16th Week OT (Tues): Ex 14.21-15.1; Matt 12.46-50
Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP
Sisters of St Mary of Namur
How does a woman become a mother? Or a man a brother? How do any of us become who we are in relation to someone else? Why does it matter who we are related to? Beyond knowing who shares our genetic material in a family—and who might be able to donate a kidney—familial relationships grant to each an identity beyond the self. In spite of modernist efforts to rip us as individuals out by our historical roots, we are not just “a me” freely floating in an abstracted social space. Each of us is “a me” grounded in “an us” and granted the liberty to branch out even further into a more generous “we.” The “we” all of us enjoy as members of a family comes about through conception and birth; we are given to a particular man and woman through pro-creation. Through no fault of our own, we have the families we have in virtue of Mother Nature's spinning the genetic roulette wheel. The genes land where they land and here we are, complete with a lineage, a heritage, and an inheritance. We do not choose our families nor can we truly leave them behind. What then does Jesus mean to teach us when we says, “...whoever does the will of my heavenly Father is my brother, and sister, and mother”?
The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob picks out the Hebrew slaves in Egypt to be His people, His nation. He is their uncreated origin, and they are—by design and covenant—His children. Like a father, God leads, teaches, disciplines, and provides for His children. He frees them from slavery, marching them across the desert to a place promised them as their own. Once in the promised land, the children establish a nation, a family grounded in the sacrificial worship of their Father under a revealed Law. Though they are ruled on earth by a priesthood and a king, they are ruled from heaven by the One Who took dirt and breathed into each a divine breath. With the words of the prophets, God's family moves inexorably toward the coming of His kingdom, a dominion governed by His Son, the promised Christ. Those not chosen by God to be members of His people are called Gentiles, unclean outsiders, those not of the covenant. In this closed family there is no way in except by the accident of one's birth and one's adherence to the Law once born.
When Jesus makes the shocking claim that “...whoever does the will of my heavenly Father is my brother, and sister, and mother,” he is directly undermining the fundamental rock of the older covenant; he is teaching those who follow him that God's family is no longer made up of those born to the Hebrews, those who follow the Law of Moses. Being a son or daughter in the divine family is now a matter of will, of aligning one's intended purpose and daily acts with the revealed will of the Father. Do His will, become a child of His kingdom. It is really not possible to overemphasize the truly radical nature of this teaching. Jesus is upending centuries of deeply carved instinct and practice. The unclean, the outsiders, those not of the covenant are offered the chance to join God's family not only as members but as heirs, beneficiaries of His earthly treasure and heavenly wisdom.
A good Jewish boy, like a good southern boy, knows that he risks endangering his life by saying things like, “Who is my mother?” There is no way to speak this question without simultaneously ducking for cover. Even as he speaks, he can hear the wind of the cast-iron skillet whizzing toward his head. And he can hear the indignant voice of his mother yelling, “I'll tell you who spent nineteen hours in labor giving birth to your smart mouth!” Jesus risks the skillet and his own mother's hurt when he denies her to the crowd. For us, the risk is more than worth the price of a bruised motherly ego and a bump on the head. It is worth our inheritance as sons and daughters of a infinitely generous Father. It is worth “me” given the chance to become “we” in the family of the One Who made us, freed us, and draws us in His glory toward a land promised to all who will but do His will.
Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP
Sisters of St Mary of Namur
How does a woman become a mother? Or a man a brother? How do any of us become who we are in relation to someone else? Why does it matter who we are related to? Beyond knowing who shares our genetic material in a family—and who might be able to donate a kidney—familial relationships grant to each an identity beyond the self. In spite of modernist efforts to rip us as individuals out by our historical roots, we are not just “a me” freely floating in an abstracted social space. Each of us is “a me” grounded in “an us” and granted the liberty to branch out even further into a more generous “we.” The “we” all of us enjoy as members of a family comes about through conception and birth; we are given to a particular man and woman through pro-creation. Through no fault of our own, we have the families we have in virtue of Mother Nature's spinning the genetic roulette wheel. The genes land where they land and here we are, complete with a lineage, a heritage, and an inheritance. We do not choose our families nor can we truly leave them behind. What then does Jesus mean to teach us when we says, “...whoever does the will of my heavenly Father is my brother, and sister, and mother”?
The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob picks out the Hebrew slaves in Egypt to be His people, His nation. He is their uncreated origin, and they are—by design and covenant—His children. Like a father, God leads, teaches, disciplines, and provides for His children. He frees them from slavery, marching them across the desert to a place promised them as their own. Once in the promised land, the children establish a nation, a family grounded in the sacrificial worship of their Father under a revealed Law. Though they are ruled on earth by a priesthood and a king, they are ruled from heaven by the One Who took dirt and breathed into each a divine breath. With the words of the prophets, God's family moves inexorably toward the coming of His kingdom, a dominion governed by His Son, the promised Christ. Those not chosen by God to be members of His people are called Gentiles, unclean outsiders, those not of the covenant. In this closed family there is no way in except by the accident of one's birth and one's adherence to the Law once born.
When Jesus makes the shocking claim that “...whoever does the will of my heavenly Father is my brother, and sister, and mother,” he is directly undermining the fundamental rock of the older covenant; he is teaching those who follow him that God's family is no longer made up of those born to the Hebrews, those who follow the Law of Moses. Being a son or daughter in the divine family is now a matter of will, of aligning one's intended purpose and daily acts with the revealed will of the Father. Do His will, become a child of His kingdom. It is really not possible to overemphasize the truly radical nature of this teaching. Jesus is upending centuries of deeply carved instinct and practice. The unclean, the outsiders, those not of the covenant are offered the chance to join God's family not only as members but as heirs, beneficiaries of His earthly treasure and heavenly wisdom.
A good Jewish boy, like a good southern boy, knows that he risks endangering his life by saying things like, “Who is my mother?” There is no way to speak this question without simultaneously ducking for cover. Even as he speaks, he can hear the wind of the cast-iron skillet whizzing toward his head. And he can hear the indignant voice of his mother yelling, “I'll tell you who spent nineteen hours in labor giving birth to your smart mouth!” Jesus risks the skillet and his own mother's hurt when he denies her to the crowd. For us, the risk is more than worth the price of a bruised motherly ego and a bump on the head. It is worth our inheritance as sons and daughters of a infinitely generous Father. It is worth “me” given the chance to become “we” in the family of the One Who made us, freed us, and draws us in His glory toward a land promised to all who will but do His will.
Even as he speaks, he can hear the wind of the cast-iron skillet whizzing toward his head. And he can hear the indignant voice of his mother yelling, “I'll tell you who spent nineteen hours in labor giving birth to your smart mouth!”
ReplyDeleteThat phrase was PURE GOLD!
Excellent homily, Father!
Yeah, but somehow I don't see Our Lady throwing a skillet at her Son after He uttered this. :)
ReplyDeleteAlso, wasn't she supposed to be free of labor pains? Or is that not a part of settled doctrine?
"When Jesus makes the shocking claim...he is directly undermining the fundamental rock of the older covenant; he is teaching those who follow him that God's family is no longer made up of those born to the Hebrews....Being a son or daughter in the divine family is now a matter of will, of aligning one's intended purpose and daily acts with the revealed will of the Father. Do His will, become a child of His kingdom....The unclean, the outsiders, those not of the covenant are offered the chance to join God's family not only as members but as heirs, beneficiaries of His earthly treasure and heavenly wisdom."
I like this perspective. A good post, to be sure.