Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time 'B'

Sunday February 22, 2009

A Message of Mercy

One of the recurring messages of Old Testament prophets and preachers was to “remember” what God had done for his people through extraordinary interventions throughout the ages.

To “remember” was not just a recollection of personal events but also a revival of communal ancestral experiences as if they were happening again. Family stories do that. We certainly have not been present for every event narrated in ‘grandma and grandpa tales’ passed down from one generation to another but when the storyteller relates them with just the right flavor, the incidents become ‘live and unrehearsed’ and we are there in person!

The memory of what God had done was a safeguard against arrogance and pride. To be conscious of God’s affirmative action for humanity in the past can only lead to a humble acknowledgement of God’s greatness and the powerlessness of human enterprise in the present and future.

In the very first chapter of Genesis we are told that we were created – male and female—in the image and likeness of God.

It is the will of God that humanity be nothing less than God’s very self extended in time and space — God molding from the earth as it were, a human form into which God breathed God’s own life; a metaphorical expression of an awesome mystery.

We have had very humble beginnings indeed. The words ‘human’ and ‘humble’ come from the same root word, “humus” or earth. We are of the earth — an earthy people, but we breathe in divine air as we swim in the sea of God’s grace.

So then, why is Isaiah telling the Jews returning from exile not to “remember the events of the past?”

But it was not the purpose of the message or the intent of the messenger to humiliate or to seduce the listener into submission. God never intended us to be servile or subservient despite our sinful nature. We are partners with God in the ongoing work of creation.

But wait, read on. “I am doing something new.” In other words, “I’m calling you back to the beginning to ‘original blessing,’ to the first moment of creation.” Forget what happened in between. Forget your rebellion; forget your petty negligence; forget your sinfulness. Let’s start all over again. “The people I formed for myself that they might announce my praise” forgot me but I did not forget them! “You did not call upon me, O Jacob, for you grew weary of me, O Israel. You burdened me with your sins, and wearied me with your crimes but it is I who wipe them all out; I will remember your sins no more.” Awesome!

So it turns out that Isaiah was not blotting out the memory of God’s goodness but of the chaos and confusion consequent to human anarchy. Indeed, his words were and remain a ‘reminder to remember’ the ‘original blessings’ of creation prior to the ‘fall’ so that its effects may be experienced again as if for the first time.

Isaiah is not speaking of a cover-up. Rather he is speaking of a healing of memories from the inside out—a radical transformation. As with the great exodus, which is also hinted at in this text, it is going to be a new beginning in the face of the relics of the broken temple and the ruins of Jerusalem.

This was a powerful message to the people returning from exile and now to us that God’s mercy is stronger and more enduring than human failure and sin.

No, we cannot “return” to places we’ve never been. But we can go back in mind to times and places when we were at peace with God, ourselves and the world around us.

In a change of venue, Mark brings us to Capernaum, the site of many significant events in the life of Jesus. It was Peter’s hometown. In fact, Mark seems to suggest that it had also become Jesus’ hometown. It was the place of many healings.

The paralytic was carried to the house where Jesus was preaching and teaching. “House” was a code word in Mark’s gospel for “church” or “assembly of God.” As one commentator put it, “The church is wherever Jesus is…. He is in the community that continues his memory.” In effect, “Jesus is the house.”

We can assume that the people who carried the paralytic were believers. There is no evidence that the man himself was a believer. Physical afflictions were thought to be the consequence of sin so whether or not he was a believer, he was thought to be a sinner.

Mark more than hints at the extraordinary thing that was to occur by the action of “raising the roof.” Mark presents Jesus as the living memory of all that the prophets had foretold; the lamb that takes away the sins of the world.

This story of the paralytic brings to mind an experience of healing grace through the communal celebration of the Sacrament of Reconciliation when I was pastor at St. Joseph Parish in Mendham. It was our custom to celebrate this beautiful sacrament within the context of a festive liturgical ceremony prior to Christmas and Easter. Because the congregation was so large and the number of priests insufficient for individual ‘confession,’ we administered the sacramental absolution ‘in globo’ pronouncing the words of absolution over the entire assembly within the context of a moving liturgical service.

As the Gospel story was narrated, the congregation was drawn into that house in which Jesus reached out to the paralytic. Everyone in that congregation of over five hundred was there to raise the roof on God’s mercy not just for themselves but also for each other and even for those who were unable to be present.

There was no way that anyone could leave that celebration paralyzed in sin. They departed liberated in grace. There was no need for anyone to confess their individual sins to a priest because we were keenly aware of our common sinfulness and equally aware that God had forgiven them before we confessed them. In other words, our faith in God’s mercy saved us just as it saved the paralytic and so many others in the gospel stories.

Incidentally the individual celebration of the Sacrament of Penance and Reconciliation as mandated by the Church today evolved over time, and was originally intended only for those who were guilty of murder, adultery or heresy.

In the early days of the church, the Eucharistic liturgy was the ordinary means of reconciliation. In fact, we “come home” every Sunday to this holy place, to this sacred space to remember the good things God has done for us in ages past.

We come to “raise the roof” that we might be forgiven and healed. We may not always feel like coming. At time we are carried by others and at other times only by God’s grace. And there are times when we carry others who don’t feel like coming.

This is what it means to be faithful to the memory of God’s unrelenting mercy, faith-filled and confident that what God has promised, God will do. Faithfulness does not mean that we have not sinned or that we will never sin again or that we can do as we please and be complacent about our faults and failures.

It is the conviction that God will be faithful forever and it is that conviction that will move us to strive for goodness despite our inclination to be otherwise.

Now pick up your matt and go home, but not until after the offertory collection and rest of Mass—pastor’s orders!

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