20th Sunday Year A - Homily 4

Homily 4 - 2014

There is not much happening in my life at the moment – just business as usual. So my focus goes easily to what the media have been presenting – the tragic inhumanity happening in Iraq, Israel and Gaza, and elsewhere. Some of you might have seen Monday night’s Compass program relentlessly highlighting the tragic mistakes made by Church leadership in the whole matter of clergy sexual abuse. During the week there was the heated argument whether the poor will suffer more than the rich from the renewal of the fuel subsidy. Then the issues surrounding the surrogate motherhood of the Thai woman and the fate of little Gammy, the Downs syndrome twin. It is so comfortable and reassuring for me to be able to sit back cynically and to pass judgment; and the more I consider I know the Gospel, the more self-righteous and reassured I can feel.

Then I read today’s Gospel; and scratch my head … and my spontaneous reaction is to continue to pass judgment. But then, something else stirs, and a quiet voice insists: “Forget about judging others. How does today’s Gospel throw light on my life today in mid-August 2014? How might it put me in touch with the way that the Kingdom of God is working itself out as good news in my life right now?” I am not sure of the answers. Eyes that fail to see, and ears that fail to hear are not restricted to the Galilean crowds of Jesus’ day. Who is the Gospel passage about? the mother with the relentlessly fierce love for her daughter? the disciples who wanted Jesus to shut her up because she was such an embarrassment? or Jesus whose first reaction seemed so utterly heartless? And how might all that help me to find deeper insight or interest or energy?

The woman’s care for her daughter fascinates me. Not that it is unique. I presume most mothers would relate to it. Would it not be a wonderful world if that depth of love were shared by everybody, and not just for children and family, but for everyone? Such love would inevitably involve the deep desire also for justice; and would be open to the collaborative and enlightened search for ways in which it might take shape in practice. There is little I can do to change others. I can ask myself whether I would like to love like that – love anyone, everyone, indiscriminately and without judging? But sadly I cannot make that happen either.

Is that the end of the story? I do not believe it is. By the end of his life, Jesus faced death by crucifixion – dying for anyone, everyone, indiscriminately. Was his love as fierce as that womb-love evidenced in the woman of today’s story? It did not seem to be obvious at the start of the story – quite the opposite. Jesus’ attitude seemed more a classic example of us/them, in-group/out-group. Did Jesus change? Did he really allow his recognition of the pagan woman’s faith to expand an earlier prejudiced attitude? Did he really grow in wisdom and age and grace [as stated elsewhere in one of the Gospels]? And, if he did, was there ever some stage when that process of growing came to an end? Referring to Jesus’ crucifixion, the Epistle to the Hebrews spoke of Jesus still learning … and becoming perfect through suffering.

Might today’s Gospel be inviting me not to give up hope, to keep allowing God’s grace to work away sensitising and empowering me, even though I am running out of time? Might I still learn to see people, more often, with compassion, and not with judgment? Might I peacefully accept that I cannot make it happen; and yet live in hope of God’s gift, and rejoice and be grateful for those occasions when grace does seem to strike unexpectedly out-of-the-blue?