Memorial of Saint Bonaventure, Bishop and Doctor of the Church

Lectionary: 389

Do not think that I have come to bring peace upon the earth. I have come to bring not peace but the sword.... Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me, and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me....

Most people, I think, come to church on Sunday looking for a familiar routine of prayers, songs, and gestures. Many of them go to the same pew where they have sat for many years. In some cases, where their family has sat for generations. Many of them arrive at the same time every week -- a few minutes early or several minutes late. If we're reading the collect, here comes Bill; and the responsorial, here comes Jack and Jill and their children. 

They expect to see the same people. Strangers often have an aura of tension around them. Who are they? Where do they come from? Do they intend to stay? If the strangers clearly represents another race or ethnic group we wonder if they've moved into our neighborhood. If they're of uncertain gender we don't know what to make of them! Hopefully they don't have any peculiar aroma about them; despite the fact that human beings naturally smell, it's not permitted in our presence. 

Churchgoers generally expect to hear the same message they've heard all their life. And often, they do hear it; even when what they heard bears little resemblance to what the preacher said. What they don't want is something new, difficult to understand, or distressing. If the networks, social media and entertainment industry are driven by everything new -- they call it news for a reason -- the churchgoer wants to hear the olds. 

So Jesus' message today is often sidestepped. He has not come to bring peace, he says, but the sword. 

It's hard to avoid that message today. And it gets harder all the time. Strangers do show up in church. Unfamiliar words enter the language every day; we need a slang dictionary to keep up. Even the news is becoming entirely too new. When some people hope that a human being might see a hundred and twenty-five years, or a hundred and fifty, others say they've seen too much already. "My future is past; the future I expected to see is not going to happen." 

If history teaches us anything, it's to expect change. Today the Church celebrates Saint Bonaventure, the great medieval scholar and "second founder of the Franciscan Order." When Franciscans ran Helter-skelter throughout Europe, causing havoc in many communities, he created religious prisons and locked some of them up. But he also reminded his Church of the great mystery of a doctrine long ignored, the Holy Trinity. He remembered how the Father stooped down to rescue his beloved people. He celebrated Jesus as the Poor Man of Bethlehem and Calvary, rather than the triumphant King of Kings and Lord of lords. He believed that Saint Francis of Assisi represented a new development in human history, and the Apocalypse was near. 

If history teaches us to expect change, hagiography -- the study of saints -- teaches us to expect wonders. The sword of God's word, sharper than a two-edged sword, will free us from fear of the future and prejudice about people; it will teach us to stand on tiptoe and expect the Glory of God.