear the new and the piece from it will not match the old cloak. Likewise, no one pours new wine into old wineskins. Otherwise, the new wine will burst the skins, and it will be spilled, and the skins will be ruined. Rather, new wine must be poured into fresh wineskins. And no one who has been drinking old wine desires new, for he says, ‘The old is good.’”
The Gospel of the Lord.
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Jesus likens himself – and the faith he inspires – to new wine poured into fresh wineskins. He intends to stretch us.
This is what can make Christianity hard at times.
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Consider a few practical examples.
Let’s say you prefer talking to listening. Try listening first for an entire day. You’ll feel stretched.
Or you recognize your impatience. Slow down at those yellow lights. Let someone ahead of you at the grocery store. Allow you children’s rooms to remain messy for another day. You’ll feel stretched.
Or say you lean a little too heavily on a habit. Give it up for a day. You’ll feel stretched.
By sunset, we may be tempted to say, “The old is good.” But we should also realize that we were made for more.
If we allow the Spirit to stretch us, then over time we’ll become a better listener; more patient; less reliant upon people or things, and more dependent upon grace.
We’ll become more of who God made us to be: a happier, healthier, holier version of our Christian selves.
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In what way is the Lord inviting me to be stretched today?
