Sunday, February 24, 2019

Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle C


Luke 6:27 - 38
Many years ago when we lived in Buffalo, I was a young physician and we only had four children. Joan and I went on a little Sunday afternoon car trip along the south shore of Lake Ontario. We were enjoying the countryside when our Rambler American decided to die, and we didn't have cell phones in those days, so I went across the road and knocked on someone's door. I explained that my family and I were stranded and could I use the phone to call the American Automobile Association? I was invited in and told to invite may family as well. While I was calling triple A our hostess offered my kids something to drink and handed out a few cookies. As we waited for the AAA to arrive, I got into a conversation with my host who was a retired judge. The triple A truck arrived, checked out the car, and told me that they could only bring it to a local mechanic, but this being Sunday, nothing more could be done. As I was trying to figure out what to do next, the retired judge told me that I could borrow his car. He wouldn't allow me to leave my credit card with him; he told me he trusted me. With gratitude I loaded my family into the car and drove home. The next afternoon, having learned that my car was fixed, my wife and I went to pick up the car and drop the judge's car off. I sent him a thank-you note and never saw him again.
Today Jesus gives us a list of commands and admonitions. Love your enemies; bless those who curse you; give to everyone who begs from you; lend, expecting nothing in return. In other words, Jesus is saying, live so everyone will think you are a crazy person. And you don't do that and I don't do that and I'm pretty sure that the Pope doesn't live this way either. It isn't practical; if anyone were to follow Jesus' advice, he or she would end up pushing a stolen shopping cart full of their belongings around downtown Springfield. Unless of course one's relatives decided to commit you to a psychiatric hospital.
And Jesus reminds us that there is no credit in loving those who love you, or doing good to those who do good to you, because, he tells us, even sinners do that.
So how do we deal with this very troubling gospel? I'm not saying that living this way is difficult; I'm saying that it's impossible. Why would Jesus ask the impossible of us?
I think the clue is the statement He makes: “Your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High; for he is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.” When you think about it, Jesus is describing God the Father. When the actor Christian Baile thanked Satan for winning a Golden Globe award, the Father did not turn him into a pile of ash. When Governor Cuomo lights up the World Trade Center to celebrate the abortion law that allows non-physicians to do partial birth abortions on teenagers, the Father does not smite him with leprosy. And when Cardinal McCarrick is punished for his lifetime of preying on seminarians and other young men, he is given ample opportunity to repent and be open to the mercy of God.
When you and I were baptized, we became sons and daughters of the Father of Jesus Christ. Our Buddhist and Muslim and Jewish friends are children of God, no question. But we have a special relationship to Jesus, who invites us into the special relationship he has with the Father. And if we are brothers and sisters of Jesus by adoption through baptism, we, like Jesus, are called to show the Father to our brothers and sisters. Jesus did this. He told Philip, “If you have seen me, you have seen the Father.” And he gave himself up on the cross as an offering to the Father, as he spoke those words, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they are doing.”
The Father gives, expecting nothing in return. He gives because he is pure and infinite love. His gifts are not related to our goodness or our badness, for that matter. And he pours out his love without expecting anything in return, even to Satan and the poor damned souls who would rather spend eternity alone and proud rather than to surrender to his all-embracing love.
So, should we be doormats? Should we allow other people to steal us blind? Should we turn the other cheek? Maybe so, maybe not. But underneath all of what Jesus is saying is that we need to cultivate in ourselves an attitude of detachment – so that nothing anyone does to us causes us to hate, to desire revenge, to become angry and bitter. All of those emotions distract us from our real goal, which is to become more and more sons and daughters of the most High, people who have a family resemblance to their Father and their elder brother, Jesus. And the way we respond to those who are our enemies, those who hate us, those who want to treat us as something less than human, will be what makes us more or less sons and daughters of the Most High.
I told you about a retired judge who offered his car to a young family who were stranded on a country road, no questions asked. He didn't ask for identification; he didn't ask to hold on to my credit card. He didn't ask to keep one of my children as collateral even though my wife offered. And I'm not sure I could have done that, could you? But that's the kind of God we have, one who gives, expecting nothing in return; one who gives, despite the fact that we slap him in the face; one who gives and gives, and loves and loves, and dies for us, simply out of his great love for the creatures he has made and hold in existence.
I don't think I can consistently live the way Jesus is describing. Sometimes there are rare moments when I can, but most of the time, no. But when I feel that I am being slighted, when I feel that I am being taken advantage of, when I am disrespected, I remember that our Father in Heaven continues to love me unreservedly and give me all good things. And maybe there will be moments when I can be like my heavenly father – like the retired judge who gave his car to a stranger, asking nothing in return. And it is in those moments that I am most a child of my heavenly father.