Twenty-Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time B
We
had a bit of a problem
with bats in the rectory over the summer.
Trying
to figure out what we should do,
each
of us three priests had a different approach.
Fr.
Stitt—being a rather gentle soul—
first
suggested that we trap the bats live
and
take them away to return to nature…
…but
no matter how far he took them,
they
kept finding their way back.
Fr.
Tom—having lost his patience with the little critters—
tried
to shoot the bats down…but his aim wasn’t so good;
we
lost a few windows, but not a single bat.
Finally—being
the seasoned old pastor—I stepped in,
knowing
exactly what ought to be done.
First,
I baptized the bats, then I confirmed them.
Not
a single one of them
has
come anywhere near the church ever since!
That
old joke (with a new twist) came to mind
as
I had lunch Friday with some friends from out of town.
They
shared that their new pastor has a policy:
if
the kids and their parents in the Confirmation program
don’t
go to church, then they won’t get confirmed.
They
wanted my opinion…but that’s tricky a one.
Indeed,
it’s pretty clear:
all
Catholics—not just those preparing for another sacrament—
unless
hindered by sickness or another serious obligation,
are
bound by God’s law to attend Sunday Mass.
The
Eucharist is absolutely foundational to who we are as Catholics.
If
you’re not going to Mass,
why
would you even care to be confirmed?
And
yet—on the other hand—I’ve seen a few people over the years,
who
started out with the intention
of
only jumping through the hoops to get confirmed,
but
who actually come around in the end
and
become regulars at Mass when they hadn’t been before.
So…where
do you draw the line?
That’s
precisely the question—is it not?—
asked
in the scriptures this Sunday.
Who’s
in? Who’s out?
And who gets to say?
When
it comes to drawing
the lines around religion,
things
don’t quite appear as black and white
as
they may have seemed years ago.
Specifically,
when it comes to the Catholic Church:
who’s
in and who’s out?
Most
are fairly sure about the Church’s relationship with non-Christians.
Yes,
we have kinship in the one human family.
Yes,
we respect and honor
all
that is good and true about their way of life,
whatever
their religious tradition—if they even have one at all.
But
we do not share a common faith.
Now,
that doesn’t mean they’re bad people.
And
that doesn’t mean heaven’s closed to them.
But
you can’t really be said to belong to the Church
when
you don’t believe in its founder.
Then
there are our Protestant and Orthodox brothers and sisters.
In
recent decades there’s been a new emphasis
on
all the things we share in common:
our
belief in Jesus as the only Savior of the world;
our
recognition of the Bible as the inspired word of God;
our
one baptism into Christ.
There’s
a whole lot that unites us.
But
it’s becoming increasingly common to hear people say,
“Well,
it’s pretty much all the same.”
We
do a great disservice, my friends, to all involved
when
we give in to that sort of thinking.
Because
it’s not all the same.
Sure,
we sing many of the same hymns,
decorate
our churches in similar fashion,
and
even dress up our clergy in near identical robes.
A
growing number even use the word “catholic”
in
their denomination’s name.
But
we still disagree on some rather major things:
on
the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist;
on
the role of the Pope as chief shepherd of the Church;
on
some serious questions of modern day morality;
even
on which books are found in the Bible.
It’s
a blessing that we’re growing closer and cooperating more,
but
we never help the cause by wallpapering over our differences.
We
are in communion with each other…but only partially.
And
then there are all the Catholics we have on the books,
but
whom we rarely—if ever—see.
(We’ll
look at those numbers in detail
when
I present the parishes’ annual reports
near
the end of Mass today.)
At
a workshop I attended this past week
making
preparations for the upcoming Year of Faith,
this
group was referred to
as
having been “sacramentalized but not evangelized.”
One
of my professors in the seminary put it a little more bluntly:
he
called them “baptized pagans.”
It’s
a relatively unique problem to our age:
all
these people who are technically Catholic,
but
who don’t have much sense of what that means;
who
think of themselves as part of the Church,
but
don’t often find themselves inside a church;
who
know a little something about Jesus,
but
have yet to be really introduced to Jesus on a personal level.
It
follows much the same pattern we see in marriage these days,
as
the majority of our young people decide,
“Let’s
start a sexual relationship, move in together
then
have a few kids, maybe buy a house…
…and
after all that we can talk about a wedding.”
The
cart is put well before the horse!
We
want all the benefits,
but
without first making the commitment.
We
know what effect this trend it having on marriage:
fewer
and fewer people are bothering with it at all.
We
mustn’t be surprised that it has much the same effect
as more
and more Catholics are members
without
ever truly being converted.
Where
do you draw the line?
Who’s
in? Who’s out? Who gets to decide?
Even
when you’re dealing with something
as structured
and carefully defined
as the Catholic Church,
you
see how very, very messy this can get!
In
the midst of all this messiness,
Jesus
teaches us two very clear lessons this Sunday.
The
first:
do not count anyone out too quickly.
Like
Joshua had spoken to Moses,
so
John speaks to Jesus
on behalf of the other Apostles—
concerned
about who’s in and who’s out.
Jesus’
words encourage caution:
no
one can do genuine good
and
at the same time be against his cause.
Those
who do not now follow
might yet become disciples;
their
hanging out around the edges
might
someday become real faith.
We
wouldn’t want to chase them away
when
there remains a chance to bring them in.
And
the second lesson:
never
underestimate the power of your example—
either
for good or for ill.
One
of the saddest things I hear in the confessional
is
when young children come in
and
confess having missed Sunday Mass.
The
kids know where they’re supposed to be…
…but
they can’t get here on their own.
Jesus
has rather stern words
for
those who cause his littlest followers to sin.
Let
us lead by good example;
our
presence here at Mass says so much all by itself.
And
yet, we must do more than just show up!
If
we hope to bring those on the margins
deeper
into the life of the Church,
then
we have to speak and act in a way that’s attractive.
If
we Catholics are always complaining,
always
tearing down one another or the clergy,
constantly
hostile to this point of doctrine
or
that aspect of the liturgy—
who’s
going to want to be a part of that?
A kind
smile, a warm handshake, a word of welcome—
like
that simple cup of water mentioned by the Lord—
can
go a long, long way toward bringing outsiders in.
If
you’re happy to be here, if you’re happy to be a Catholic,
then
make sure your face gets the message!
People
will see it, and they’ll want what you’ve got.
Yes,
we really had bats in the rectory this summer.
No,
there were no guns involved!
But
let’s all do what we can to make it the case around here
that
the punch line of that joke is no longer funny.
Drawing
our energy and our joy from the Eucharist,
let’s
work at bringing everybody in and leaving nobody out,
that
all those who have been baptized and confirmed
might
join us regularly at Mass.
It
is here, after all, that we Catholics belong
because
we belong to Christ.
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