Homily for June 17, 2007 11th Sunday of the Year, Fathers' Day
I want to begin with just a little education, calling your attention again to that picture there. (Thre is a stained glass window in the Church that I pointed to. It depicts the Gospel scene in Luke 7:36 – 8:3. the woman who washed Jesus’ feet with her tears and dried them with her hair.) How many of you would identify that woman as Mary Magdalene? Good. One or two, because I think many of us grew up with that impression, that the sinful woman who washed Jesus’ feet with her tears and dried them with her hair was Mary Magdalene. There's no evidence of that at all. In fact, the evidence in the Gospel today is that it was not Mary Magdalene, because Mary Magdalene is mentioned later as one of the women who accompanied Jesus. The image in the Gospel of Luke is that there were many women who traveled in the company of Jesus and the Apostles, and these women must have had resources, because it said they supported them out of their resources. And Mary Magdalene was one of those women.
The story about Mary Magdalene that I like the best is by a German theologian, Elizabeth Jurgen Moltman, who says that Mary Magdalene was an older woman ‑ you can define for yourself what older means ‑ she was an older woman whom Jesus cured of depression, and she promptly became his closest friend. But the male tradition couldn't handle that, so they made her into a prostitute. Actually, the first person to identify her as a prostitute was Pope Leo the Great, so that was only many years later. That's just an educational diversion. I hope you found it interesting.
Today we celebrate Fathers' Day, and, as I say in my letter in the bulletin, somebody pointed out to me recently that I always make a make a bigger deal over Mothers' Day than I do over Fathers' Day, That’s true. It’s probably because I'm overly sensitive to the way that male images of God have so dominated our tradition that I take every opportunity I can to point out female images.
But the male images of God are also very important, as are the masculine and fatherly images of God. In fact, I mention in my letter in the bulletin going to a lecture many years ago on the psychology of atheism. And this was a study conducted by a psychologist who had been raised Catholic, became atheist when he was in college, and then reconnected with Catholicism as an adult. He had several theories about atheism.
First of all, it was a cultural thing. You didn't have to be a brilliant thinker to be an undergraduate at Stanford in the 60's and be an atheist. Everybody else was, too. And he said, secondly, well, you could just do more things if you were an atheist because there weren't as many rules. But, the other thing he said in his study of aesthetic figures, most atheists had either an absent or a wounded relationship with their father. And part of his study was that that relationship we have with our fathers is an integral part of our ability to come to faith in God, and especially to come to a loving faith in God as Father.
When I look at the readings today and ask what challenge and message they might have for us, I'm reminded of a story. It's a story of a man who was an atheist, and he was used to debating all the learned rabbis, and he always won because none of them could prove to him that God existed.
And finally he went to a rabbi who was reputed to be a very holy man. And he sat and he observed the rabbi walking around the room, looking very much wrapped up in prayer. And the rabbi paid no attention to him at all. And finally he stopped and looked at him, and he said, "But perhaps it is true." And that was all he said. And the man was completely unglued, because he had been prepared to debate, but the words "perhaps it is true" entered into him and created a deep doubt.
And the rabbi told him, "You are traveling and arguing and asking people to set on the table before you all the riches of God, and nobody can do that for you. But perhaps, just perhaps, it is true."
Well, the images of God we have in the readings today - first of all, David. I wish we'd have had more of that reading, because the context is after David takes Bathsheba for his wife and kills her husband Uriah the Hittite, the prophet Nathan tells David a parable about a man who has a guest for dinner and takes the prized lamb of his neighbor to slaughter and feed to his guest. And David becomes indignant and he says, "Who is this man? He should die."
And Nathan says, "You're the man." And David is struck to his heart with sorrow and compunction.
In the second reading Paul reminds us it's by faith that we are saved, not by our good works. I think I would want to say to the fathers in our midst, as well as to the mothers, you are not the architects of your children's lives. You're not the builders, you're not the managers. Ultimately their life comes from God and unfolds in relationship to God and the world. And you're called, not to control it or manage it or design it, but just to humbly participate in it with all of its wonder. We are, at best, cheerleaders and maybe coaches as they go about building their lives and unfolding them in relation to God. And that leads me to the Gospel.
There are two images in the Gospel, or three. There's the woman who is filled with sorrow and pours her heart out and is graciously received by Jesus. And there is Simon the Pharisee, who stands off to the side and observes and judges.
Which is a better image of God, the graciousness of Jesus or Simon the Pharisee who stands and judges and observes? You see, something wonderful was happening between Jesus and this woman. And Simon was unable to share in it and to enter into it.
There are times in my life when I've felt like Simon, that I was standing on the outside looking in on wonderful things that were happening in the lives of people, and observing and judging and evaluating and critiquing. There are other times when I've felt more like the woman.
Which is a better image? I think you all know the answer to that up here in the head. But do we know it in our heart, and in the way we live? I don't know about you, but I know there are so many things I know to be true in my head, but I don't know them in my heart. And I can't pray them in my heart, and something in my heart causes me to argue with them. And that's why I thought of that story of the rabbi. Imagine yourself coming today, and imagine God saying to you, "But perhaps it is true that I'm every bit as loving and merciful and gracious as they say I am. Just maybe, perhaps it's true."
And then finally, the image of us as a worshipping community. I guess my dream would be that we would so radiate the joy of being forgiven and of being loved, and be so ready to share that with others, that any stranger who walked into our door and observed us might hear us say, "But perhaps it is true."
Before we pray, I have another story. There was an older Jesuit priest visiting his mother in the nursing home, and she was praying the Rosary day in and day out. And he asked her a very learned spiritual question and said, "Mother, what is it that happens when you say the Rosary?
And she said, "Well, I just talk to the Lord, and you know, he's not as bad as they make him out to be."
The story about Mary Magdalene that I like the best is by a German theologian, Elizabeth Jurgen Moltman, who says that Mary Magdalene was an older woman ‑ you can define for yourself what older means ‑ she was an older woman whom Jesus cured of depression, and she promptly became his closest friend. But the male tradition couldn't handle that, so they made her into a prostitute. Actually, the first person to identify her as a prostitute was Pope Leo the Great, so that was only many years later. That's just an educational diversion. I hope you found it interesting.
Today we celebrate Fathers' Day, and, as I say in my letter in the bulletin, somebody pointed out to me recently that I always make a make a bigger deal over Mothers' Day than I do over Fathers' Day, That’s true. It’s probably because I'm overly sensitive to the way that male images of God have so dominated our tradition that I take every opportunity I can to point out female images.
But the male images of God are also very important, as are the masculine and fatherly images of God. In fact, I mention in my letter in the bulletin going to a lecture many years ago on the psychology of atheism. And this was a study conducted by a psychologist who had been raised Catholic, became atheist when he was in college, and then reconnected with Catholicism as an adult. He had several theories about atheism.
First of all, it was a cultural thing. You didn't have to be a brilliant thinker to be an undergraduate at Stanford in the 60's and be an atheist. Everybody else was, too. And he said, secondly, well, you could just do more things if you were an atheist because there weren't as many rules. But, the other thing he said in his study of aesthetic figures, most atheists had either an absent or a wounded relationship with their father. And part of his study was that that relationship we have with our fathers is an integral part of our ability to come to faith in God, and especially to come to a loving faith in God as Father.
When I look at the readings today and ask what challenge and message they might have for us, I'm reminded of a story. It's a story of a man who was an atheist, and he was used to debating all the learned rabbis, and he always won because none of them could prove to him that God existed.
And finally he went to a rabbi who was reputed to be a very holy man. And he sat and he observed the rabbi walking around the room, looking very much wrapped up in prayer. And the rabbi paid no attention to him at all. And finally he stopped and looked at him, and he said, "But perhaps it is true." And that was all he said. And the man was completely unglued, because he had been prepared to debate, but the words "perhaps it is true" entered into him and created a deep doubt.
And the rabbi told him, "You are traveling and arguing and asking people to set on the table before you all the riches of God, and nobody can do that for you. But perhaps, just perhaps, it is true."
Well, the images of God we have in the readings today - first of all, David. I wish we'd have had more of that reading, because the context is after David takes Bathsheba for his wife and kills her husband Uriah the Hittite, the prophet Nathan tells David a parable about a man who has a guest for dinner and takes the prized lamb of his neighbor to slaughter and feed to his guest. And David becomes indignant and he says, "Who is this man? He should die."
And Nathan says, "You're the man." And David is struck to his heart with sorrow and compunction.
In the second reading Paul reminds us it's by faith that we are saved, not by our good works. I think I would want to say to the fathers in our midst, as well as to the mothers, you are not the architects of your children's lives. You're not the builders, you're not the managers. Ultimately their life comes from God and unfolds in relationship to God and the world. And you're called, not to control it or manage it or design it, but just to humbly participate in it with all of its wonder. We are, at best, cheerleaders and maybe coaches as they go about building their lives and unfolding them in relation to God. And that leads me to the Gospel.
There are two images in the Gospel, or three. There's the woman who is filled with sorrow and pours her heart out and is graciously received by Jesus. And there is Simon the Pharisee, who stands off to the side and observes and judges.
Which is a better image of God, the graciousness of Jesus or Simon the Pharisee who stands and judges and observes? You see, something wonderful was happening between Jesus and this woman. And Simon was unable to share in it and to enter into it.
There are times in my life when I've felt like Simon, that I was standing on the outside looking in on wonderful things that were happening in the lives of people, and observing and judging and evaluating and critiquing. There are other times when I've felt more like the woman.
Which is a better image? I think you all know the answer to that up here in the head. But do we know it in our heart, and in the way we live? I don't know about you, but I know there are so many things I know to be true in my head, but I don't know them in my heart. And I can't pray them in my heart, and something in my heart causes me to argue with them. And that's why I thought of that story of the rabbi. Imagine yourself coming today, and imagine God saying to you, "But perhaps it is true that I'm every bit as loving and merciful and gracious as they say I am. Just maybe, perhaps it's true."
And then finally, the image of us as a worshipping community. I guess my dream would be that we would so radiate the joy of being forgiven and of being loved, and be so ready to share that with others, that any stranger who walked into our door and observed us might hear us say, "But perhaps it is true."
Before we pray, I have another story. There was an older Jesuit priest visiting his mother in the nursing home, and she was praying the Rosary day in and day out. And he asked her a very learned spiritual question and said, "Mother, what is it that happens when you say the Rosary?
And she said, "Well, I just talk to the Lord, and you know, he's not as bad as they make him out to be."
Labels: Homilies
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