As is always the case in our readings we receive a message today that conveys truth to us about living a good life. For me this week it’s a message that is difficult. Not because the words don’t come to me, but because of the gravity of the message itself. It is a message about what leads to peace in our life and ultimately to salvation. The message for today, at first glance, has to do with conducting our affairs with humility. It seems rather simple actually, “Be humble in how you live.” At least this is what we see on the surface.
If it is the case that the lesson is merely about living as a humble person, there shouldn’t be too much to unpack. A couple words should do and then we can move on to the rest of the liturgy. Maybe that’s what you were hoping for from me today. However, before being too hasty we should ask ourselves if we truly understand the deepest meaning. After all, it is an important enough lesson that Jesus took the time to teach it.
The gospel tells us that at the culmination of the week people were gathering for what was probably a Friday evening dinner at the home of a respected Pharisee where Jesus was a guest. They were observing Jesus carefully. It’s likely that he had chosen to sit in an unexpected place. Actually, Jesus was observing them too: he took note of how they chose to be seated, and perhaps the order in which they were being served. In his observation Jesus must have been interested in noticing who gets honor in our world and where we place our values.
Indeed more than being merely a lesson in mere humility, the importance of what Jesus had to say goes much deeper.
If I were ever asked to choose what I believe to be the most important thing that Jesus taught, I would have to say it is that we are to be righteous. Jesus believed that everything about our lives should reflect the righteousness of God. Though some might insist that salvation comes by grace, and while we realize that it is true that the mercy of God knows no bounds, our turning toward God, toward righteousness, is the thing that may count most in our final assessment before the throne of justice.
Recall the very last sentence of the gospel reading today. It says, “… You will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.” I don’t believe that mere humility was what was being gotten at in the parable of Jesus. It’s too easy for us, and perhaps even a temptation for us pious or churchy types, to put on front of humility. False humility is no better than self-righteousness. True humility, like true righteousness, comes from authenticity. It flows from genuine experience: from life as we live it.
It is the righteousness of our hearts—our deepest innermost being—for which we will stand in judgment. Undoubtedly, we receive the command to do good in our world. Righteousness means doing good. In a world where events are often morally neutral we have the power in our free will to create goodness through our actions. It is also in our power to act in such a way that opposes good, which most often may mean choosing not to act at all. St. Augustine of Hippo taught that evil is only the privation or absence of good. It is not a thing itself. Ultimately the measure of righteousness is contained in how we relate to others. Too often we fail to see that our relationship with God is no better than the relationship we have with all others—all things, both people and creatures—whom we encounter in life.
In the gospel message today there is the implication that our world is upside down about what we value. There is a hint of what I think of as nothing less than a revolutionary intention in Jesus’ words. He lets us know, as he does time and time again, that he is going to turn the status quo around. It’s not just a shake-up that interests Jesus; rather, it’s an absolute earthquake of overthrowing the powers that be. It’s an ushering in of a new world of values: a new kind of human government. It’s a rule in which the underclasses find themselves on top. Now that’s probably not the kind of humility we may have been thinking about, is it?
What Jesus is doing in today’s gospel is letting us know that righteousness and societal justice are intricately, perhaps inseparably, connected. Pompous religiosity, especially the kind revealed in the temple hierarchy of Jesus’ times, and in the values of the priests and Pharisees, their structure, order, and bureaucracy had little or nothing to do with justice or righteousness. What can be said of our structures and hierarchies today? It is as if Jesus were telling us, “Don’t identify yourselves with the structures of power because they will ultimately fall away. Look instead to those who have no power, no wealth, no voice, and no rights. Look to those who suffer under the plight of war. Look to the victims of racism and at our own blindness to it.”
Beyond the obvious lessons for us of being good, being authentic, and even of being at the humble service of others, which we should do, there is more. Beyond considering and putting the concerns of others ahead of our own, which also we are to do, there is yet more. Even beyond our humble and pious bowing down before our most sacred shrines, there is the lesson about what we should really value most in life.
What Jesus demands will not be popular. It wasn’t popular in his time and it’s not popular in ours. He asks that we identify with those who struggle, with the underclasses and the outcasts—the ones we might prefer would go away or those whom we would prefer to keep out. Ultimately his message is revolutionary. It is one that connects righteousness inseparably with justice in the world. It is a message that does nothing less than turn the world upside down. It is a message that should turn our lives upside down as well. It puts our relationship with others first.
When it comes to the practical question of what we should do now the answer is clear: we are not asked to go out and start a revolution. The first action in becoming righteous is to repent of our former ways. Naturally, we take baby steps at first. We begin by being more accepting of those who are most different. We ask ourselves, “What do I really value most? Is there something about myself about which I have been blind, or is there someone—a class of people perhaps—whom I have been unable to see? Am I willing to turn and accept the least valued, the least wanted, of my fellow human beings? Am I willing to let them be my most honored dinner guests?”
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