Homily for Sunday Ordinary 29 C

“There are moments in the history of humanity,” Tomáš Halík writes, “as well as in the history of the church and in our own lives, when we are confronted more than at other times with God’s hiddenness, God’s silence.”

I have Mass on Sunday, October 19 at St. Isidore @ 7:30/9:30 am. The 7:30 am Mass will be live-streamed.

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Transcript

A reading from the Holy Gospel, according to Luke. 

Jesus told his disciples a parable about the necessity for them to pray always without becoming weary. He said, "There was a judge in a certain town who neither feared God nor respected any human being; and a widow in that town used to come to him and say, 'Render a just decision for me against my adversary.'" For a long time the judge was unwilling. But eventually he thought, "While it is true that I neither fear God nor respect any human being, because this widow keeps bothering me, I shall deliver a just decision for her, lest she finally come and strike me." 

The Lord said, "Pay attention to what the dishonest judge says. Will not God then secure the rights of his chosen ones who call out to him day and night? Will he be slow to answer them? I tell you, he will see to it that justice is done for them speedily. But when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?" 

The Gospel of the Lord. 

Jesus is approaching Jerusalem, and he is continuing to teach his disciples along the way. As he approaches the end of the journey, he takes the end of time as his subject, the full flowering of God's coming kingdom. In the verses that we skipped over from last Sunday, Jesus was asked by the Pharisees when the kingdom of God would come. He answered, "In fact, the kingdom of God is among you." 

In today's parable, Jesus is acknowledging that God's kingdom of justice hasn't yet arrived for God's beloved. No matter how long it takes, keep calling on God for justice, keep demanding it like a tireless, tenacious widow, and keep trusting that in the end, justice will be done. 

In the words of Paul to Timothy, "Proclaim the word, be persistent, whether it is convenient or inconvenient." The question that Jesus asks at the end of the passage is still a challenge for us today. When the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth? 

Tomáš Halík is a Czech priest and theologian who was secretly ordained  during the Communist regime. He couldn't even tell his mother that he was a priest. He was persecuted by the secret police during this period and banned from university teaching because he was deemed an enemy of the regime. "There are moments in the history of humanity," Halík writes, "as well as in the history of the Church and in our own lives, when we are confronted more than at other times with God's hiddenness, God's silence." 

When we were in Poland, we toured the salt mines near Kraków. As we were walking back to the exit, I asked our tour guide, a young man in his early 20s, "Where do you see yourself in five years?" It's my standard question. I want to know their hopes and dreams. Before he answered, he expressed a hopelessness that is sadly all too common among his generation. "Well, if there isn't World War III first." 

These are the signs of the times in which we live. How do we respond as people of faith? The ambivalent nature of the world and life's many paradoxes can give rise to phrases such as 'God is dead' to explain God's hiddenness. But when people talk about searching for meaning in their lives, they are searching for God by another name. Halík writes, "I agree with atheists on many things, except their belief that God doesn't exist. Patience is what I consider to be the main difference between faith and atheism." 

Recently, I was walking with a friend, and eventually we got around to talking about a difficult issue. After we had said all that needed to be said, we fell into silence for a moment. Well, it wasn't complete silence. My shoe squeaked. That broke the tension, and the conversation continued. But silence is not the absence of communication. A faith that fails to encounter darkness and doubt is no faith at all. 

Mother Teresa filled her days with service to the poorest, the sick and the dying. After her death, when her diary was published, we learned what her nights were like. She endured the grim trials of religious doubt, the dark nights of the spirit, the experience of God's silence. She bore the cross of a dual solidarity. 

In the daytime, she was sister to those who needed their bodily wounds healed, and the hunger of their empty stomachs assuaged. At night, she shared the darkness of those who feel themselves far from the light of God and suffer emptiness of the soul. Faith is, by its nature, a pilgrimage toward God. 

After Jesus tells the story about the widow and the judge, he says to the disciples, "Pay attention to what the unjust judge says." Etty Hillesum was a young Jewish woman living in Amsterdam during the Nazi occupation. She listened in to God, listened in to the suffering of others, even during her time of unspeakable conditions of a transit camp and until her death at Auschwitz. In a time of terror and dehumanization, Etty made a radical choice not to give into fear and hatred. This practice, which she termed "harkening" or "listening in," was central to her spiritual transformation. She believed until the end that we have the capacity to act like God in the world. 

"There's a really deep well inside me," she wrote, "and in it dwells God. Sometimes I am there too, but more often stones and grit block the well, and God is buried beneath. Then he must be dug out again." Is this not the work of our lives, to bring forth the goodness of God that dwells within us, that we might share it with the world? 

Perhaps it's not because God is alien and distant, but precisely because God is so incredibly close to us. God is closer to us than our own hearts, St. Augustine maintained. 

Faith, hope, and love are three aspects of patience in the face of God's silence. Faith is not having all the answers, but a willingness to live with our doubts, carry them in our hearts, and allow them to lead us to maturity. As Luke's story tells us, sometimes it only takes one person to respond for God's work to continue.