Sixteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time C
When
the babysitter was unexpectedly delayed,
Grandpa
found himself suddenly watching
his
six-year-old grandson at breakfast.
So
he scooped up two steaming bowls of oatmeal.
“Do
you like sugar?” he asked, and the boy nodded.
“How
about some butter, too?” and the kid nodded again.
“And
what about milk?”
“Sure,”
the six-year-old replied.
No
sooner had Grandpa placed the bowl in front of the boy
did
the young man make a sour face and push it away.
“But
you said you liked sugar, butter, and milk!”
the
confused grandfather protested.
“I
do,” said the boy, “but you never asked if I like oatmeal.”
Sometimes,
it’s what matters most
that
most easily escapes us.
Since
the 1970’s,
time-management
gurus have been teaching people
how
to set A, B, and C level priorities—
with
the A group made up of the most essential things. (cf. A. Lakein)
To
give an example of how it works:
former
President Bill Clinton recalls reading about this technique
and
drawing up a list organizing his personal goals
when
he was just out of law school.
“I’m
sure I have that old list somewhere buried in my papers,
though
I can’t find it,” Clinton writes.
“However,
I do remember the A list.
I
wanted to be a good man, have a good marriage and children,
have
good friends, make a successful political life,
and
write a great book.” (My Life)
There’s
great value in listing your priorities like that…
…because
most people spend most of their time working on the C’s.
Why?
Because
C level priorities are much easier to accomplish,
and
generally give the impression
that
you’re actually getting something done.
You
can keep busy all day, every day, on the C’s…
…and
never quite manage
to
get to the really important stuff.
What
proves to be a common-enough temptation
on
the job, with studies, and concerning yard or housework,
also
has its spiritual ramifications, doesn’t it?
We’re
so often like Martha—
occupied
with matters closer to the surface,
anxious
and worried about many things—
and
so slow to sit still like Mary—
giving
our full attention to that place
where
the Lord’s feet rest on the ground of our lives.
We
can see this pattern when we Catholics gather for Mass.
Since
the reforms of Vatican II,
there’s
been a trend to find ways
to
give as many people as possible something special to do:
to gather
the collection or bring up the gifts;
to
sing in the choir or read from the pulpit;
to
hand out bulletins or distribute Holy Communion.
Mass
is a whole lot busier than it was 40 years ago!
But
while all this involvement is a good and helpful thing,
I’m
afraid that the constant activity
frequently
has the opposite of it’s intended affect:
obscuring
the work of the One
who
ought to be the most active of all, and that’s Christ.
We
can be too busy
getting
our job done and focused on doing it right
to truly
allow the Lord
to
accomplish his work in and on us…
…which
is the whole point, right?
Since
any amount of meaningful stillness and silence
is
missing from so much of the rest of our lives,
we’re
increasingly uncomfortable with it here in church, too.
And
I’m not just talking about before and after Mass;
take
just a few moments of quiet during the liturgy,
and
everybody’s clearing their throats
or checking
their watches,
wondering
if I’ve lost my place or fallen asleep.
It’s not unlike the “multitaskers,”
It’s not unlike the “multitaskers,”
reading
through the news in the bulletin
while
the Good News—the very Word of God—
is
being proclaimed.
We
get our C’s way ahead of our A’s.
What’s
the hurry? What is most important?
Why
can’t we sit, linger, and let things sink in a bit?
We
see the same inclination beyond the walls of the church
as
society forgets about first principles
and
gets it’s priorities all out of whack.
The
late American author Walker Percy once noted,
"[In]
spite of great scientific and technological advances,
man
has not the faintest idea of who he is or what he is doing."
In
our drive to develop and discover—to stay on the cutting edge—
we’ve
forgotten that just because we can do something
doesn’t
mean that we should.
The
result is engineering without ethics.
Consider
the rapid growth of social media—
things
like Facebook and Twitter—
how
billions put so much personal information out there in cyberspace,
but
only now are we considering the deeper questions
of
securing legitimate privacy
and
protecting the innocent from seduction, stalking, or slander.
And
the tendency seen in machinery and software
is
also increasingly effecting the actual ongoing existence of civilization
as
human sexuality is gradually redefined.
Technology
and culture continue to tear at
the
natural bond between marriage, sexual intimacy, and procreation:
what
began with finding ways to have sex without making babies
has
progressed to now making babies without sex.
Let
our C’s eclipse our A’s long enough,
and
we begin to do without the oatmeal completely;
what
was once taken for granted gets all topsy-turvy.
In
last Sunday’s gospel,
Jesus
gave us his two great commandments—
a
brief summary of the entire law:
first,
that we love God with everything we’ve got,
and
then that we love our neighbors as ourselves.
The
order they’re given in is crucial:
Jesus
is laying out A, B, and C.
We
see the same pattern playing out this Sunday
as
he visits Martha and Mary:
one
sister has put the details of hospitality
(and
maybe even the need to be noticed)
ahead
of being truly present to her distinguished guest,
while
the other relishes one of friendship’s greatest treasures:
the
simple joy of being together.
Jesus
makes it clear who has chosen the better part—
and
so gained the only thing necessary.
Why
would we ever settle for anything less?
Is
a genuine friendship with Jesus your A-list priority?
And
if not, then what is?
Why
has it gotten ahead of him?
What
consequences is that having on your life?
And
how can you get things back in proper order?
In
the Eucharist, Christ comes to you as a guest
no
less than he once did to Martha and Mary.
What
sort of welcome will the Lord receive
when
he enters under your roof?
Be
sure to choose the better part.
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