Friday of the Twentieth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 423

See! I will bring spirit into you, that you may come to life.
I will put sinews upon you, make flesh grow over you,
cover you with skin, and put spirit in you
so that you may come to life and know that I am the LORD.

In his book, The Courage to Be, Paul Tillich recognized the will which overcomes nothingness; God's command in silent emptiness erupts into creation. Suddenly the universe comes to be. If everything animate and inanimate wants to exist, the human creature stands alone in the recognition of a choice about existence, "I don't have to be. If someone chose to create me, I still have a choice. I don't have to be."

I faced that dilemma personally after my father died in December 1980. I had no idea he was so important to me, but my grief immediately descended into clinical depression. Despite my youth, energy, intelligence, and education, and the encouragement of friars, friends, and family, I struggled to get out of bed in the morning. After two years and  many hours of counseling and therapy, and after huge financial costs to the Church, I found my feet and the courage to stand upright and erect before the years that lie ahead. But that distress has never completely ended. 

Arriving at an African-American Catholic church in Louisiana, and after hearing many stories, I recognized the courage to be black in the United States. It is more than dragging oneself out of bed. It is a flourishing fountain of music, laughter, dance, and speech. It is also a willingness to lose, to remember, and to grieve; and the willingness to encourage, prod, push, and cajole others because we must stand together, we must resist, we must rejoice, we must be black in white America.

Son of man, can these bones come to life?

I answered, “Lord GOD, you alone know that.”

Israel, exiled from Judah and Jerusalem, with their land destroyed and the city razed, forced into servitude in Babylon, heard the prophets, especially Jeremiah and Ezekiel. But the Word of the Lord scolded them for their sin as often as it encouraged them to remember the Lord. They could not be victims without recognizing their failure to be God's holy people. Their hope of return, a privilege of every expatriate, came with the memory that they were slaves in Egypt before they were enslaved in Babylon. Because of their disobedience to God's Law, they had lost the freedom to govern themselves with their own king in their own land. The grace of Penance comes as a bitter pill. 

Americans today face the challenge of being, especially in its inexorable decline from the victory of World War II and the unsurpassed military, economic, and social power of the American century. Millions, following in the footsteps of parents who smoked and drank heavily, find solace in legal and illegal drugs. Or uninterrupted distraction in entertainment. Or the illusory relief of anger, resentment, and hate. Terrified, armed, and hopeless, their homes become fortresses as they prepare for an invasion of neighbors, aliens, or the federal government. They would make America great again without recognizing the costs of waste, violence, and excessive privilege. 

It happened in those days that Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized in the Jordan by John. Mark 1:9

Jesus, along with his compatriots, accepted a "baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins." He appeared among the crowds like any ordinary sinner.

Our salvation begins as we recognize and accept the guilt, shame, and grief of our sins. There is no safe place from God's wrath outside the hordes of penitents. We must follow the Lamb through confession and atonement to Calvary and Easter. The Spirit of God which animated, joined, and fleshed dead, dry bones in Ezekiel's vision gives us the willingness and energy to rise from the dead. Like Lazarus in his tomb, penitents hear that familiar, beloved, friendly voice and respond, "Here I am, Lord! I come to do your will."