Jesus was amazed. Jesus didn’t get amazed all that much, at
least not in the scriptural texts we have, and when he did, it was generally
being pleasantly amazed at someone’s faith. But here, he’s amazed and the
emotions that go along with that might be saddened, mournful, lost,
dismayed. He’d come home, to the place
he was most familiar with, the place he might expected comfort, even might look
forward to an enthusiastic welcome; but he finds a lack of faith, a dishonor
that amazes him, shocks him. And in that shock lie three gifts to us: comfort,
good news, and an invitation or challenge.
Firstly, the fact that Jesus knew
rejection has power to be comforting for us, if we know that kind of rejection;
if we know exclusion, insult, or persecution, it matters that Jesus knows that
too. That Jesus freely chose to take
that on himself that we might know he walks with us, sharing our affliction. Of
course that doesn’t make it pleasant to be shut out, but it does change the
experience, to know that not only will Jesus never abandon us, but Jesus
accompanies the outcast as one who knows that experience of being an outcast in
his bones. This comfort that can flow from this story also contains a dimension
of invitation or challenge: if we know that Jesus is with the outcast, where
are we? Who’s rejected in our village, and to whom might we extend a hand of
welcome, of respect? How might that be an act of faith for us, an act of
growing closer to Christ the outcast?
That’s comfort, and gospel comfort
always comforts the afflicted and afflicts the comfortable, but there’s also
some wonderful Good News for all of us in this gospel. Jesus’ power cannot be
totally eclipsed even by lack of faith. Though
rejected, he still heals a few people.
It’s amazing the way Mark puts it, that he couldn’t do any might deeds,
except a few healings. How in need is
our world of healing! I’d regard it as a pretty good day, actually, if I healed
even just a few people! When Matthew tells this story, the way he puts it is
that Jesus couldn’t heal many people, and I often say that the good news is in
the letter ‘m’ – if it was that Jesus couldn’t heal any people, that would be
tragic, but as it’s just that Jesus couldn’t heal many people, that
means he healed some, and how amazing that was!
The first reading we heard from the
prophet Ezekiel shows us one aspect of the kind of healing that Christ offers
us now. Ezekiel speaks of hearing the word of God, of receiving the gift of the
Spirit, of being set on his feet, and sent to proclaim God’s word. Friends,
what happened to a scattering of prophets happens to us all in baptism, and is
strengthened in confirmation. We hear the voice of God in scripture, whenever
we read it, but in a special way when we hear it proclaimed during Mass, a
voice that comforts that proclaims Good News, and the invites and challenges us
to something more. We have received the Holy Spirit, God dwelling closer to us
than we are to ourselves, praying for us in sighs too deep for words. God has
set us on our feet, raising us up to our full stature, and giving us a gospel
to proclaim. The gift of the Spirit does work healing in us, maybe not always
physical, but spiritual and moral, forming us, bit by bit, to love like Him.
And God raises us up to the dignity of his own daughters and sons and bids us
tell that. We are saved to serve, healed to help. And in this good news, in
this healing, there’s challenge too.
And before we can proclaim the reality
of God’s action in our lives, in our world, we need to notice it. The villagers
at Nazareth couldn’t notice that the Son of God was with them in their midst, because
they dismissed him as too mundane, too ordinary. What mighty work might have taken place had
they, in addition to those few healings?
But let’s not sit here and critique the people of Nazareth. What mighty work might take place on Olive or
Dunan Street this week? What healing
might we ask God for, that we shrink from mentioning? How might we become better attuned to the
presence of God in our midst, in the things we ignore as too ordinary, too
mundane, too humble, to be charge with grace?
In this place Christ comes to us, body,
blood, soul and divinity, under form of bread and wine, very ordinary mundane
humble foodstuffs. This gospel and this Mass challenges us to look at other
ordinary mundane humble things, ordinary mundane humble people, to see how God
is acting, to feel the Spirit acting within us (as ordinary mundane and humble
as we are) to inspire us to proclaim that. Each night before bed I try to
remember one thing from the past day to thank God for, one thing to say sorry
for, one thing to just marvel “wow” at, and one thing for tomorrow to ask God,
“please, I need this.” Thank you, sorry, wow and please. Four ordinary mundane
humble words, that can open us up to see God’s action, God’s healing, in our
day to day, in things which seem too simple to be God, to ask for more of that,
and to strengthen us to proclaim: God is acting here.
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