Homily for the 26th Sunday of Ordinary Time (A)
When I get near the end of my time in Rapid City every summer—or this year, fall—I feel a little nostalgic. It helps me to imagine how St. Paul would have felt throughout his ministry, founding communities and then having to move on. He invested himself completely into each one; he made friends; he faced opposition, persecution, and disease; sometimes he owed his survival to the care he received from the Christians in each place. And because it was much harder for Paul to travel by foot and ship across the Mediterranean than it is for me to book an airline ticket across the Atlantic, I find the yearning and love expressed in his letters particularly poignant. This is especially the case in his letter to the Philippians.
Not all of Paul’s letters are as warm as the one to the Philippians. (The Philippians, just so we’re clear, were residents of the city of Philippi in northern Greece, not to be confused with Filipinos who come from islands in the Pacific.) In some letters—to the Corinthians, for example—Paul is in battle mode, trying to straighten out bad behavior. He wrote his letter to the Romans before he arrived in Rome, so it’s sort of an introduction and also a fundraising appeal. But Paul knows the Philippians well; he describes them as his partners for the Gospel from the first day. His letter to them was written from prison, probably in Rome. Contemplating the quarantine that awaits me on my own return to Rome, this is also something I can relate to. But despite these circumstances, Paul’s letter to the Philippians overflows with joy and peace. It’s obvious that his affection for the little church in Philippi is a comfort to him even in imprisonment. He writes, “I am confident… that the one who began a good work in you will continue to complete it until the day of Christ Jesus.” Paul knows that we can never just tread water in the life of discipleship. We must always keep striving. So the letter is an exhortation to continue to grow in Christ, but its tone is more that of encouragement than a call to repent.
Now you are probably used to being told not to take certain parts of the Bible literally. Today, however, I’m going to tell you to do the opposite. Read St. Paul’s words to the Philippians, and take them as if they were addressed to you, as if the letter began, “to all the holy ones of Christ Jesus who are in Rapid City.” And take these words literally: “If there is any encouragement in Christ, any solace in love, any participation in the Spirit, any compassion and mercy, complete my joy by being of the same mind, with the same love, united in heart, thinking one thing. Do nothing out of selfishness or out of vainglory; rather, humbly regard others as more important than yourselves, each looking out not for his own interests, but also for those of others. Have in you the same attitude that is also in Christ Jesus.”
Like the first son in today’s Gospel parable, our first instinct may not be to have the heart of Christ; it may not be humility; it may not be obedience; it may not be Catholic unity. But, as the readings today make clear, our first impulse isn’t what’s most important. Our impulses often come from the most primitive, animal, flight-or-fight part of our being. There’s a reason we have them, but our instincts don’t always line up with the heart of Christ, so we have to master them rather than let them master us. And we have to have confidence too: we are capable of getting out into the field and working, even if we botched the first draft of our response to the Father.
My friends, today we are a little ship on stormy seas, a ship like the one St. Paul was on many times as he crossed the Mediterranean, a ship like Noah’s Ark. These are difficult days for our Church and for our country.
The qualities St. Paul points to in his letter to the Philippians are not just those we need to remain faithful to Christ as individuals but those needed for us to maintain communities of faith. Today the Church seems battered by the waves and wind. I have spoken to many people who are disappointed by the lack of witness given by Church leadership during this time; it seems to many as if the crew of the ship has given up steering and decided to hide below deck leaving us to drift wherever the wind blows. The social fabric of our country is fraying, too, as we have forgotten that we are a nation under God, who alone is the source of our rights and the blessings we enjoy.
Certainly, these storms will not pass quickly or easily. They may get worse. The attacks against the Catholic faith and even the family of Judge Amy Coney Barrett, yesterday nominated to the Supreme Court, from Democrats on the Senate Judiciary Committee and members of the media demonstrate a persecuting spirit that is not likely to fade away. But we have passed through troubled seas before. St. Paul and the Philippians had it much worse. And whenever the Church has passed through storms, she has emerged to plant the seeds of faith on new shores. But to keep the ark afloat we must take St. Paul’s words to the Philippians to heart.
Our hope is not in men. Not the flawed and human leaders of our government, nor even the flawed and human leaders of our Church. Our hope is Jesus. He is the light we need to navigate. But there is something specific in what Paul says that I want to emphasize. He does not tell the Philippians: each of you personally must hope in Christ and that will make my joy complete. No, what he says is: be united, become one body in Christ. He says put aside your individual egos—put aside your pride—and be united as a community. Whether we are able to set aside our own selfishness in order to maintain the bonds that hold together a community is what will determine whether the little boat we’re in makes it to the other shore.
Friends, I see wind and rain in the forecast, but I am hopeful. God has promised, after all, to be with the Church forever, and this American republic of ours has strayed from the right path before and found renewal. But my hope for renewal is not something you will see on TV; it’s what will happen in communities, between people who know each other and care about each other and are willing to set aside egos because they have chosen communion over pride. Communities not any bigger than the Philippians of the first century, not bigger than a parish or even the groups that work together within parishes.
Catholic social teaching makes an important distinction that might help you see the point I am trying to make: society is more than the State. A society is not three hundred million isolated individuals, but it is also more—much more—than its government. The strength of a society, of a people, depends on all the communities, all the groups and organizations, that turn individuals into neighbors. These include clubs and civic organizations, but the most important of these organizations are our churches. The bonds that these groups form create a society. And the Church gives that society its soul.
So when you’re tempted to quit—and in times like these everyone’s nerves are a little frayed, so you’re not alone—but when you’re tempted to give up, take St. Paul’s advice. Get over yourself and get back in the fight. Some of the battle is outside and some of the battle is within us, and that fight against pride is the toughest of all. But our mission is to live in communion, so that’s the fight we have.
If you read all of the letter, it seems that the Philippians had expressed their concern about Paul being in jail. And he writes back not to worry, his imprisonment turned out to be a victory for the Gospel; he used the time to convert the guards. There is a master strategist directing the battle, so there is always more hope than it seems. In the end, he’ll take care of the victory. Our task is to stay faithful to him and to look out for each other.
Readings: Ez 18:25-28; Phil 2:1-5; Mt 21:28-32
St. Isaac Jogues Catholic Church
Rapid City, South Dakota
2020
Tony Lusvardi, S.J. 