Sunday, September 9, 2018

God makes every tongue sing – Isa 35:4-7, James 2:1-5

Twenty-third Sunday of Ordinary Time, Year B; Holy Infant parish.


A world of lack become a world of plenty: that’s the picture of first reading from Isaiah painted of what God is doing. Isaiah talked of transformation of the physical world, of deserts becoming places where water was abundant. He also talks about transformation of human bodies, of bodies that couldn’t walk becoming bodies that leap, and of tongues that can’t talk becoming tongues that sing. And it’s that last point that’s really stuck with me this week as I’ve been praying with these readings. It’s the climax of how Isaiah talks about the transformation of bodies, the mute singing, what leads into the influx of water into dry land. And it says something about God’s vision for humanity. That the reading doesn’t primarily talk about getting rid of pain, or of being able to lift really heavy things, no the ultimate image of transformed human bodies is of us singing. That means that God cares about what we have to say, and He doesn’t want what we have to say muted or mumbled, but sung out boldly. Singing is speech colored in.


It makes me think of my time in a L’Arche house. For those of you who don’t know, L’Arche (which means ‘ark’ in French) are houses where people with and without intellectual disabilities live together in communities of faith and friendship. I just spent a week in one, where I brought some Notre Dame students for a Spring Break immersion trip as part of class I taught there. On our first night, I was told that Wilfred would be leading prayer before supper that night, and that he was going to read to us from the Bible. I was a little surprised, because I had been pretty sure that Wilfred couldn’t read. But he took the bible. He opened it very reverently, but also upside down, and proceeded to verbalize for a good minute or two. And everyone at that table sat and listened in reverent silence and at some point most of us somehow knew to say Amen. There was no curing, but there was healing. In that community, Wilfred’s tongue sang.

We can’t make rivers flow through deserts. But we can, with God’s help, learn to be in relationships and communities where every tongue can sing.

James writes to a community that thinks the poor have nothing worth paying attention to. They think that even if poor bodies can see or hear, they can’t have seen or heard anything worth listening to. James invites them to better. He reminds them that Jesus Christ is Lord and Glorious, and hopes they’ll remember that he was homeless and as a child was a refugee. He bids them pay attention, and not just to those that can pay you back for it. Pay attention, without partiality. He invites them to do what God does; God, who pays attention to us, who gives us voice and bids us sing, even though no one is rich before God. We are all poor, in need of his grace. It’s His breath in our lungs. And He bids us use it to sing.

And that means He also bids us pay attention to what each other have to sing, to be part of living out these community relationships that pay attention and bring forth muted voices. And, having heard them or seen them or felt them, or however we perceive, act differently.

Holy Infant parish participates in an organization called Durham CAN (Congregation, Associations and Neighborhoods). It’s an organization composed mainly of member churches, one synagogue, and a couple of secular organizations. At its center is a commitment to small-group gatherings called “house meetings,” where people are given space to give voice to their concerns about our Durham community. Those voices are then shared in larger meetings, where representatives of these different groups come together, these voices are amplified and action is agreed upon. They’re non-partisan, but they work with local government and businesses. Recently, affordable housing has been a big issue they’ve been advocating about, that’s risen up from these small meetings.


This is just one example of how we can be part of communities that call forth song from every tongue and attend to all those voices that start rising up. It’s an example you’ll be getting more information about in this week’s and next week’s Connector (and if you don’t receive the Connector, let us know and we can get you added to the list), and then there’ll be a meeting here for people who either want to get more involved, or just learn a little more about this organization.

Pope Francis has said that every verse of scripture is gift before it is demand. And I think that if we’re to live out our discipleships, we need to start by just marveling for a while at this mystery that God gives us voice, bids us sing, and cares what we have to say. But, then we need to start caring about we're saying, we need to start caring about what others have to sing, including, especially, those it would be way more convenient to ignore. And that’s challenging. That’s why this is a cycle. When we actually start trying to live this out we realize how hard it is. And that brings us back to Isaiah’s prophecy, that brings us to be those people who need to be told not to be afraid, to whom it is proclaimed that God is acting. And, then, emboldened by that, we act, we listen, we try to act better, we trip up somehow, and we return to hear the prophet’s good news. We’ve heard good news here, we’ll be fed here, and we’ll be sent forth from here, only to need it all again next week, and God will still be present and active, listening and singing that good news and inviting us to join Him.

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