Eleventh Sunday in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 92

This is how it is with the kingdom of God; it is as if a man were to scatter seed on the land and would sleep and rise night and day and through it all the seed would sprout and grow, he knows not how.

Liturgist, theologians and seminarians, during the exciting years after the Second Vatican Council, expected a rebirth of wonder among all Christians. With the restoration of the Mass and Sacraments to their original languages, with deeper insights into the scriptures, with an energized laity who showed new interest in evangelization, with the ecumenical willingness to meet, pray and work with Protestants, the future looked bright.
But that enthusiasm was accompanied by an ominous pessimism. If the "cultural Catholicism" of many ethnic communities was disappearing in the post-Kennedy, post-Council "New Age," the Catholic Church might be reduced to a "remnant." Perhaps the future of the church depended largely on those who actually practiced their religious obligations of prayer, fasting and charity. The Lord might separate the wheat from the chaff without the drama of a judgement day as the supernova of the church collapsed into a dwarf star.
The Hebrew prophets often promised (or threatened) such a "deliverance" to the Israelites. Though the vast majority of God's people might disappear without a trace, their syncretic religious practices forgotten, God would preserve a remnant. Their survival would demonstrate God's fidelity to the everlasting covenant and preserve the hope that all nations might yet come to the Lord."Remnant, a piece of fabric, is one of the images the prophets used to describe these optimistic threats. In today's first reading, we hear Isaiah use a similar image, the topmost branch of a tree. This "tender shoot" might be lopped off, transplanted and nurtured into a majestic cedar. God can do such a thing with his people! Centuries later, John the Baptist declared the Lord could raise up a holy people from "these very stones." Take nothing for granted, he warned.
Today's readings from Isaiah, Second Corinthians and the Gospel of Mark invoke the Spirit of Courage. The times might be very difficult but we have courage. Or, as the Washington Senators sang, You gotta have heart.
Courage is freely given by our good God. He scatters it about like seed broadcast on the soil. It grows of itself through nights and days and we know not how. If the seed of hope appears to be very small, and the bush of possibility is unimpressive, the inspired heart nonetheless bears and wears God's promise.
"I heard the owl call my name" tells the story of young priest sent to a Native Canadian tribe far from the centers of civilization. Arriving there by airplane and canoe, he tells them, "I can see this village is dying; your children are moving to the cities. I have come to help you make the transition to a brighter future."
After the Mass the congregation quietly files out, thanking their new pastor for his kind words. But the old chief stops to say to him, "I don't know why you say the village is dying. I feel fine!"
I have invoked that story many times.
Mass attendance is down today; many parishes are being merged; families are disintegrating in a culture of divorce, drug abuse and violence. Cultural Catholicism has largely disappeared; but a remnant keeps the faith. They feel fine. Birds of the air dwell in our branches, sheltered and safe from searching predators.
This is how it is with the Kingdom of God.