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In Luke's Gospel there is the story of a very short man, Zacchaeus, who climbed up a sycamore tree to catch a glimpse of Jesus going by. It is used in the church as an appropriate gospel reading when we celebrate the anniversary of the completion of a church building. When Jesus saw Zacchaeus He said to him: "Hurry down. I mean to stay at your house today." Zacchaeus was a wealthy tax collector and accordingly suspected of ill-gotten gain. The locals "murmur," Luke says: "He has gone to a sinner's house as a guest" (Luke 19:1-10). Churches are buildings we human beings put up as places in which to honor God, reminders of God's presence with us. They are primarily our creation and serve our needs, definitely the houses of sinners in that sense. We might say they are places where God's glory and love meet human need and sinfulness. God's love and mercy meet human emptiness and sin in the church building. To those for whom the "bottom line" is everything, church buildings must seem a profound waste of space and means. But probably more even than we need such other "useless" things as music and art we need a place for worship, a visible reminder of the invisible God. The church building says of itself that God is with and among us, that like His Son God is profoundly interested in us sinners. Like Zacchaeus we are hosts to the Lord in the church building and outside of it, too, insofar as we serve our fellow human beings.

Luke 15:1-10

If yesterday’s Gospel showed Jesus at his most radical (“No one can be my disciple unless he gives up everything he has”), today we see his compassionate and understanding side.

They are not contradictory.

 

The gospel says that tax collectors and sinners were gathering round to listen to Jesus. To some of the Pharisees and scribes this was quite scandalous. “This fellow [Greek houtos, ‘outos: one can hear the contempt in the phrase] welcomes sinners and eats with them.” As far as they were concerned, any God-fearing person, not to mention a rabbi-teacher, would have absolutely nothing to do with such people.

 

It was bad enough socialising with them but to share their food was unthinkable; they were unclean and one became unclean by sitting at the same table with them. To eat with people was a sign of recognition and acceptance; as far as the Pharisees were concerned these were non-people. It only confirmed the Pharisees and scribes in their opinion that Jesus was a person to be removed.

In reply, Luke gives us three separate parables touching the same theme. We have two of them today. The third and most famous – the Prodigal Son – will not be read at this time but will appear elsewhere in the liturgical readings (Year C, 24^th Sunday).

 

Each one is a picture of God’s attitude towards the sinner and it is very different from that of the Pharisee.

 

The first is of a shepherd who has lost one of 100 sheep entrusted to his care. The theme of the sheep and the shepherd is common in the Old Testament. We think of the famous Psalm 23 (‘The Lord is my shepherd…’) and a beautiful passage in Ezekiel (34:11-16). Without hesitation, the good shepherd leaves the 99 “good” sheep and goes off looking for the stray. When he finds it, he puts it on his shoulders and comes back in jubilation, inviting all his friends and neighbours to rejoice with him. “Rejoice with me for I have found my lost sheep.”

 

Similarly, concludes Jesus, there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who sincerely repents and comes back to God than over many (self-?)”righteous” people who have no need to repent, or who think they have no need to repent. There seems to be an ironic and sarcastic tone here. Who does not need to repent of something at some time? Jesus presents a totally different attitude to the repentant sinner, and he gives it as God’s own attitude.

 

The second parable is similar. A housewife who has 10 silver pieces – probably the sum total of her wealth – has lost one of her coins. Will she not turn the whole house upside down looking for it? A house like this would typically have no windows and rough earthen floors (and, of course, no electricity!), making a search quite difficult. But, when she does eventually find it, she will call in all her friends and neighbours to share her joy. “Rejoice with me! I have found the coin I lost.” Again Jesus says there will be even more joy than this in heaven over one sinner who repents. ‘In heaven’, of course, means ‘with God’.

 

We need to remember that these stories were told as Jesus’ response to the criticism of some scribes and Pharisees. He had absolutely no reason to apologise for his mixing with tax collectors, sinners and other social and religious outcasts. He was like the shepherd or the housewife. He was looking for people who were lost so that he could bring them back.

 

He spent time in their company not because he did not mind what they did; on the contrary, his whole purpose was to change them. But he could not do that at a distance.The mind of the Pharisee was different. These people were sinful and unclean and the “good” person had to have no contact with them of any kind or they too would become unclean.

 

Notice the different motivation. The Pharisee was only thinking of his own spiritual and ritual purity. Jesus was thinking of the person who was lost and needed to be brought back to a world of truth and love. And so he reached out. He went to where the sinner was. Although the Pharisee thought he was spiritually and morally strong, yet his avoiding the sinner showed he was afraid of contamination. Jesus was not afraid of such contamination; he was the really strong one. He could be with the sinners without becoming one of them.

 

Much of this is highly relevant for our Christian life today. There is probably a lot more of the Pharisee in our Christian hearts than we are prepared to admit. “Good” Catholics tend to keep away from “immoral” situations and the people who are there. “Good” Catholics do not like to be seen in certain places which do not have a “good” reputation. They even call them “occasions of sin”.

We tend to live in enclosed enclaves (we can hardly call them ‘communities’) taking care of our own spiritual welfare. But that is not the Church that Christ founded. We are called to proclaim the Gospel. We are called to reach out to the sinner. To do so we have to welcome them and eat with them. Instead of living in sanitised suburbs, we should be down in our inner cities, in our pubs and discos, in our “red light” districts reaching out and listening and, where possible, bringing back a sheep that is lost and does not know where it is going.

Cycles of Nature

Psalm 39 is full of poetic expressions of the shortness of life: "You have given me a short span of days; my life is nothing in your sight. A mere breath, the one who stood so firm; a mere shadow, the one who passes by; a mere breath, the hoarded riches -- and who will take them, no one know . . . . In your house I am a passing guest -- a pilgrim, like all my forebears." The words, though they speak of the fragility of our life, still may have a bittersweet beauty for us. (The inevitability of decay adds urgency to our appreciation of spring and the beauty of nature.) We see the same fleeting character of all creation evidenced in the cycles of nature, in flowers, in the seasons, in every form of beauty. We see it, more close to home, in the sudden and/or accidental death of a young person. But, no matter how much we take the words or events to heart, it is still hard for us to really believe in our own decay and death. Rarely do such words, no matter how frail our physical being, prevent us from planning our summer vacation or a winter getaway, from buying a new suit or having the roof replaced. We can perhaps write feelingly of our mortality and the shortness of life but to really imagine our own death seems almost impossible. A psychiatrist reports that he has rarely heard a patient say, "When I die;" more often it is, "If I die." Perhaps the best we can do is attempt to be more aware of our fragility and that of those around us.

"Stand up straight and raise your heads, for your ransom is near at hand" (Luke 21: 28).

"Stand up straight and raise your heads, for your ransom is near at hand" (Luke 21: 28). When Luke recounts the words of Jesus about His return and the end of things we hear the familiar language of devastation, signs in the sun, moon and stars, fright and panic. Jesus doesn't say: "When these things begin to happen," take off for the hills, cower in caves, beat your breasts and shake with fear. No: "Stand up straight and raise your heads, for your ransom is near at hand." Unlike fear-mongering preachers of the past and of our time, the words of Jesus in Luke urge us to see in the coming of the Son of Man -- "on a cloud with great power and glory" -- the definitive sign of our salvation, the arrival of true, lasting happiness and union with God. Despite misuse over the centuries of His message to scare and frighten people, that message should always fill those who live according to their consciences and close to God with confidence and joy. We have no right to live in fear and worry because of our faith. Doesn't it really insult the faith? Rather: "Stand up and raise your heads, for your ransom is near at hand."

WHY?

A young boy, when told by his mother to go and wash his hands, asked “why?”. She told him, “because of germs.” He was heard to say on his way to the sink, “Santa Claus, Jesus, and germs, that’s all they talk about and I’ve never seen any of them”.

Today, in the First Reading, the beginning of Moses’ telling the people of Israel about their new ways of relating with God. The first five chapters of this book of Deuteronomy have been a review of the history of how God had formed them into the nation of Israel. What we hear today is Moses’ laying down the over-all spirit necessary for the people to be able to live the laws and customs which God will specify beginning six chapters later.

The last four verses of this chapter predict that the children will eventually ask the big question about why they must keep these laws and customs. Moses again gives a brief historical reason which is the reality of the first Passover. Then Moses says that the keeping will make for happiness forever in the land they had received after their being freed from slavery in Egypt.

We hear words in our First Reading such as “long-life, grow and prosper”. There are reasons to keep the laws and there are self-inflicted consequences from not observing the customs. These laws are meant to keep all the hearers together and united with their Saving God. If they would keep the laws, the laws would keep them safe and available to the reception of even more life, growth, prosperity and love.

So “why?” The people of Israel then, and we now, are encouraged to reverence the ways God desires life to be received and expressed. It is very good for the little lad to wash his hands. It is good for his own health and future enjoyment of dinner and his days. At the time, he does not think so, but his mother’s love for him does know what is good for him. He has to trust her ways as a way of trusting her love for him.

The spirituality or relationship with this God is centered in thankful appreciation for life. This is not a business in which we work and have an Employee’s Handbook, where we find out what we have to do and what we can get away with. If the relationship with God is not primary, then fearful adherence will make for a burdensome existence. The big question is not so much “why”, but “how” do we love God. This “first” commandment can seem to be overwhelming and meant to inferioriate or diminish the possibilities of our being in a proper relationship with the awesome One.

The Gospel has a bit of the “question and answer” theme to it. The scribe is asking, not testing Jesus. The big question is present. The hidden question is about whether Jesus holds tightly to the Jewish tradition of Moses - that there is but “one God”. This being said, Jesus outlines what’s expected now, considering that there is this One God.

After our listening to the string of requirements, about loving this One God with all ones mind, heart, soul, and strength, we are left to ponder. What does that mean to love God? If we could do this, then it would not appear to be as demanding as that of loving our neighbor as we love ourselves. Loving God, feeling love for God, it might be easier to fear God, that seems more natural. Fear is a good motivator and can keep us in line.

Loving our neighbor is easy when we like our neighbor or if by love we mean not hurting them or respecting boundaries. The people of Israel were given laws of great exactness and explicitness. There were rules for every occasion and one would know where she or he stood in relationship with the “terrible and One God”. Jesus seems to leave it to us to figure out who is the neighbor and how to love them. Jesus knows well that we too know well the invitation to love. The truth really is that we do know, but we do not like to think about it too much. We will never know exactly how we are doing and perhaps this is the important invitation to faith. Loving God is not having emotional or bodily reactions. Loving the One God is allowing that God to love this one person, who I am and receiving both me and God’s love as one act.

Just an observation before I end this. It seems that those who receive themselves gratefully, as loved of God and loved by others, are more free to love others as they love themselves. They do not seem to want to argue about just exactly what does “neighbor” mean, or “all” , or “mind”, “soul”, “strength”, and “heart”. They seem to receive their being loved easily and to share that easily with “those others”, the “neighbor”. The challenge of this Gospel story and the entire life, death, and resurrection of Jesus is whether we can let go of the necessity for reasonable answers to our big questions. What is a necessity is for us to get on with living the Eucharist and all it means for us and our neighbors. So now, go wash your hands.

"May you live all the days of your life."

You wonder sometimes which is more disheartening: the content of television shows or the number of us who lie mesmerized by them. While there seems to be a proliferation of new sports or physical activities, you wonder sometimes if that just means there are more things that we can watch. Are we more involved in life and the world around us or less? Critics of the age have pointed the finger at consumerism as our besetting vice. If it's not our own vice, it's certainly a temptation for all of us. If, along with consumerism, we take our frequent willingness to be entertained rather than to do anything, we could probably name our chief vice passivity. Counter to this is a spirit that sees life and its swiftly passing moments as opportunities that urge us to act, to do. An often quoted Irish toast goes: "May you live all the days of your life." Living here evidently means more than just surviving or existing; it means we consciously use our moments, our breath, our wondrous opportunities to do something more demanding than watching others get their exercise or simply taking in what technology offers. The people around us, from family to friends, especially benefit from our active interest and love, and, I suspect, most of us would feel some pulsating meaning and point to life, too, as a result.