The Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)
Dear brothers and sisters,
As you follow the trailhead towards
Kilauea Iki, you cannot help but notice how lush is the forest surrounding the
crater and, as you look down upon it, how barren is the crater itself.
As you
begin the descent into the crater – and especially once you have entered into
it – there is an eerie stillness, almost as if the very earth somehow remembers
the terrible devastation that once took place there.
As you walk about within the crater, the
horror of what took place is almost palpable. Even so, here and there, in
various places, you see plants of different kinds making their way up through
cracks in the hard lava. Some, of course, are larger than others, but all of
them point to the truth of what J.R.R. Tolkien once said, that “where there’s
life, there’s hope.”[1]
Standing within the barren vastness of the
crater, you can look up and see that what was once desolate now teems with life
of many kinds, from birds to flowers to forests.
Death here has not had the
final word; the light of the sun, the seemingly random dropping of seeds by
birds, and the waters of many rains have worked their wonders and brought about
life, life in abundance.
When I stood within that crater, I could
not help but wonder if the Iraqi Christians do not feel as if they are
presently in such a crater. They stand now in a very bleak land, having fled
those who threaten their very lives.
Earlier this week, the Pontifical Council for
Interreligious Dialogue issued a declaration in which it enumerated the
devastation wrought upon our brothers and sisters by the Islamic State of Iraq and
Syria as follows:
- the massacre of people on the sole basis of their religious affiliation;
- the despicable practice of beheading, crucifying and hanging bodies in public places;
- the choice imposed on Christians and Yezidis between conversion to Islam, payment of a tax (jizya) or forced exile;
- the forced expulsion of tens of thousands of people, including children, elderly, pregnant women and the sick;
- the abduction of girls and women belonging to the Yezidi and Christian communities as spoils of war (sabaya);
- the imposition of the barbaric practice of infibulation;
- the destruction of places of worship and Christian and Muslim burial places;
- the forced occupation or desecration of churches and monasteries;
- the removal of crucifixes and other Christian religious symbols as well as those of other religious communities;
- the destruction of a priceless Christian religious and cultural heritage; and
- indiscriminate violence aimed at terrorizing people to force them to surrender or flee.[2]
They stand now all but alone, with only a
few taking any notice of their dire situation. We cannot forget them! We cannot
forget that are also Nasrani! We
cannot forget that we are N!
What we see happening now in Iraq is not
new in the life of the Church. Throughout the ages, the Church has endured many
persecutions, none of which completely achieved their desired effects. In his
homily in Seoul, South Korea yesterday, where he is for the beatification of Blessed
Paul Yun Gi-Chung and 123 of his Companions, Pope Francis summarized thepersecution of the Church in Korea throughout the 1800s, saying:
Soon after the first seeds of faith were
planted in this land, the martyrs and the Christian community had to choose
between following Jesus or the world. They had heard the Lord's warning that
the world would hate them because of him (Jn 17:14); they knew the cost of
discipleship. For many, this meant persecution, and later flight to the
mountains, where they formed Catholic villages. They were willing to make great
sacrifices and let themselves be stripped of whatever kept them from Christ –
possessions and land, prestige and honor – for they knew that Christ alone was
their true treasure.[3]
The
Christians in Iraq now find themselves in the same situation; rather than
renounce their faith in Christ, “loving the name of the Lord and becoming his servants,” they
have left all behind to hold on to him who is the pearl of great price (Isaiah 56:6;
cf. Matthew 13:46. If we were in their situation, what would be our response?
Would we cling to the Pearl of Great Price, or would we toss him aside to keep
our possessions and to save our skin?
This
is the very question the Bishop of Rome we put before the Korean people, a
question he would also ask of us:
So often we today can find our faith
challenged by the world, and in countless ways we are asked to compromise our
faith, to water down the radical demands of the Gospel and to conform to the
spirit of this age. Yet the martyrs call out to us to put Christ first and to
see all else in this world in relation to him and his eternal Kingdom. They
challenge us to think about what, if anything, we ourselves would be willing to
die for.[4]
Do
the Christians of Iraq know what we would be willing to die for? Do they feel
that we are one with them? Do we ourselves now feel one with them?
They have made their heroic choice and many
have already died for Christ. From the crater in which they now stand, I
wonder, do they look up to places teeming with life, to places where in the
past the blood of the martyrs planted seeds that grew to become a bastion of
faith? Do they recognize the similarities between their situation and that of
the Koreans? Do they wonder why the light from the Son of God seems not to
shine upon them? Do they wonder where the seeds of assistance and protection
are, and where are the waters of our tears shed for them? Do they see that
where there is life, there is hope? Do they see that, just as the forces of
death did not have the final word at Kilauea Iki, neither they will they have
the final word in Iraq?
Surely, with the very words of the
Psalmist, the Iraqi Christians continually cry out to heaven, begging, “May God
have pity on us and bless us; and may he let his face shine upon us” (Psalm67:2)! They have heard the Lord’s promise that “my salvation is about to come,
my justice, about to be revealed” (Isaiah 56:1). Now they ask, “When, Lord?
When?”
.JPG) |
| PHOTO: Paul Badde |
What does it mean to see the Lord’s face,
to see the face of Jesus? To see his face is to look upon him as he now is,
risen from the dead and triumphant in victory over death. To see his face is to
look upon the face of Love, to look upon him who is both merciful and just. Within
and upon his face, a face once beaten and spat upon, our persecuted brothers
and sisters in Iraq – and all who suffer for the sake of his name – will find
the satisfaction of every yearning of their hearts. In his face they will see
their own faces; they will see their sufferings and also their glory that comes
from being united so closely with him.
Through his Twitter account Saturday
morning, Pope Francis urged everyone, saying, “Let us not forget the cry of
Christians and all vulnerable populations in Iraq.” Following his lead, our
Bishops have asked us to especially unite ourselves today with the Iraqi
Christians and to raise with them one great cry to heaven: “Let us see your
face!”
We must call out with the same humble and
confident persistence on their behalf, “Lord, let us see your face!” As they
suffer so greatly, let us take up our rosaries and prayer the Sorrowful
Mysteries, let us contemplate the Five Holy Wounds of the Savior, let us make the
Stations of the Cross, and let us pray the Chaplet of Divine Mercy, all for
them, remembering that we, too, are N. The sufferings of Christ continue in his
Body today, and we must do all that we can to sustain their hope and bind up
his wounds.
“May God bless us,” Iraqis and Christians
all, “and may all the ends of the earth fear him” (Psalm 67:8). Amen.
Superb homily, Fr. Zehnle!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Kevin!
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