Homily for 24 Jan 2016

24 January 2016

3^rd Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year C

For a little over a century now, there’s been a push in the Church toward “active participation.”  We first hear that phrase in 1903 with Saint Pius X.  And it’s been repeated by every pope ever since, especially Pius XII in 1947, and also the Second Vatican Council in 1963.  And this call for “active participation” has something to do with this very familiar image St Paul gives us: the Church—the community of the faithful—as “many parts of the one body.”

What Pius X saw was a bunch of people gathered for worship, but they didn’t worship or live or act as a “body.”  Everybody was doing their own thing.  The clergy were doing their thing; the laity were doing their thing; and there wasn’t a lot of conscious attention given by either of them to what they were doing.  Pius XII characterized the people in the pew as “unthinking, silent spectators.”  That’s not who they were supposed to be; it’s who they were in reality.  The functioning of all the “many parts of the one body” of the faithful just wasn’t there.

And so, with the Second Vatican Council, we hear (again) the idea that all the faithful are called to “fully conscious and active participation.”  And we could talk for days about exactly what that means, but in the context of St Paul’s letter today, we might say that “fully conscious and active participation” means: “each doing his or her own part as members of the one Body of the Faithful;” each doing his or her own part as citizens of an intentional society of Christians.

There are a lot of parallels we can make, of course, between the idea of a “body” and the idea of a “society,” or “civilization.”  At some point in our schooling, we learn about all the parts of a body: the head, the heart, the bones, the muscles—and how they all work together as one.  They have a common goal in mind, and they each affect the other.  The human body is a “system,” or rather, it’s a “system of systems.”  It’s very complex in how it all works together.

But we can say the same about a society or a civilization.  If we look at any city, what do we have?  The Mayor, the City Council, laws and regulations, public works departments, business districts, residential districts, infrastructure, people, tradition and customs, history . . . a lot of parts in that one city.  Of course, a city is also a “system of systems;” it’s a “society of many societies.” 

We, as the “many parts of the one body” of the faithful, are like a city; we’re like a society.  We have our leaders: Jesus, Mary, the whole body of the angels and saints.  We have laws and regulations and teachings: Canon Law, the Catechism, our Liturgical Rites, the words of Scripture.  And there’s the local districts (the diocese) and neighborhoods (parishes) within that diocese.  We have our traditions, customs, values, beliefs, and practices.  And, most importantly, we have the one Holy Spirit who binds everybody together under a common vision of salvation, and the bonds of peace and charity.

And that’s a beautiful thing—this “body” we’re each a part of; this “society of Christians” that we each have a role to play in.  Of course, it doesn’t always work out that way.  Some of us are more-or-less “actively participating” in the life of this sacred body.  And the reasons are many: here’s some reasons why there might be less participation:

Perhaps, there’s the impression that God has failed them in some way.  Or maybe there are problems with the Church herself: the community itself can be a reason to pull away.  You know, there can be issues with others’ personalities, issues with Church teachings, poor preaching, poor pastoral care . . . all sorts of reasons why the body of the faithful itself can be a deterrent to “fully conscious and active participation.”

One reason for less participation in the body of the faithful that I find especially interesting is the tension between “mystery” and “familiarity.”  If the image of the Church and God and humanity is so esoteric and mysterious, so as to be totally foreign, well, that’s a reason to not be an active member of the body.  On the flip side, if the image of the Church and God and humanity is so ordinary and everyday, so as to be too familiar, well, that’s also a reason not to be an active member of the body—there’s no challenge; it’s just another gathering of people of Sunday . . . which we could easily do at the mall or somewhere else where it’s more fun and interesting.

There are a lot of reasons why we might be less than “consciously and actively participating” as members of the “one body.”  And those are things we can each wonder about for ourselves.  But two other reasons are especially important, and they’re reasons which we have a lot of control over.

The first is that, you know, we don’t live in monasteries.  We don’t live in physical communities where everybody’s basically on the same page, and we’re all moving together toward a common vision of humanity.  That’s not how we live . . . here in the parish.   We live out in the world; we’re scattered around, and we’re exposed to a lot of other bodies, other cultures, other value systems and other ways of thinking and believing.

Ever since about the 16^th Century, people have begun to question the very idea of religion.  One philosophy (which is still very much alive today) is Rationalism.  And it says that religion is just a human concept; that there is no foundation in truth.  In other words, “There is no God.  Don’t waste your time.”  I encountered that in college.  There was a room of a couple hundred students and the professor said: “When it comes to Christianity, don’t get suckered by it.”  Of course, I’m sure we all know skeptics who try to undercut our Catholic values and principles and customs—and that affects us; we don’t live in a bubble, after all.

But we have some control with that.  What we let into our minds and our hearts is up to us.  We have a choice to say: “Yea, this other person is right and the Church, the body of the faithful is wrong.”  We could say that.   But then we probably shouldn’t be professing faith in the “one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church.”  Our faith in the Church—our faith in the community of believers—means that we live in the world, but always as a “conscious and active” member of that community.    

And a second reason for us to be less-than active is that all that we do as a part of the community of the faithful is done in response to an encounter with God.  Our Christian life, our worship is a response.  Of course, if we haven’t encountered God (at least, knowingly), what is there to respond to?  That’s a reason why some might pull away from the body: they’re not connected to the heart of the body, Jesus Christ.

And here’s where the wisdom of the Prophet Nehemiah comes in.  He says: “Rejoicing in the Lord must be your strength!”  That’s our source of eternal health and vitality as the Body of the Faithful.  And not just in the fact that there is a Lord, but in our personal response to him.  You know, our relationship with Jesus—our trust in him, our faith and hope in him, our love for him—it isn’t just a nice thing to have.  It’s the thing we all have in common . . . it’s the glue, it’s the mortar in between the bricks, it’s what makes us the many parts of the one living body of the faithful.

And, ultimately, that’s what Pius X and Pius XII and the Second Vatican Council were talking about when they renewed that call from Christ to be “fully conscious and actively participating.”  To be aware of God; to actively love the Lord in heart, mind, and body; and to participate as a living member of God’s body at work on earth.  The popes were right: it isn’t enough to be an “unthinking, silent spectator.”  We’re called to something more; we’re called—each of us—to be one of those many parts of the one, living Body—the Body of believers . . . here and in the world.