By Father Casey
This summer, the lectionary for Sundays features a wide sampling of the prophets of the Old Testament. Much like the last two summers, when we explored the tales of patriarchs and kings of Israel, your entrepid preachers are embracing this opportunity to lean into lesser known parts of the Bible. The first few weeks feature stories about some of the prophets (Elijah and Elisha), which is a nice way to ease in, but soon enough we’ll be hearing the words of the prophets (like Amos, Hosea, and Isaiah). That’s when things will get interesting, because the prophets are serious business.[1] They are also incredibly relevant all these centuries later, so I hope you’ll journey with us this summer.
Our focus on the prophets means the sermons won’t be able to engage much with the gospel stories. Seeing as we’re reading through Luke’s gospel this summer, which includes several unique and powerful passages, the clergy and I will be exploring the gospel lessons here in the e-news, instead.
This weekend’s gospel features a visit by Jesus and the disciples to Samaria. Samaria was (and still is today) the home of a distantly related ethnic and religious group from Jews, with whom Jews in the ancient world shared mutual animosity. It’s why Jesus’ use of Samaritans in his parables was so provocative, because Samaritans were viewed as “just the worst,” and here he is, bucking the custom of avoiding Samaria by walking right into it.
Since it’s Jesus, what we expect next is a beautiful breakthrough, an exchange of dignity and respect that transforms the long negative history with Samaritans. But that’s not what happens. Luke says simply that the Samaritans “did not receive him” (9:53). Seems that hundreds of years of hostility can’t be overcome in a few moments, no matter how good the intentions.
We have a tendency to overestimate the power of a few nice gestures, and underestimate the effort it takes to heal broken relationships. We imagine that reconciliation can happen in the same amount of time it takes in the movies (a couple of hours), but genuine healing between estranged people rarely happens quickly or in a straight line. Yes, a few kind gestures are important to get the ball rolling, but no, that is almost never enough to mend a serious rift.
I’ve met with many people over the years who share their disappointment that a badly broken relationship isn’t getting better. They tell me they reached out with an olive branch – a gesture of friendship or forgiveness – but it hasn’t been accepted yet. I always commend them for the courage to begin the work of reconciliation, and then try to gently remind them that it may take a long time. Good intentions are a start, but healing doesn’t happen overnight.
It’s also true on a much larger scale, too. For nearly 400 years, the governments of our land (I’m thinking of the “six flags” that have flown over our state) practiced violent hostility toward indigenous peoples and those of African descent. In the last few decades, there have been steps taken to address systemic injustices, but in comparison with the centuries of cruelty, we have a long way to go. It would be naïve to think that our society is now “healed” from racism, simply because we took a few positive steps toward acknowledging and addressing it, just as it would be naïve to think that any long-divided interpersonal relationship was “healed” by a few polite gestures.
I wish the gospel story had a happier ending. I wish it ended with a breakthrough that would inspire us to keep on doing the hard work of building bridges and healing divides. Instead, it has a sobering reminder of human frailty. James and John grow angry that their good intentions have gone unrewarded. “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them,” they ask. It is textbook “backlash,” a response we still see so often today by people who resent the hard work of change.
It elicits a rebuke from Jesus. He knew that true reconciliation would take far more than a brief visit or a few polite words. He knew it would take the full measure of love. So he kept on walking toward Jerusalem, for sometimes the healing we seek can only come when we’re willing to take up a cross.
Fr. Casey +
[1] One of the great Biblical scholars of our day, Walter Brueggemann, died last week. I highly recommend listening to this interview with him, in which he talks about the challenge and hope of the prophets, and their capacity to wake us up.