June 2016

When the Lord calls us and says, “Follow Me,” the response He is looking for is an immediate one. To the person who says, “Let me go and bury my father first,” Jesus’ reply is quite clear, “Leave the dead to bury their dead; your duty is to go and spread the news of the kingdom of God.” There is a popular hymn that uses words from this Gospel, “The foxes have their holes and the swallows have their nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay down.” Despite the cheerful tune, the message, if we think about it, is an alarming one. Jesus has nowhere to call His home.

If we understand Jesus properly there is no reason for us to fear. Jesus is telling His disciples that their bsiness is the proclamation of the kingdom of God. If it is their business that means it is our business, here and now. People can often forget that we are in this business together as brothers and sisters. People can sometimes think that they are not the worthy ones and a holier and more qualified person will come along. Jesus is telling us very clearly today that the proclamation of the kingdom is the business of all of us.

In this coming week, look at ways in which you are able to respond to the Lord’s call. Jesus has said to each and every one of us, “Follow Me,” and that is why you and I are here at Mass. Let’s not fall into the trap of waiting for a holier-looking person to come along. We ourselves, with God’s holy grace, are the people called by the Lord to follow Him. Whatever we may look like, whoever we may be, whether we receive recognition for it in this world or not, we are called to the business of proclaiming and building up the kingdom of God.

Today in the Gospel Jesus is invited to a meal by Simon the Pharisee, but once He is seated at table a woman with a bad reputation gatecrashes the party and starts behaving in what the other guests believe to be a very inappropriate manner. She begins weeping over Jesus’ feet. Imagine if that happened today. This sinful woman has been accepted, forgiven by Jesus. She reflects the abundant grace of God, which unexpectedly breaks through boundaries that hums beings see to impose. Simon the Pharisee, rather like older brother in the story of the prodigal son, doesn’t want to celebrate God’s unlimited forgiveness; he disapproves of it.

Christian communities can often respond as Simon did. We can disapprove of too much generosity, especially to people who seem to be breaking the rules all the time. We might have have a certainly sympathy with the village of hard-working peasants who turned away the ex-convict Jean Valjean because he represented too much of threat to their security. No doubt the bishop who gave him hospitality was seen as a silly old man who was out of touch with reality. God’s love seems disruptive and even dangerous. How else do we expect to overcome the divisions and hostilities that divide families, communities and nations in our world unless we allow God’s unlimited forgiveness to work in us, so we can witness to God’s healing love in our lives?

In the Gospel, even more than the first reading, the element of compassion is to the fore. As Jesus and His companions approach the little town of Nain, about 5 miles from Nazareth, another procession is making its way towards the city gate. It’s a funeral procession for a young man, the only son of a woman who has also lost her husband. She is alone and Jesus felt sorry for her; the meaning of the original Greek word is very strong – He is moved to the core of His being, He is filled with compassion. A few moments later, He hands over to the widow her son, now restored to life.

In restoring a dead man to life, Jesus is reminding us that His almighty power will one day work an even greater miracle for each of us – not a mere reprieve, not a mere restoration to the life wonderful beyond anything we could imagine and lasting for ever. Like everyone else we have a natural fear of death, or at least of the process of dying, but as believers we know that the risen Christ has lost none of His boundless compassion; He only waits to draw us through death into everlasting life.