Pope Francis tells a story from his day as Archbishop of Buenos Aires, Argentina. Taking the bus to work at the chancery office, he spied an elderly woman standing outside the prison gates each day no matter what the weather. The woman was patiently awaiting the opening of prison’s gates. As it turned out, the woman’s grandson was a prisoner and she came each day to visit and give him a freshly baked loaf of bread.
Yes, her grandson was a criminal who had been jailed for his crime. But his evil act didn’t mean his grandmother’s love for him had grown cold, giving her permission to abandon him as happens to many, if not most prisoners. Instead, the grandmother’s love was authentic—requiring her to accompany her grandson each day of his imprisonment in the hope that, one day, he’d be freed from confinement and able to come home. While it’s true there was no denying her grandson was a criminal—a sinner—but that didn’t annul the grandmother’s respect, care for, and love of him.
Both last Sunday and today, Jesus is quoted as telling the people in the pews:
Today this Scripture passage is fulfilled in your hearing.
That statement might strike many of us as “music to our ears.” Who among us wouldn’t want Scripture fulfilled in our hearing?
Evidently, that music wasn’t pleasing to the ears of the people in the Temple because what preceded Jesus’ statement in both passages was a rather surprising, if not shocking teaching: God is with those people who others have judged to be manifest sinners.
Last Sunday’s gospel identified these folks as the poor, captives, the blind, and the oppressed. Yet, Jesus taught the people in the Temple, none of that matters one whit to God. While no one else may give a hoot about the poor, captives, the blind, and the oppressed because, after all, they are sinners, God is with them (in Hebrew, “Emmanuel”). While others may not respect, care about, or love them, God does, just like that grandmother in Buenos Aires, Argentina, who authentically loved her imprisoned grandson.
In today’s gospel, the people in the Temple at first were “amazed at the gracious words that came from [Jesus’] mouth.” But, when Jesus explained what those gracious words meant for them, those same folks grew furious, rose up, drove Jesus out of the town, and led him to the brow of the hill fully intending to kill him. Apparently, they didn’t want to hear that explanation; instead, who viewed themselves as holy and righteous, the people in the Temple wanted to hear that God was with them. So, they judged that Jesus was a sinner and undeserving of their respect and care, if not love. What he deserved was death.
What did Jesus say that provoked this violent reaction?
He taught the people in the pews—people just like you and me—that while they may have thought they weren’t sinners, their lack of respect, care, and love for sinners demonstrated they were not only hypocrites but also sinners. Moreover, and as bad as that was, more condemnatory was their attitude. They felt justified to treat sinners as they did—abandoning them to survive on their own—because, so they thought, God couldn’t possibly respect, care about, or love those any of those sinners.
Let’s call this form of hypocrisy “writing people out of the Book of Life” because they’ve sinned and all of us are holy and righteous, contrast it with what St. Paul wrote to the Corinthians in today’s Epistle: “If I do not have love, I am nothing.”
In plain English: When Catholics like you and me push people to the peripheries if not exclude them from our lives for the reason we’ve judged them to be sinners, we don’t have love. In addition, when we justify making this judgment because we believe we’re holy and righteous, not only don’t we love, but St. Paul also says, we’re nothing.
“If I do not have love, I am nothing.”
In today’s first reading, the prophet Jeremiah reminds those of us who’ve judged that others are sinners and deserving of being written out of our Book of Life that, in and from the beginning, God formed, knew, dedicated, and appointed each of us to be a “prophet to the nations.” What that requires, Jeremiah said, is to stand up and tell others all that the God has commanded us to tell them.
That raises the question, “What has God commanded each of us to tell others?”
The answer is discordant, likely one most of us don’t want to hear: We’re to tell them that despite the fact they’ve sinned—even against us personally—God is with them, respects, cares for, and loves them. That is, even though they’ve reconciled neither with God nor humanity, that doesn’t mean God has abandoned them. We’re to tell this to these folks, like the grandmother in Buenos Aires about whom Pope Francis speaks, with the words of our presence and that freshly-baked loaf of bread.
St. Augustine called this “hating the sin but loving the sinner” and what Pope Francis has called “accompanying” sinners. Imitating God—for “God is Love,” as St. John the Evangelist teaches—it’s what people whose hearts are teeming with love make a priority. They don’t abandon those who have sinned by pushing them to the peripheries and writing them out of their Book of Life. Instead, they accompany those who have sinned in the hope they will come to realize that God is with them, respects, cares for, and loves them and is eagerly anticipating their return home.
These are “WOKE” Catholics. They realize that being Catholic means translating what they learn from Scripture and receive from the altar—“in here”—into actually being the Body of Christ by bringing sinners “out there” the words of their presence and that freshly-baked loaf of bread. They live hope those who have sinned will realize that God is with them, respects, cares for, and loves them and eagerly anticipates their return home.
That represents the challenge Scripture presents us this week: To be the Body of Christ “out there,” not not leaving our Catholic faith behind “in here.”
This will require making a memento mori each morning this week in which each of us recalls what St. Paul taught the Corinthians: “If I do not have love, I am nothing.”
Recalling this bedrock teaching of our Catholic faith, each of us will then have to steel our power of will to put an end being “sleepy” Catholics who talk as a child, think as a child, reason as a child, and put aside childish things—like brooding over injuries and rejoicing over others’ misery—as St. Paul taught, and especially judging people who have hurt us are sinners and undeserving of our love, as Jesus taught.
To be a “WOKE” Catholic this week and imitating that grandmother in Buenos Aires, it’s time for each of us to visit a person we’ve written out of our Book of Life and give that a person the Bread of Life. This is the “more excellent way…that never fails” as we bring “glad tidings to the poor and proclaim liberty to captives.”
“Do this,” as Jesus said, “in memory of me.” Then, this week, “this Scripture passage will be fulfilled in your hearing.”
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