5th Sunday of Lent B - Homily 3

Homily 3 - 2012

I was lucky to study in Rome for six years. During the summer breaks from the University each year, we used to go, as a College, to a villa at Castelgandolfo, where we shared a common fence with the papal villa next door. During the month or so that the Pope was in residence there, he would give a weekly audience to pilgrims in the courtyard of his villa. I went along once to see him.  [It was Pius XII in those days.] That was enough for me. But I remember that a few of my fellow students would go along faithfully every week to the audience. They "wanted to see" the Pope. 

I wonder if the Greek pilgrims in today's Gospel passage who wanted to see Jesus were like my fellow students. Or were they like the two disciples of the Baptist, [mentioned in the first chapter of John's Gospel], who, one day, down by the Jordan River, followed Jesus? Remember the story? Jesus turned and asked them: What do you want? They replied:  Where do you live? Jesus answered: Come and see. And the Gospel author commented: They came and saw - and stayed.   

We want to see Jesus. Is that where you're at? Is that why you are here today, celebrating Eucharist? And where along the spectrum would you place yourself? - content simply to be present, to see him, as it were, like my fellow students seeing the Pope? - or like those former disciples of the Baptist who came and saw and stayed? Do you want  to get close to Jesus? to know him well? to develop a real intimate friendship? 

Today's Gospel finished with the comment: When I am lifted up from the earth, I shall draw all to myself. Where was that coming from? Does Jesus want to draw us all to himself? … And why? A bit of an ego-trip, like a lot of celebrities? Or does he want to draw us into deep friendship, deep relationship, with himself? Why would he want to draw me? Why would he want to draw you to himself? Do we matter that much? Is that why he died – to draw us close to himself? It seems so. When I am lifted up from the earth, I shall draw all to myself.  

When you look at a crucifix thoughtfully, what effect does it have on you? I know that at one stage in my life, I had to get rid of a lot of unhelpful baggage. During my early years  particularly, at mission after mission, [and probably at other times, too], I would hear the message: "After all that suffering that Jesus endured for me, how could I be so ungrateful, and so uncaring, as to sin deliberately and make him suffer?" I think I was being manipulated… And it confused me – using Jesus' suffering to get me to conform. It didn't set me free, just locked me in to useless remorse; hardly drew me closer, more trustfully, more hopefully, to himself. When you look thoughtfully at a crucifix, do you feel that Jesus is shaming you? Or is he telling you you're worth it? you're precious? he'd do it again for you, if necessary? 

What might Jesus' being lifted up show us? Obviously, it revealed the hostility, the violence, the blindness, the self-righteousness, the cowardice, the treachery, the callous indifference of a whole lot of different people. It raises the question: Were those directly involved particularly evil? Or are we all pretty much the same? just scratch the surface and see [or suspect] what's underneath. But Jesus' being lifted up shows us more. He consciously and deliberately accepted being tortured and murdered. He did it because of his consistent choice to love and to forgive a world that is hostile, violent, blind, self-righteous, cowardly, treacherous and callously indifferent. Recognising guilt yet knowing we are loved is world's apart from shame and remorse. 

If we look long enough, we find that his unshakeable love for us sets us free to see and to admit to our hearts of stone. It stirs us freely to want to be different. As we let that love slowly soak into our hearts, we find that it changes us; it empowers us. We are not only drawn to him. We learn to love and be gentle with ourselves. We are drawn, too, to each other, even, sometimes, to our enemies. 

When I am lifted up, I shall draw all to myself.