Sunday
16(B): Read, Jer 23:1-16; Ps.23; Eph. 2:13-18; Mc 6:30-34
St. Mark illustrates frequently in his Gospel how the Twelve
Apostles live in imitation of Jesus and in intimate relationship with Him. Last Sunday’s extract spoke of how Jesus
gave the Twelve power and authority to preach repentance, to exorcize demons and to heal. Jesus then sent them out to be his
missionaries by imitating His own activities for the good of all. But naturally, since they were to do what they did by the
will and word of Jesus, they returned to Him and reported to Him all they had done and taught. This was today’s Gospel.
Also, like Jesus, and at His word, they intended to withdraw to a quiet place after their work, to rest and be restored,
ready to continue their mission, His mission.
Of a Sunday evening, a priest, a deacon, a bishop and, I suppose, even a Pope, can feel for a moment the tiredness
of his efforts to try and imitate Jesus, especially to teach what Jesus wills. It can be a moment of emptiness, of solitariness,
once the music and the chatter ends and one closes one’s door. Yet it can also be a moment of particular intimacy with
Jesus, the Good Shepherd, to whom one reports what one has done, hoping and trusting that one has been faithful to His will,
especially to the teaching of His Truth. The apostle must carry back to Jesus the gratitude of his own heart for having had
even the physical strength to reach the evening. He must also carry back to Jesus the heartaches and the broken hearts that
have confided in him, the joy of the children seen or blessed, the anxious looks and pained expressions of adults, young and
old, the refreshing warmth of the newly married, of the wise and kindly older person. He must also hand over to Jesus the
fruits as yet unperceived or even already perceived of his labors: the heart of one freed from sin, the mind of another strengthened
and enlightened by the Word, the soul confused or upset and even, with great compassion, the mysterious dignity of the one
who, at least as yet, resists the light and power of grace, for reasons known perhaps not even to themselves, but certainly
known to the compassionate Heart of the Lord.
Then, while he is in the midst of reflecting he might suddenly hear: “ding-dong” or “dring-dring”!
The front door bell or the telephone rings. Someone in need needs you now, even though they might not know exactly what they
need or at least not know how to express it. And once you get over the initial irritation at being rudely awakened from your
spiritual reverie, the look in the eyes or the tone of the voice tells you: here is a sheep looking for the Shepherd, and
looking for Him in me.
This
is not simply an emotional reaction of condescension, or at least it ought not to be; rather it ought to share in that compassion
of Jesus described by Mark today. It is a messianic compassion, that is, a deep-felt, a visceral desire to save what is falling
and in pain, or to raise up what is fallen altogether. The multitude awaiting Jesus was for Him like the entire people of
Israel, looking to Him for a new law, a new manna, a new temple, a new covenant. And as we will see, beginning next
Sunday, Jesus responds with the messianic sign of the miracle of the multiplication of the loaves. He is the new Moses. He
Himself as the living Truth is the new law, His Body is the new manna, His Body is also the new Temple, His self-sacrifice to the Father is the new and eternal covenant. The person at the other end of the rectory
telephone or standing at the front door on a Sunday night may irritate, but what they seek, at least to some degree, is the
messianic compassion of Jesus in their priest.
And we, priests or Bishops, invested with the authority and the power of Jesus in differing degrees, we run the risk
of falling under Jeremiah’s reproach if we fail to channel that compassion to any sheep: not just the ones who come
to the door, but also to the ones who never come or never call. “Woe to the shepherds who mislead and scatter the flock
of my pasture, says the Lord. …You have not cared for them, but I will take care to punish your deeds. … I will
appoint shepherds for them who will shepherd them so that they need no longer fear and tremble; and none shall be missing,
says the Lord.”
How terribly relevant are these words of the Prophet today. And terrible is the word. Every priest and every Bishop
needs to take those words to his own heart and ask of himself: where is the Good Shepherd in me? Or, where have I misled or
scattered or failed to care or left someone afraid and trembling or missing? It does not take much to see how applicable these
words are in the context of the recent pedophile crisis. But to limit the lack of true compassion just to this unspeakable
crime is in some ways too easy. The lack of true compassion in this instance is all too obvious, yet not for that any less
outrageous. But we also fail in compassion when, to adapt the words of the Gospel, we fail “to set ourselves
at length to teach” God’s flock the fullness of Christ’s saving Truth. Does a parent fail in compassion
when he or she prevents a child from drinking poison? Is it compassionate to allow a teenager to experiment in drugs, alcohol,
sex or pornography? Is compassion merely a rush of some emotional, warm glow, or is it not rather a virtue as deep and
as strong as the Heart of Christ Himself?
When Christ set Himself to speak to the people at length out of compassion for them, He undoubtedly said many beautiful
things, many clever things, many witty things. But He will even more undoubtedly have faced them with the hard truths about
sin and righteousness and judgment. As the Gospel of the next few Sundays will show, the crowd marveled at Jesus’ words
… as long as he was giving them bread and fish to eat. But when He started to speak of His own flesh as the bread of
life, and of His own Blood as the drink of life, most people deserted Him. Was He being any less compassionate in teaching
them the truth of the Eucharist than in feeding them with loaves and fish? I think not.
Messianic compassion, true compassion is literally a life-giving commitment. It gives true life to the one suffering
or lost, sometimes at the cost of one’s own life, as was the case with Jesus. But for compassion to be compassion it
must first be recognized and accepted that there is pain, there is something wrong. Compassion means “to suffer
with”: it creates a bond of loving solidarity which, while it may not take the pain away, gives meaning to it and opens
the heart to hope. Of course, if the pain itself can be removed in its root causes, then the one who shows compassion must
speak up and act to help the one they love find liberation from that pain. If the pain cannot be removed, then compassion
must become an enduring commitment of caring, understanding and self-sacrifice until God Himself steps in and takes control.
An
alcoholic may be incurable, but his life may be livable if someone reaches out to him and helps him to reach back. He has
to admit the problem is there. It is no compassion to hand him another bottle; indeed, it is cruel to do so. If he won’t
admit his problem, the best compassion can offer is to try and be there for him, show active concern, sometimes at great personal
cost and suffering. But that suffering is not meaningless: it is the expression of genuine love. Remember St. Monica’s
tears and the conversion of her son St. Augustine!
The compassion of God is of this kind: He comes to root out the cause of our sufferings by uncovering the lies that
sin has introduced into the world and into every heart. He does not do that by telling us everything is okay; do as you please
and I’ll forgive you anyway. Such a “God” and his “forgiveness” could not be taken seriously,
because He would not be taking us seriously. It’s like a doctor diagnosing you with cancer and telling you not to worry,
eat well, have a good time and you’ll be just fine. God sees and knows our pain and the Cross of Jesus is the greatest
witness to that. But that Cross is also Jesus’ seat of both judgment and mercy: mercy for those who allow Him to forgive
them by accepting what is wrong in their lives in the light of His truth and by changing the way they live, to the
sincerest best of their ability, by the power of grace and self-discipline; but the Cross will be judgment for those
who persist in their spiritual cancer, pretending it is all okay and foolishly deceiving themselves that their presumption
will be rewarded with the eternal blessing of the Crucified. You simply cannot have it both ways.
Nor can you exercise messianic compassion if you are overly preoccupied with not wanting to hurt people’s feelings,
or with being politically correct or living in some fantasy-world where everything is just fine and dandy. True compassion
may sometimes have to hurt, because the truth is often a bitter medicine to take, but its effects, both direct and collateral,
will be to bring healing and the restoration of full, spiritual vigor and rejoicing in the goodness of the Creator, the creation,
the Redeemer and the redeemed.
I ask you to pray for your priests and bishops with renewed intensity that we may be truly faithful to the messianic
compassion of Jesus, fearing no-one and nothing, but shepherding with tenderness and immaculate truth the sheep entrusted
to our care. And I ask you to pray for all Catholics, that their hearts may be open to accepting the fullness of the teaching
ministry of the Apostles, in order to be led along the right paths, to be made holy by the forgiveness of their sins and to
find joy and peace in the fullness of Truth spread before them, as the Psalm says, like a banquet in the sight of their foes.
Msgr. Peter Magee
Saturday, July 19th, Vigil Mass, 6.00 pm, Mother Seton, Germantown
Sunday, July 20th, St. Matthew’s Cathedral, DC, 10.00 am; St. Thomas, DC, 12.00 noon.
