Third Sunday in Ordinary Time C
Fr.
Stephen Imbarrato has a lot to say about abortion.
He’s
one of those who, despite threat of storm,
made
it to Washington for Friday’s annual March for Life.
It
would be easy for critics to write him off:
“There
goes another man—with no wife, no kids—
talking
about issues he couldn’t possibly understand!”
But
you can only say that if you don’t know Fr. Stephen’s story.
You
see, long before he entered the seminary,
at
a time when he was away from the Church and the Sacraments,
just
a few years after Roe v. Wade,
Stephen
Imbarrato was living with his girlfriend,
and
they got pregnant.
He
didn’t tell his girlfriend to get an abortion,
but
he also never told her he’d stand by her and their child
should
she choose to have the baby.
He
did, however, list for her all the reasons
this
was a bad time for them to become parents.
“It
is your decision,” he told her,
“and
I will support you in whatever decision you make.”
That
made it clear he thought of this baby as her responsibility.
And
so she had an abortion.
Years
later, after Stephen had come back to Christ
and
was pursuing his call to the Catholic priesthood,
he
tracked down his old girlfriend to ask her forgiveness.
It
was only then that he learned they’d been pregnant with twins.
Fr.
Stephen has a lot to say about abortion.
His
message is one of God’s incredible mercy
in
the face of human sinfulness;
his
message is one that comes from firsthand experience
on
both ends of that equation.
Standing
before the congregation in his hometown synagogue,
Jesus
announces:
Today, this Scripture
passage is fulfilled in your hearing.
It’s
certainly one of the shortest homilies in Christian history—
less
than ten words.
(Please—don’t
get your hopes up!)
But
it’s also one of the most powerful sermons ever given—
and
one that only the Son of God could give.
You
see, in our day as much as that of Jesus,
people
can get the false impression
that
the word of God is limited
to
some commandments carved into tablets of stone
or
prophecies recorded on long parchment scrolls—
cold
rules and lifeless rumors,
rather
removed from our everyday reality.
Likewise,
many are convinced that things
like
God’s favor and forgiveness and freedom
are
nice-sounding concepts and high ideals—
but
little more.
That’s
why it’s so critical for us to recognize what Jesus is doing here
at
the very start of his public ministry.
He’s
come to reveal that the Word of God is personal—
in fact,
is a Person.
The
Lord God (unlike what many ancient cultures imagined)
does
not dwell atop a lofty mountain
or
somewhere beyond the clouds—
aloof
from this world and distant from its problems.
Rather,
God knows them intimately.
He
knows them as Creator;
being
the designer of human beings—
indeed,
of the whole universe—
no
one could be better suited to write the Users Manual.
But
God has come to know this world as its Redeemer, too.
God
has come in Person, in human flesh and blood,
and
he’s come not just with a message, but on a mission:
to
open eyes that they might really see;
to
let captives and the oppressed go free.
This
is a God who understands,
because
he shares our human experience firsthand.
That’s
the glad tidings—the good news, the Gospel—
that
Isaiah saw coming from afar!
My friends,
we
need to do like Fr. Stephen:
we
need to share with others what we know
about
God and his great mercy.
And
when I say, “what we know,”
I’m
not talking about matters
which
are the result of intense training or in depth study—
although
such things have their rightful place.
I’m
talking about sharing what we know
from
our firsthand experience.
It’s
pretty rare that well-crafted arguments or articles
win
large numbers of souls for Christ.
What’s
generally more fruitful
is
to do just what God did in Jesus:
to
enter into another person’s lived experience.
There’s
no program I can institute and organize as your pastor
to
make this happen.
It’s
a decision each Christian must make—
a
matter of priority, which only you can set.
We need
to make ourselves available and vulnerable to one another.
It
can start with something as simple
as
a smile and a friendly handshake
extended
to a parishioner you’ve not met before.
When
St. Paul says that,
as diverse
members of the one Body of Christ,
we bear
each others burdens and share each others joys,
that’s
meant to be more than a poetic metaphor;
it’s
meant to be the meat and potatoes
of
your daily life and mine.
And
while it’s something you do because you’re Catholic,
it’s
actually done best when we’re not here at church.
It’s
something you do in line at the grocery store
or
in the stands at a hockey game,
something
you do for the student in the next desk at school
or
that coworker you know is bearing a heavy cross.
Lend
a listening ear.
Promise
to offer a prayer.
Whatever
you do—make contact!
With
compassion, with humility,
enter
into another person’s experience
and
share your own story.
That’s
how the good news gets out:
in
action, even more than in words.
Pope
Francis has declared this an extraordinary Holy Year,
that
you and I might do in Malone
what
Jesus did in his hometown of Nazareth:
Bring
the glad tidings of God’s mercy to those around us.
So in
the Pope’s own words, let us pray:
Lord
Jesus Christ, you have taught us
to
be merciful like the heavenly Father,
and
have told us that whoever sees you sees God.
Show
us your face and we will be saved.
You
are the visible face of the invisible Father,
of
the God who manifests his power
above
all by forgiveness and mercy:
let
the Church be your visible face in the world.
Send
your Spirit and consecrate
every
one of us with its anointing,
so that the Jubilee of Mercy
may
be a year of grace from the Lord,
and
your Church, with renewed enthusiasm,
may
bring good news to the poor,
proclaim
liberty to captives and the oppressed,
and
restore sight to the blind.
Amen.
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