Homily for the 5th Sunday in Ordinary Time
A common theme unites our three readings today: the unworthiness that the human being feels in the presence of God. "Woe is me," cried Isaiah, "for I am a man of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the king, the Lord of Hosts." Paul, in his reflection on his encounter with God, shrinks in humility: "Last of all, as to one untimely born, he appeared to me. For I am the least of all the apostles, unfit to be called one." Peter reacts in a similar fashion in the presence of Jesus: "Go away from me Lord, for I am a sinful man." This sense of sinfulness, of unworthiness experienced by these three men in the presence of God, is a frequent theme in the Scriptures. And the reason it is such a frequent theme in scriptures is simply because it is a common human experience.
Irrespective of religious considerations, the human being is open to wonder, to beauty, to mystery. The beauty of nature in all its extremes can move us: and the source of that wonder can range from the majestic mountain revealed on a tranquil summer's day, to the crashing seas whipped up by a winter storm. Each has the capacity to move us to wonder. The power or the beauty of the scene makes us mindful of our own inadequacies, our own insignificance. Significant human events too can provoke similar reactions. Birth and death leave us leave us speechless; no words are adequate to express the experience. Through such momentous events the mystery breaks through and we are reduced to silence. That seems to be a law of life, woven into timeless human experience. That same law provoked the reactions of the three different characters in our scripture readings today. The powerful and mysterious presence of God exposes the fragility of the human being.
We are all aware that conflict and division are rife where people gather. The first disciples were no different. They are very different personalities. They represented the universal spectrum of human frailty. Peter, the rock upon which the whole foundation stands, is tempestuous, erratic and given to violent outbursts. At one point Jesus declared him a spokesman for Satan. And he would eventually deny the Master. The sons of Zebedee, James and John, were extremists, to the extent that Jesus himself dubbed them Sons of Thunder. Thomas of course called the whole project into question. He was convinced it was all a grand con-trick. Simon the Zealot was an extreme nationalist, who opposed Roman rule. Matthew was a tax-collector, a supporter of Roman rule.
In short, the disciples chosen by Jesus represented the broad spectrum of human sin and frailty. But the ideals he placed before them, and still places before us, are bound to evoke a sense of inadequacy, a sense of our own worthlessness. The ideals of Christ and Christianity are so high that we will inevitably fall short. Jesus himself captured this truth in his famous saying: "The just man falls seven times daily." This is what Jesus expected of his followers. He knew he was dealing with unpredictable and flawed creatures. No one finds it easy to forgive ones enemy, to respond as we are asked to the plight of the poor, to give our coat to the man who has none? No wonder we are sometimes overwhelmed by our own sense of unworthiness and sinfulness. This is our natural condition; we are by nature frail creatures, prone to impulsive outbursts and morose, moody withdrawals in equal measure.
But acceptance and forgiveness are the touchstones of the Christianity, forgiveness of ourselves first of all, and of those who have offended us. Some commentator has noted that as society becomes more secularised, the agents of that secularisation become more shrill and unforgiving. The personal frailties of individuals are exposed mercilessly held up for judgement. Heads are demanded with glee. First in the rush to the high moral ground are the tabloid newspapers. Lord MacCauley's harsh judgement on the British public could well apply to today's tabloids: "We know of no spectacle so ridiculous as the British public in one of its periodical fits of morality." But this is not new. G. K. Chesterton held that newspapers create the news, rather than report it: "Today's journalism largely consists of saying 'Lord Jones is dead' to a people who never knew Lord Jones was alive." The yardstick for success is the number of issues sold. In the process, it doesn't matter how many sailors must be cast to the crocodiles!
When religion goes out the window, forgiveness goes with it.
The good news for us is that our God is more tolerant of us than we are of ourselves. He is much more ready to forgive us than we are ready to forgive ourselves. All he asks of us is that we recognise our sinfulness, that we recognise reality as it is. Our sense of unworthiness in his presence is natural. Like Isaiah, Paul and Peter, his mysterious presence induces in us humility and awe. But that sense of sinfulness and unworthiness should never blind us to his saving presence. Rather it should strengthen us in the conviction that only his presence will complete us.