Yesterday I offered some thoughts on the Gospel reading for the 11th Sunday in Ordinary time, year C (that is, today). It wasn't a complete homily, but more like a rough sketch - scattered thoughts on the reading.
A suggestion Bishop Barron made once to priests getting into blogging was to post their Sunday homilies. We don't always have time to write original content, so it's an easy way to kill two birds: since we have to prepare a homily anyway, why not put it up it and let that be the post for the week? That's really great advise, but my problem is that I don't write out my homilies. I don't even write an outline. I prepare, alright. I use a sort of quasi lectio divina method of meditating on the scriptures throughout the week, picking out a line or lines that hit me and building something from there. Once I get a basic idea of where I want to go with the homily, I'll check a few trusted commentaries to both double check that I'm not going in the wrong direction, or if I'm stuck, to get ideas moving. I might tap out a few thoughts on my iPad's word processing app during morning meditation, but for the most part it's all worked out in my head.
There are pros and cons to not reading a written homily. The main positive is that people feel I'm speaking more naturally. I almost always hear complaints from people when a priest reads his homily. And the ironic thing is, I've found that the better the homily is in terms of content and structure the more they will complain when its read (unless the preacher is very skilled in public speaking). In spite of speaking extemporaneously, I follow a pretty well planned mental script, yet if I wrote it out and read it I guarantee there are those who would complain.
Speaking in a well planned - off the cuff style also gives me the freedom to digress if something hits me. Since I know what I'm going to say I have a place to comeback to, while at the same time not feeling bound to stick to a text. Everyone is different: some preachers can digress gracefully from a prepared text, it's just a skill I ever developed.
But if there is one thing that is absolutely essential to good homily prep, whether you prepare a written text or not - it's prayer. And my prayer is simple. When I begin the process I ask Jesus what he wants to tell the people. What is it that they need to hear? I'm not saying that I always get it right - I'm still just a fallible man - but I do believe that the Lord helps me in the process with the gift of His Spirit. And this prayer helps me to stay focussed on what preaching is all about: I'm not here to proclaim the gospel according to Fr. Tom, but the Gospel of Jesus Christ. I find that many times when I'm stuck with a case of preacher's block, the problem is that I'm caught up with what I want to say, or how eloquent I'm sounding - or not. When I stop and spiritually recalculate, asking Jesus what it is that He wants to say, things start flowing much more smoothly. Sometimes when the homily is over I'll wonder where the words came from, they come to me in such a mysterious way. All this is possible only when prayer is at the center of the process.
As for the readings this week, I spoke already about the passage from Luke, so I'll turn my attention to the Old Testament reading from 2 Samuel.
We are given a very narrow periscope of a larger passage about King David and his grave sins of adultery and murder. Briefly, David had an affair with the wife of one of his military officers who was off at war. Bathsheba - the wife - got pregnant as a result, and the King tried to cover it up by sending Uriah - the husband - home on leave. Uriah was what I like to call a U.S. Marine type: totally dedicated. While his men were out on the front, away from their families, in harms way, he wasn't going to go home and enjoy the pleasures of the conjugal bed. After twice failing to get the iron age leatherneck drunk and home to the wife, so as to give plausible deniability to any misbehaving, David arranges it that Uriah is put way up at the front of the front, undefended. He dies in battle, Bathsheba becomes one of David's wives, and no one's the wiser.
Accept, you can't hide from God.
The prophet Nathan gets a message from the Lord, and relays it to David by way of a parable about a poor man who has his only beloved lamb stollen by a greedy, heartless, wealthy neighbor. David, enraged by the story, calls for the offender's death. When Nathan reveals the this little tale was an allegory of David's own crime, the king repents.
But Nathan also reveals something ominous. While the sin is forgiven, and David will not suffer the full punishment due for such villainy (eternal damnation), he will still have to make some reparation for his sin. God declares that the "sword shall never depart from your house." This meant that David, no stranger to war, would never cease to have to defend his kingdom from enemies from without, as well as usurpers from within, including attempted coups by two of his sons - one violent, the other bloodless.
(There is another detail that the editors of the Lectionary decided to leave out. In the next verse Nathan declares that the child born to them would die. I don't deal with that in my homily, and will leave the point undeveloped for right now. It is a hard passage, and if I have one criticism of how the Lectionary is organized, it's that the difficult bits are too often omitted. All I'll write for now is that God in His being is simple, but his ways are mysterious and hard to understand, and I'm not sure we're helping people by glossing the difficult parts over.)
David had been given many gifts in his life. He was a lowly shepherd, the youngest son in his family, who was not the obvious choice to be king. He was taken from the flocks and made a hero of Israel, later king. He had lands, wives, concubines, glory and honors. Yet his return to the Lord was these acts of ingratitude. Much was given, and so much was expected. When he fell in such a deliberate and wanton manner forgiveness had to accompanied by penance.
Notice, as well, that unlike the woman from the Gospel, David didn't willingly approach the Lord looking for pardon, but had to be slapped across the face. David was content to go on, convinced that his crime was successfully covered up. As a wise man once said, God loves us as we are, but he loves us too much to leave us that way. Even if David's love wasn't sufficient to keep from sinning, or even enough to motivate him to seek out God's mercy, God's loving mercy reached out to him. But God's is a strong love, a challenging love. Some times Jesus comes as the Good Shepherd to gently call us home, but sometimes, especially if we are obstinate and spiritually blind, he comes as the Hound of Heaven pursuing us "down the nights and down the days," as Francis Thompson put it.
If, like David, our sin is the product of pure ingratitude and lack of love, He shake us up, then builds that love back up. That's the real purpose of reparation: to break down our pride and self reliance so we may not simply avoid sin out of fear, but do the right out of love. God's punishment is never about chastisement for its own sake. It always has a point: it is always to perfect love.
If we are like the woman who anointed Jesus' feet, maybe our sin, while still sin, came after a series of hardships. Maybe we didn't have all the advantages that David did. Maybe because of the circumstances of life we weren't strong enough to resist temptations when they came our way. Maybe we were wounded somehow, victimized, and it effected how we see the world and ourselves for the worse. Maybe our sin is the product of self loathing, and while we knew it was wrong, somehow we were convinced that we "deserved whatever we got"(a demonic deception). In this case, Jesus reaches out His hand to convince us otherwise. If we persist in sin, we will indeed be lost, but we shouldn't despair that the Lord comes in the moment of repentance as a harsh judge, but as a merciful Savior.
Which brings me back to what I wrote last time about the women who followed Jesus on the way. I speculated that maybe each had some vice that Jesus released them from. In their following Jesus, forgiveness, reparation and love join together. They abandoned their old ways of sin, but they surely also left good things. One was the wife of a court official, so I have to imagine that she led a rather comfortable life. In abandoning the old way, both the good and bad, they were risking much. But they were cooperating in the saving mission of Jesus. Their efforts made it possible for Jesus and the 12 to support themselves and continue spreading the proclamation of the Kingdom. They were motivated by love and gratitude, and each hardship encountered, discomfort suffered, doubt confronted and overcome served as reparation for past sins, but also deepened their love for God. If we are open, Jesus makes that same invitation to us: to repent, yes; to do reparation; yes. More importantly, it's a invitation to grow in love.
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