Ordinary Time

Dec 12 2024

Making Compassion Our Passion

I hold my granddaughter, two months old, and gaze into her eyes. From deep in my stomach, warmth and tenderness rise up within me. I am flooded with love. My ribcage swells. I do not know where this marvel comes from. But at this moment, this tiny child is precious to me.

Preciousness—that is what ties today’s three parables together. A shepherd has lost one sheep. That sheep is precious in his eyes. He is willing to leave ninety-nine others to go look for the lost one. A woman searches for her lost coin—it may not be the money she loves but the food that it will buy for her precious children.

And the father of the prodigal son? He once also held that babe in his arms. He once gazed into his newborn eyes. Now this boy has grown and gone. The father waits. When he sees him again, tender affection rises from the bowels of his being. Compassion, warmth, inner yearning—he is flooded with joy. His precious child is home.

Compassion is defined as an inner flooding of love, a tenderness in the bowels of our being. Have you felt that? And yet, the compassion that you and I may feel—it is only a drop compared to the flood of warmth that the living God has for you and for me. We are God’s beloved children.

But . . . how much do we absorb that care? Like the prodigal son, we may roam through life looking for love. We may squander our days to confirm that we matter. We may wrangle with others for power to prove our worth. It happens in nations, in businesses, in institutions, in churches, in families. We want to be treasured. We strive to matter. We seek to be loved.

Yet . . . at the same time . . . precious . . . treasured . . . wanted . . . While we wander, Love awaits.

Love waits, with open arms, for us to come home.

Consider/Discuss

While I was pondering the preciousness of the prodigal son, I looked at the brokenness of our world. Why is it as it is? What happens to children? Where does their innocence go? At what point do we get so broken? What if . . . what if . . . what if . . . we could somehow internalize how precious we are in God’s eyes, as newborns in the arms of a loving parent, allowing ourselves to be held? How would that sense of preciousness enable us to enter into life differently?
The Greek word for compassion means to be moved from one’s innards, a tender affection that arises from the bowels of our being. Jesus is often described as having compassion. What if you and I could see the world as Jesus does—see how very treasured is the “other”? How would that sense of the preciousness of the “other” affect how we treat one another, whether spouse or child or student or neighbor or immigrant or . . . ? Today, in what concrete way could you say to another, “You are precious to me”?

Living and Praying with the Word

Lord, you created each of us. As babies we started life so innocently. What happened? Do you weep as you watch the traumas that change us as we grow? Does it pain you to see the bitterness and discouragement and hardness that we pick up? You treasure us. You want us. You see us as precious. But we do not always internalize that. This moment, send your Spirit upon us. Help us come to our senses, to come home to you. We have wandered far, looking for validation in other places. Open our hearts to the flood of your compassion. Help us to feel your pleasure and your joy as we come home to you. Come, Holy Spirit, come! Lead us home.

Dec 12 2024

Scripture Study for

The dialogue between Moses and God takes place immediately after Israel makes the golden calf (Exodus 32:1–6). The depth of God’s anger at Israel’s betrayal of the covenant relationship, and so soon after it was established, is signaled by his statement to Moses that they are “your people, whom you brought out of the land of Egypt.” God no longer recognizes Israel as God’s own people, despite the fact that they are clearly cherished as such (3:7; 6:7). Moses refuses to let God’s anger prevail, replying that no, in fact, they are God’s people whom God redeemed. He also reminds God of the unconditional promises to the ancestors. The deeper point of this imaginative scene is that Israel is forgiven (and the relationship saved) not because they deserve it, but solely because of God’s trustworthiness, integrity, and desire that Israel be “my people.”

The central theme of both of the Letters to Timothy is the importance of sound Christian doctrine and the necessity of combating attempts to inculcate new Christians with false doctrines, such as Gnosticism. After broaching this subject with Timothy, Paul alludes to one of those central, sound doctrines, which is “trustworthy and deserves full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.” The story of Paul himself is witness to this truth. Although once one of the worst sinners (Acts 26:9–11), he was nevertheless “mercifully treated,” so that Christ could make clear that no one is outside the bounds of his saving grace. Thus anyone, no matter how great a sinner, who looks at Paul’s example and believes in Christ has reason for hope. This saving truth redounds entirely to the honor and glory of God.

The complaint of the Pharisees and scribes about Jesus’ association with public sinners reflects the biblical admonition to avoid associating with sinners so as not to become like them (Psalms 1:11; 26:4–5). The actions of Jesus reflect another biblical theme, which is God’s desire for the repentance and conversion of sinners, all of whom God loves, so that they may be saved and not “die” (Ezekiel 18:23, 32; Wisdom 11:22 — 12:2). All three parables make two things clear. First, God actively seeks out sinners so as to bring them “back into the fold.” God does not remain aloof from those who have chosen a dangerous path. Second, God does not therefore condone sin; repentance is required. But that repentance, and the sinner, are met with great joy, for nothing pleases God more than a sinner who has chosen life over death, over being found to being lost. (For commentary on the parable of the prodigal son, see Fourth Sunday of Lent, p. 96, in this volume.)

Dec 11 2024

We Didn’t Start the Fire . . . But We Keep It Going

I built many fires during the COVID-19 pandemic. In mid-January of 2021, when it was twenty degrees outside, how else were my students and I to stay warm in my Michigan backyard during spiritual direction? Those bonfires were big! Each started with a spark from a match. The spark caught the rolled-up newspaper, which then ignited the walnut sticks and the oak kindling. Flames shot up. The light was bright. I threw on oak and cherry. Loads of logs later, a pile of coals began to glow and glimmer. Only then did we begin to get warm from the fire’s heat.

The author of Luke/Acts might tell you that discipleship is like that fire. In the early days of the church, the spark of the Spirit ignited the apostles at Pentecost. The gospel shot out to the ends of the earth in a bright flare. Jesus’ followers glowed with the light of love. Folks burned with the faith and the flame grew.

By the time that Luke was old, loads of logs had been thrown on that fire: his companion Paul had been killed, Peter had been crucified. Stories of martyrs spread: tales of those who gave up family, reports of those who gave up possessions, legends of those who gave their lives in allegiance to that Name. The flame of faith glowed from the coals of martyrdom. And that fire warmed the world.

People began to ask, Who is this man Jesus whose followers are willing to die for him? Who is this Holy Spirit who ignites such courage in such ordinary folks?

Luke had to make Jesus’ story known. He had seen the Holy Spirit transform believers. Those early years of enthusiasm had matured into glowing coals of martyrdom. The message? Follow Jesus. Take the path of the cross. Know that it was costly for Jesus. Know that it will be costly for you. Count that cost. Know that it could mean your life. Follow anyway.

Consider/Discuss

To us in the twenty-first century, Jesus’ conditions for discipleship in Luke’s Gospel might seem harsh: give up family, possessions, life. To the first-century Christians, it was the reality of their lives. By the time that Luke wrote it down, it had become their history. In our time and place, what does committed discipleship look like? What does total allegiance to Jesus cost us?
We cannot conform ourselves to God’s will on our own strength. When have you felt the warmth of the Holy Spirit empowering you to be more than you thought you could be? How have you experienced the power of prayer to fuel that flame more brightly?

Living and Praying with the Word

Lord, you ask much. At the same time, you give much. We are not abandoned to our own devices. Spirit of love, enflame our hearts for courage and bravery and strength. Lead us higher, lead us to be who you want us to be. You ask us to count the cost. You ask us to be willing to follow you no matter the cost. We want to do that. We give ourselves to you again this day. Thank you for firing our hearts and leading us forward.

Dec 11 2024

Scripture Study for

The Bible tells us that when he became king, Solomon prayed to God to give him wisdom, that he might have a “listening heart to judge your people. . . . For who is able to give judgment for this vast people of yours?” (1 Kings 3:4–9). In the book of Wisdom we are given an extended version of this prayer, in which Solomon asks God, “Who understands what is pleasing in your eyes and what is conformable with your will?” (9:9). Today’s reading continues that prayer, the point of which is that without the wisdom that comes from God as a gift of the Holy Spirit (9:6,17), humans are crippled in their ability to understand reality. If they have trouble figuring out the natural and human world, how can they possibly know the ways of God without the gift of wisdom, which is freely given to anyone who seeks it earnestly?

Here is what we are able to discern about Philemon, Onesimus, and Paul from this very short letter. Onesimus is a slave of Philemon and has, apparently, run away and ended up with Paul, who is in prison. There he has been baptized by Paul, so that Paul can call Onesimus his “child” and himself his “father.” Paul is now sending Onesimus back to Philemon, a fellow Christian, with the hope that the latter will free the slave and send him back to Paul. The Apostle does not want to command anything of Philemon, but he hopes that he will do the right thing once he realizes that Onesimus is now his “brother,” not only as a fellow human being but especially as a fellow Christian. Paul expects Philemon to recognize that Christians cannot relate to one another according to the world’s standards.

Jesus returns to an earlier point about commitment to discipleship (Luke 9:51–62) to make things perfectly clear: not even family, not even one’s own life must take precedence over Jesus. The word translated “hate” here should rather be rendered “deny” or “give up.” Jesus gives his reason for this through two examples, both of which highlight the need to be fully prepared before one begins a major project. It is notable that in both examples, preparation means adequately supplying oneself with money or people, whereas Jesus concludes what seems to be the opposite: to prepare to follow him, one must get rid of everything. This is a paradox, because by giving up everything, one gathers to oneself the interior and exterior freedom to give oneself completely to Christ.

Dec 11 2024

Jockeying for Position

It goes on everywhere. I have seen it at conferences. I have seen it at the beginning of the academic year: graduate students jockeying for position—smiles and handshakes, determining which professors are most important, the big name who will advance their career. I have seen it in donor relations: wealthy and powerful people are flattered and pampered by those who want their money or a favor from their position. People worth knowing are connections worth cultivating.

A friend got in the elevator with a student. He asked her ingratiatingly, “What do you teach?” She said, “I am the administrative assistant for . . . ” He turned his shoulder and did not speak to her for the rest of the ride up. She became invisible. She was not worth knowing.

This is not new. Jesus saw that same jockeying for position at the dinner of the prominent Pharisee. He was a lowly Galilean. Why had he been invited? Galileans were hillbillies from “up north,” outsiders, those whose friendship was not worth cultivating. Jesus had spent his life among those who were socially “low.” What did the Pharisee hope to gain from him?

We could spiritualize Jesus’ parable into the importance of considering oneself “low, humble, and unimportant.” But that could also lead to the crippling pride of false humility. “The one who humbles himself will be exalted” can also be used to manipulate, in seeking spiritual gain.

So how do we be true?

Jesus doesn’t tell his host to give way all he has and become financially poor. He tells him to use his position generously: serve the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind, those who cannot repay you. Use your power and privilege for good.

In God’s eyes, all people are worth knowing—and not just for what you can get.

Consider/Discuss

We are perhaps all guilty of using others in some way. Parents may use their children to bolster their own prestige; employers may use their employees to make themselves look good; club leaders may use their power to sway members to their position; students may use teachers as sources of good grades, etc. It is everywhere. Think about where you have power or privilege or influence. How do you use it? How could you use that which God has given you to further the common good?

The reading from Sirach encourages the virtue of humility. The word humility comes from the same root as humus, the decayed surface layer of the soil. The junk of life—the sufferings, the struggles and the difficulties— works within us so that we see ourselves aright. We are needy and empty before God. All the good that we have is a gift. What did you once take for granted as your due, which you don’t take for granted anymore? How has suffering taught you to be more humble and compassionate?

Living and Praying with the Word

Lord, have mercy on us! We want to be good and humble and true. Yet it is so hard. It seems to run against our human nature. We are competitive. We jockey for position. We strive to be important. You know us. You know our hearts. You know our desires. We are such a mixture of motives. Even when we work to be good, there may be a shade of showmanship in that. Lord, help us! This day, just for today, help us to be truly good to others and true to you. Only you are good and holy and pure. Send us your Spirit so that we may imitate you more closely.