Twenty-Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time 'B'

Sunday September 17, 2006

Sometimes you just have to ride it out.

Despite the advances in pre-school education and sophisticated cyberspace connections, children learn at their ‘family table,’ the basic rules for successful living that include anything from good manners to dealing with crises and life-threatening situations.

Sibling rivalry, childhood diseases and neighborhood battles are often the occasions for lessons that can make or break youngsters as they make their way in the ‘game of life.’

I still remember quite vividly, my dad’s assuring words on a particularly trying day. I don’t remember how old I was but I’m sure I was less than ten. “You know, Joe, sometimes you just have to ride things out.” And my mom would add: “Yes, Joe, disappointments come unwanted and unexpected.” (My mom and dad used to call me ‘Joe.’ I think it originated with my father’s greeting as he arrived home after work—“Hello, Joe!” he would cry out, and the name stuck.)

I don’t recall what precipitated my dad’s insightful comment. It could have been a bellyache, a street fight, an incident at school or just a bum day. It took years for me to understand and appreciate the full implication of his kindly wisdom.

Indeed, as I grew up and got knocked around a bit by situations and circumstances beyond my control, I began to understand the import of his words. Life is not always under our control. The truth is, life is rarely under our control! One sage put it this way, “Life is what often happens when you’re planning your successes.”

Jesus was a master teacher. In fact he was called ‘The Teacher’ or Rabbi. He was an itinerant preacher who spoke a language his followers could understand, but they surely did not appreciate the full import of his metaphors and allegories as he spoke them.

I don’t think he expected them to grasp the full meaning of his sayings just as I’m sure my dad did not expect me to grasp the full meaning of his maxims as he spoke them. In fact Jesus companions would not see the light until after Pentecost. The full impact of my dad’s words didn’t hit until long after ordination.

When we come to this Eucharist every week and listen to the Scriptures, we bring a lot of baggage with us—our life story and our life stories. Each of us hears the words of Scripture in a way slightly different from our neighbor or even from other members of our family. We filter the words of the Bible through the lens of our human experience and connect them with real life issues and events—past, present and even future as we anticipate them but there is always at least one lesson for everyone.

It is interesting that Mark sandwiched this little exchange with Peter between two other exchanges. The first occurred earlier in this same chapter in Peter’s ‘confession’ of Jesus as the Messiah: “Now Jesus and his disciples set out for the village of Caesarea Philippi. Along the way he asked his disciples, ‘Who do people say that I am?’ and then he asked them, ‘Who do you say that I am?’ Peter said to him in reply, ‘You are the Messiah.’ The other reference is Peter’s response to the Transfiguration found in the ninth chapter: “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here.”

Mark was making the point that Peter didn’t have a clue before or even after Jesus’ reprimand about what it meant to be ‘Messiah.’ He later denied Jesus at his arrest not once but three times. He didn’t get it until he himself faced his own ‘Gethsemane’ and crucifixion.

Several years ago I was on a retreat for priests at St. Alfonso Redemptorist Retreat House in Long Branch—right on the ocean. The retreat director said something that has never left me. It was one of those unique moments that I will remember for the rest of my life. We were in the conference room that faced the Atlantic Ocean. As he was speaking, I was looking out into the sea but I was listening attentively. The conference was a meditation on the passion and death of Christ. He said to us, “You will never be worth your salt as a priest until you have accompanied Jesus at Gethsemane at least once.”

At the time, I thought I understood what he meant but I didn’t have a clue. After all, I had been a priest only twenty years or so at that time and had yet to experience anything even close to Gethsemane—I just thought I had. The clerical world can be very closed and protected at times.

It wasn’t until a few years ago when I became involved as an advocate for victims of sexual abuse by clergy that I understood Gethsemane. For obvious reasons, it was not a call I welcomed. It was not only the stories of pain shared by the victims but the wall of silent rejection by bishops and many of my clerical colleagues a few of whom, unfortunately had crossed the boundaries and a few of these have yet to be held accountable. Only the din of denial broke the ‘din’ of their silence. One brother priest approached me on one occasion to express his concern only to tell me his concern was based on his fear that I was possessed by Satan to have been so outspoken on the issue.

It was then that I understood the words of the retreat director and Jesus: “that the Son of Man must suffer greatly and be rejected by the elders and chief priests, and the scribes and be killed.”

But all of us have had or will have our own Gethsemanes few or any of which have been or will be freely chosen though by God’s grace they may be freely accepted. Perhaps it was a serious illness, a tragic accident, a troubled marriage. Perhaps you were a ‘whistle-blower’ taking a strong stand for integrity in the world of commerce or demonstrated against a popular war.

God did not send his son to suffer and die in protest or as a punishment to make up for humanities sins, he sent him to live fully and faithfully with integrity for life. Jesus accepted his call but in doing so, it became clear to him that it would cost him his life; a strange paradox indeed. Jesus ‘rode it out’ to the very end but in the end was raised up in glory.

Last week I came upon this bit of wisdom in a book entitled, “My Grandfather’s Blessings” by Rachel Remen.

“Whether we are aware of it or not, we will refine the quality of our humanity throughout the course of our lives. More and more, people seek spiritual techniques to help them do this. But joy and suffering will do this for you, too. Every lifetime offers countless opportunities to become more whole.”

“Life offers its wisdom generously. Everything teaches. Not everyone learns. Life asks of us the same thing we have been asked in every class: ‘Stay awake.’ ‘Pay attention.’ But paying attention is no simple matter. It requires us not to be distracted by expectations, past experiences, labels and masks. It asks that we not jump to early conclusions and that we remain open to surprise. Wisdom comes most easily to those who have the courage to embrace life without judgment [or condition] and are willing to not know, sometimes for a long time. It requires us to be more fully and simply alive than we have been taught to be. It may require us to suffer. But ultimately, we will be more than we were when we began. There is the seed of a great wholeness in everyone.”

There was a woman in my life other than my own dear mother who was a quiet and sometimes not-so-quiet mentor whom I met much later in my life as a priest. She was our housekeeper and cook at St. Joseph. Mary Lou also known by her own children and dear friends as “Lulu.”

She experienced her Gethsemane early in life with the death of her husband not long after the birth of the last of her eight children one of whom died long before her time. Mary Lou knew all about life without ever having to go to theology class. She was a gifted cook but more than that, she was woman of homey wisdom who knew how to make lemonade when handed a lemon. She did her simple thing day in and day out and never asked why she was dealt a tough hand. The Lord was her shepherd; no doubt about it and the Lord upheld her to the very end.

Every Thursday, I preside at the Eucharist for the residents of Care One Nursing Home for about twenty-five residents who are able to join us in the recreation room. They welcome this opportunity to participate in the ritual of the Mass that was such an important part of their lives when they were well. It’s amazing how even those in the advanced stages of Alzheimer’s disease can recognize the familiar prayers and signs that we take for granted.

At any rate, I usually ‘engage’ them in a little dialogue during the homily. After all, most of them know more about life than I.

Last week I asked them the question: “Who is Jesus for you?”

One woman responded immediately, “Jesus is my salvation!” She said more in those four words than she may ever appreciate or then again, I think she knew exactly the full import of her words.

Another woman said, “Jesus takes care of me—he is my friend, my partner.” Indeed, she had her own Gethsemanes but Jesus never gave up on her and she has never given up on Jesus.

Rachel Remen concluded the introduction to her book with these words: “According to those who have returned from a near-death experience, we are all here to grow in wisdom and learn how to love better. As we each do this in our own ways, we slowly become a blessing to those around us and a light in the world.”

Amen!

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