A 29 Sun 14 (Mt 22:15-21)

A 29 Sun 14 (Mt 22:15-21)

The question about paying the census tax to Caesar is the first of four consecutive questions in this section of Matthew’s gospel, each with a different focus. This first question focuses on a point of law, and creates what appears to be an inescapable dilemma for Jesus.  It appears that no matter how he answers the question, Jesus is going to run afoul of the law, either the Roman law or the Mosaic Law.

On the one hand, if Jesus answers that the tax SHOULD NOT be paid, his response violates Roman law.  This might win approval from the Israelites who oppose the tax, but his answer renders Jesus an enemy of the state.  The fallout for Jesus can only be imagined.

On the other hand, if he answers that the tax SHOULD BE paid, his response violates Mosaic Law.  This violation would stem from a scripture passage found in the Book of Deuteronomy that prohibits using one's wealth to serve other gods (8:17-19).  Since Caesar was viewed by Roman society as a divine being, paying the tax would violate this passage from Deuteronomy.  Any interpretation of scripture that Jesus provides, however, only raises the further question of whether he had the authority to interpret scripture at all (Mt. 21:23-27).  

According to the custom at the time, the authority to interpret scripture belonged only to an ordained Rabbi (Daube pp. 207-11).  Since Jesus did not enjoy this official status, if he claimed that scripture prohibited payment of the tax, his claim would be viewed as coming from a false prophet, and therefore not worthy of belief.

Thus, no matter how Jesus answers the question about paying the census tax to Caesar, he is not going to fare well according to the law, or so the Pharisees thought.  In fact, however, Jesus unravels this dilemma by responding with a question to the Pharisees.  Rather than answer them outright, Jesus asks the Pharisees about the image that appears on the coin.  The image in turn becomes the basis for his claim that one should give to Caesar what belongs to him, and to God what belongs to God. 

The key in this strategy is the function of the image.  If Caesar’s image marks out what belongs to him, it follows that the image of God marks out what belongs to God.  The crowds were amazed at this response because they knew very well that the whole human race bears the image of God.  For, they would have known from the Book of Genesis alone that each of us is made in the image and likeness of God (Gen 1:26).  Thus, we all belong to God, including—of all ironies—Caesar himself.    

This response, however, leaves open the question of what precisely we are to give to God.  If our entire selves already belong to God, how can we give ourselves to God?  One way to answer is to say that our true identity, our true selves, indeed our true happiness, lies in our willingness to mirror the image of God in the way we live our lives.  To put it another way, since God is holy, we are called to mirror the holiness of God in our daily lives.  But, is this doable? 

There are those who claim that “the term ‘holy’ in the proper sense is appropriate only to God.  It designates the absolute otherness of God. God is utterly different from the world and from anything in the world, cannot be defined by any human idea, cannot be measured by any worldly standard, cannot be controlled by any human desire” (“The Idea of the Holy” pp. 25-30). In other words, God is so different from us that we cannot possibly understand his holiness, and therefore cannot mirror his holiness in our lives. 

Jesus would likely respond that this idea misses the mark entirely.  Jesus himself speaks of God in very human terms, even calling him “daddy” and suggests that we do the same.  If we could not understand the holiness of God, there would be no sense in the instruction that God gives to his people:  “Be holy because I am holy” (Lv 20:26; 1 Pt 1:16).

Jesus adds insight to this instruction when he says to his followers, “Be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Mt 5:48). Jesus spoke about the perfection of God in the context of love.  From this perspective, to say that God is holy is to say that God is always true to himself, or in human terms, is a person of integrity.  That is, God is always and never anything but God, and all that God does is always and completely consistent with who God is, namely, love.  I AM who I AM, God tells Moses (Ex 3:14). God always loves, always tells the truth, always does good, always creates beauty, is always joyful and faithful because God is love, God is truth, God is beauty, God is unity, God is good, God is Holy. In short, we can understand the holiness of God as the principle of love.   

Because God is holy and since we share in the image of his nature, God invites us to be holy as well.  We are not alone in our response to the invitation of the one true God, however.  For, when we say in our Profession of Faith, “I believe in the Holy Spirit,” we are saying that we believe the Holy Spirit is a powerful creator who intervenes in the physical nature of human beings, and helps us do things that we cannot do alone. 

We believe that the Holy Spirit is the Great Inspirer, the Great Nudger, if you will, to live the life that Jesus would have us live.  This is nothing other than life in the Spirit.  If we live in the Spirit, as St. Paul says in his letter to the Galatians, then let us follow the Spirit’s lead so as to live a holy life (5:25).

A 25 14 (MT 20:1-16a)

A 25 14 (MT 20:1-16a)

     I recently saw an interesting episode of Brain Games on TV.  The episode involved an experiment with two monkeys placed in separate cages next to each other.  Each monkey had a clear view of the other.  As each completed a certain task, the moderator gave a treat to that monkey.  One monkey received a piece of cucumber as a reward, while the other received a juicy, sweet grape. Because neither monkey noticed this difference in rewards, each one accepted the reward offered with gratitude and without complaint.

     Not long after the experiment was underway, however, the cucumber monkey noticed that the other monkey was getting a sweet grape, while all he got was a piece of sour cucumber.  This made the cucumber monkey jealous toward the other monkey.   As a result, he immediately let the moderator know that he too wanted the grape, but the moderator denied his request and did not give him the grape.  This denial agitated the cucumber monkey, who then banged his cage in anger and threw the piece of cucumber back out at the moderator.  He wanted nothing less than a juicy, sweet grape for his effort. 

     As explained by the moderator, this experiment shows that jealousy and anger are primitive emotions.  The parable in today’s gospel shows that this holds true for humans as well.  The parable and experiment both also bring to light how jealousy comes about in the first place.  All jealousy starts with a comparison.  We compare our situation with that of someone else.  When that comparison leads us to conclude that we have been cheated out of what we deserve in comparison to what someone else has, the green-eyed monster rears its ugly head.  We feel jealous toward that other person, and jealousy often leads to anger or worse.

     Notice in the parable that, as long as the first workers were unaware that the last workers would receive the same pay, the first workers were satisfied with their agreement.  Just like the cucumber monkey in the experiment, they accepted the usual daily wage with no complaint.  As soon as they became aware, however, that the last workers would receive the same pay for doing less work, their comparison led them to conclude that they were getting the short end of the stick.  They felt cheated and jealous.  From their perspective, they deserved more because they had done more. 

     Their jealousy pushed them to express anger and indignation toward their employer for what they perceived to be an injustice.  Rather than giving them more pay, however, the employer rebuked them.  He made no apologies for his generosity.  From his perspective, he owed no other explanation, and gave none.

     The parable ends on that rather harsh note, but perhaps one practical takeaway is this.  Comparisons often lead to jealousy, and jealousy does not bring about anything good.  I doubt that we can avoid making comparisons, however.  We learn very early to compare ourselves with others.  The result is not always positive, but it can be useful, if we are cautious.  At the very least, we ought to be careful about how far we let comparisons take us.  The outcome to avoid is feeling jealous as a result of that comparison.  The employer’s rebuke in the parable seems to suggest that this is indeed possible. 

     On a spiritual level, the parable reveals much more.  For one, it reveals a difference between fairness on a human level as compared to fairness on God’s level.  This is the lesson in the first reading from Isaiah:  “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord.”  We tend to think of fairness in terms of productivity and merit.  We get what we deserve and we deserve what we have earned.  Unfortunately, we tend to think this way even when it comes to the kingdom of God.  We often think we earn our way to the kingdom through our own dint of effort.     
     The parable shows that God, however, judges fairness in terms of faithfulness.  The common factor among all of the workers—from the first to the last—is that each did what was asked.  Each worked for the length of time requested for the pay agreed upon.  They were all faithful servants in that respect.  As a result, not one was cheated.  They all received the pay that they were promised for the work that they did.

     Perhaps the spiritual take away is this.  God does not look for grandiose effort on our part as a condition of our participation in the kingdom.  Rather, he looks for faithfulness to his word.  In other words, we can stop acting like jealous monkeys.  Rather than begrudge the grapes that our neighbors receive, we can celebrate their successes and be grateful for our own gifts.  This is what God asks from each of us.                                        

A 20 Sun 14 (Mt. 15:21-28)

A 20 Sun 14  (Mt. 15:21-28)

            The story in today’s gospel is about faith and trust in God’s mercy.  The woman in the story is at her wits end.  She has no further means to help her afflicted daughter.  She is in desperate need of divine assistance and courageously begs Jesus for mercy. 

            She is not at all put off by the disciples who would have Jesus make her go away.  Instead, she approaches Jesus with gritty faith and complete trust that he is the one who can and will heal her daughter.  The story ends on a positive note because Jesus fulfills the Canaanite woman’s request.  He does so, however, only after she unravels a dilemma for him.

            Jesus presents the woman with a dilemma when he in effect says to her, what can I do?  My hands are tied.  My ministry is to the lost sheep of Israel.  Fulfilling your request would be like giving the bread of children to dogs under the table.

            And, then he waits.   Jesus does not dismiss the woman, nor does say that he will not fulfill her request.  Rather, he engages her in conversation, and invites her to respond to his dilemma.  Jesus waits for her response, because how she responds will be a measure of her faith. 

            This requirement that Jesus levies on the Canaanite woman is a very different approach than Jesus had taken earlier with the Centurion.  Earlier, the Centurion had asked Jesus to heal his servant—not his daughter, but a mere servant (Mt. 8:5-13).  And like the Canaanite woman, the Centurion also did not belong to the house of Israel.  And yet, when the Centurion asks Jesus to heal his servant, Jesus responds without hesitation, and heals the servant immediately.  Jesus imposes no conditions on the centurion’s request.  But when the Canaanite woman makes her request, Jesus hesitates.  He does not heal her daughter without first asking her to solve his dilemma.

            Such a difference violates an ordinary sense of fairness.  Even so, it seems compatible with what St. Paul says in his letter to the Romans about receiving the mercy of God.  In that letter, Paul reminds us of what God said to Moses: “I will show mercy to whom I will; I will take pity on whom I will.”  From this, Paul concludes that God’s mercy does not depend upon a person's will or exertion, but upon God’s own judgment (Rm. 9:15-16). 

            What then motivates God to show mercy?  Should we say that the woman gets the mercy she wants because she has pluck?  Mercy on those terms could be understood as a reward that one bargains for with courage and determination.  The disciples who were traveling with Jesus at the time displayed this level of understanding.  They asked Jesus to heal the woman so that she would go away and stop bothering them.  They wanted to rid themselves of an irritation through the magic of God’s mercy.  Perhaps a more timid and less determined soul would have come away empty handed. 

            But, Jesus would have none of this reasoning.  Jesus develops a deeper understanding of God’s mercy.  He reminds the disciples that his mission is to the lost sheep of Israel.  This reference indicates that neither his mission nor God’s mercy are subject to whimsy and control.  God’s mercy is not a bargaining chip for the shrewd.  Something much more profound is at stake, namely, the relationship between God and his people.  Jesus aims to show that belonging to the house of Israel is not a birthright.  Rather, it is a matter of faith and trust.  Thus, the mercy of God is likewise a matter of faith as well as trust in the love of God.  

            This is exactly the point that Jesus develops by deliberately engaging the Canaanite woman in conversation.  Despite what some have claimed, Jesus does not use the occasion to call this Gentile woman a dog.  Rather, he takes this opportunity to demonstrate for the disciples that faith and trust are central to God’s mercy.  This is why Jesus presents the woman with a riddle to resolve. 

            And, resolve it she does.  Her response that even dogs eat the crumbs that fall from the table reveals a profound understanding of God’s mercy.  Through her own faith and trust in God, she reveals that love is the true impetus behind the mercy of God.  In other words, you feed dogs because you love them. We cast our cares upon God because God loves us and he generously responds to our faith and trust (1 Pt. 5:7).

             Her response virtually overwhelms Jesus.  He acknowledges her faith with emotion:  “O woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.”  Jesus endorses the way she unravels the dilemma because it demonstrates that the mercy of God stems from a living communion with the God of love (Dulles).  This is what prompts the Psalmist to declare, “As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on the faithful” (Ps. 103:13).

            We can trust God’s compassion and mercy, even though we know that God does not always answer our prayers in the way we want or as fast as we want.  Yet, we can be sure that when we ask, we shall receive.  That is the nature of faith.  We can also be sure that whatever we receive will be for our good.  That is the nature of love. 

Corpus Christi

John 6:51-58

Hunger and thirst are powerful forces.  Either one alone can shape our journey or impede it.  Either one alone can mean the difference between life and death.  This is true on a physical level as much as a spiritual level.  The readings for today contain some rather astonishing claims that speak to a profound spiritual hunger and thirst that we all have.  Moses claims that we need God's word as much as we need food to live.  Paul claims that we are literally bound together as one body when we partake of the one loaf.  Jesus claims that his body and blood are true food and true drink and the very source of eternal life.

Indeed, the gospel readings for the past several weeks show that Jesus recognizes and speaks to our spiritual hunger, and that he longs to nourish our spiritual needs. To demonstrate this point, Jesus often uses dramatic language in revealing the purpose of his life and mission.  He once described himself as the light of the world (Jn 8:12).  Another time, he described himself as the way, the truth and the life (Jn14:6).  Yet another time, Jesus referred to himself as the true vine and his followers as the true branches (Jn 15:1-5).  Those who heard such talk did not think Jesus was speaking literally.  They understood and accepted his language as nothing more than analogy, a comparison, for the sake of revelation.  

When Jesus referred to himself as the bread of life come down from heaven, however, many had a very different response.  In fact, many went away in disbelief when Jesus claimed that, “unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you do not have life within you. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him on the last day” (Jn 6:53-55). Many disciples also found this teaching too difficult, and they “returned to their former way of life and no longer accompanied him” (Jn 6:66).

This is a puzzling response from the very disciples who were also witness to some astonishing miracles by Jesus—feeding the multitude with a few loaves of bread and some fish, raising the dead, driving out demons, curing the lame and disabled.  Thus the difficulty these disciples had with the bread of life teaching was NOT because they misunderstood Jesus’ ability to make good on his claim.  Rather, the disciples had difficulty because they knew that Jesus was no longer speaking allegorically.  They knew he was speaking in a literal sense.  From their perspective, Jesus had crossed the line.

Jesus crossed the line with the promise of eternal life to those who ate his flesh and drank his blood.  Some of the disciples objected to this promise because, in their view, only God is the source of life.  Thus, for Jesus to claim that he too could give eternal life through his own body and blood was tantamount to claiming that he was God.  And that claim, as far as some of the disciples were concerned, was blasphemy. This perceived blasphemy is why many of the disciples objected to his promise and abandoned Jesus.

The Twelve, however, that small band of loyal followers, remained with Jesus.  They remained because they believed that Jesus was the “Holy One of God” (Jn 6:69; cf. Mt 16:21, Mk 8:29, Lk 9:20).  When Jesus asks the Twelve whether they too want to leave, Peter’s response demonstrates the basis of their loyalty: “Master, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life” (Jn 6:67-68). This response gives no indication, however, that the Twelve found the “bread of life” teaching any less radical than those who left.

 

The picture that emerges at the Last Supper, however, is quite different.  When the disciples gather with Jesus for the last time in the Upper Room and hear him declare that the bread and wine are his body and blood, they express no doubt or astonishment over his words and actions.  Nor is there any suggestion that any of them abandoned Jesus at this time.  In fact, Scripture suggests that the only concern of the disciples at this time was the fear of being accused as the betrayer of Jesus.

 

The contrast between the first and last reactions of the disciples to the bread of life teaching reflects a gradual, yet remarkable, transformation in perception and belief.    Their transformation suggests that perceiving Jesus in the Eucharist, as well as perceiving Jesus in others, is a gradual consequence of spiritual nourishment that takes place over time.

The lesson for us is clear.  When Jesus said, “I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me will never hunger, and whoever believes in me will never thirst” (Jn6:35), he in fact claims that he can nourish our spirits, that he can give life to our souls.  He claims that he is enough for all.

The difficulty for many today is that we doubt this possibility.  We do not know how to find genuine nourishment.  We look for it in the wrong places.  We spend our spiritual coin for what is not bread; our wages for what fails to satisfy.  Many of us live in spiritual poverty.  We have nothing to eat or drink.  We are not satisfied.

Yet, the Lord Jesus calls us out of our poverty.  He invites all of us to come to his banquet.  All we have to do is bring our hunger and our thirst to him and do as he says.  When we bring what we have to Christ—our needs and ourselves—and unite them to him, Christ becomes the foundation of our lives and he changes us.

 

Our relationship with Jesus then motivates us to imitate what he says and how he acts.  When we put on the mind of Christ, as St. Paul instructs us, we find reason and desire to share our gifts with others in a spirit of love.  We find reason to live the truth in love.  When we take Jesus into our hearts through word and sacrament, we become what he is, and our eternal life begins here and now.