4th Sunday Lent C - Homily 2

Homily 2 - 2010

Would it be true that most people, when they hear tonight’s Gospel Reading, think it a wonderful story? Sometimes I wonder: have they really heard it?

There are some who think that such forgiveness on God’s part is unfair, perhaps, even, irresponsible. Others are uncertain. Mercy is one thing – but there is also God’s justice. What about hell? or even Purgatory?

I suspect that in any average congregation there are a lot of people who have been hurt, some deeply hurt – (or, what is sometimes equally painful, parents or siblings or friends of innocent loved ones who have been deeply hurt): domestic violence, emotional violence, persistent humiliation or harassment, sexual abuse, trust betrayed – even by priests, shared hopes and dreams destroyed. Forgiveness of the guilty can seem like denial of the personal dignity of the violated.

It is worth remembering that Jesus did not address this story to victims, to people who were hurting. He told it to the self-styled holy ones, the righteous, who criticised him because, as the Gospel said, he welcomed sinners and ate with them. It’s a story, really, about the elder brother.

Jesus welcomed and ate with the ones whom society, somewhat selectively, marginalised and despised, and, in the process, effectively dehumanised.

Interestingly, these same self-styled holy ones would have no problem condemning Jesus as a destabilising influence, indeed, going as far as murder in order to remove him – and, in the process, considering themselves as piously doing the will of God.

Jesus did not put expectations on people who were deeply wounded. He did say: Come to me, all you who labour and are heavy burdened, and I will give you rest. Take up my yoke – that is, let’s suffer this violence of the world together, and learn from me, for I am meek – (that is, my response to violence is not more violence) and humble of heart – (that is, I am in touch with myself, neither in denial nor in selective indignation). When Jesus speaks of forgiveness, he is not imposing expectations but offering a way out of an otherwise crippling dead-end. 

The catch is, I think, that we don’t know what forgiveness means; and when we look at it from where we stand, it looks impossible, and, not only impossible, but unreasonable; and, as I said before, it can look like a betrayal of human dignity, almost a loss of identity.

So, what do we do in our pain, (or, even, in our self-righteousness)? Well, he did invite us to come to him, and to stand with him, together, under the yoke of our pain and indignation, and of the pain of the world we live in. That’s all. He would do the rest. He would empower us to learn from him.

I don’t think there is any other way. Somehow, he has to change us if we are ever to become free and unburdened. We can’t do it ourselves. We don’t even know what it involves. We have to learn it – from him. We simply come to him, carry our burden with him … and wait… and see what happens.

I think that that is what St Paul was referring to in tonight’s Second Reading, when he wrote: For anyone who is in Christ, there is a new creation: the old creation has gone, and now the new one is here. It is all God’s work … and the appeal that we make in Christ’s name is: be reconciled to God – that is, simply, let God love you.

Obviously, there is much more that needs to be said.