Twenty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 126

Rather, when you are invited, go and take the lowest place so that when the host comes to you he may say,
'My friend, move up to a higher position.'
Then you will enjoy the esteem of your companions at the table.
For every one who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted."

Everyone knows they will die, and everyone would rather not think about it. Death comes as an insult to my self-worth and value. I think I am needed; I am necessary. I should be here: I must be here. 

I think I am valuable as I have knowledge, experience, and memories unknown to anyone; but available to those who ask. Shouldn't that knowledge be preserved; there are no books or data banks as accessible or easily researched as me. Here I am; ask me!

And look at my accomplishments and the honors given me! Don't these deserve an everlasting memorial? And the valuable things I own, this home with all it priceless mementos! 

The unwillingness to die affects much of our life as we throw ourselves around, demanding more care and attention than we need, using a disproportionate share of resources, and taking up too much space. "I am somebody!" the denier of death declares. 

And death replies, "You are nothing."

Christians, by our baptism, accept the inevitability of death. By signing ourselves with the cross each day, attending Mass frequently and Easter annually, we embrace death as mysteriously beautiful despite its dark silence. 

They recognize the emptiness that will fill "my space" briefly before it disappears in the rush of other things. Nature abhors a vacuum; and worries, concerns, and preoccupations will occupy my space. My loved ones will set aside their grief to deal with them. 

Jesus, watching guests jockey for position at a social affair, was amused by their conceit. They each thought, "I am somebody!" Like a wise parent, he kindly suggested they might do better to let the host seat them according to whatever honors they deserve. Some might be pleasantly surprised; others might be disappointed -- but that would be better than humiliation. 

The One who accepted his death on the day he was baptized, who embraced its insult to his dignity as the Son of God, felt compassion for his fellow guests. They had not let death cast its shadow over their pretensions; each one still thought, "I am important!" Jesus would not humiliate anyone, but he could warn them about the wisdom of humility. 

As the host might call someone to come up higher, the Lord calls us out of nothing to appear briefly; to strut and fret for an hour upon the stage, and be heard no more. We soon disappear into dusty death. 

Death invites us to accept the gift of life -- that hour, that moment -- modestly. And cede it to others as their time comes.