Homily for 17 Mar 2019

17 Mar 2019

2^nd Sunday of Lent, Year C

If you missed it, the word “exodus” appears here in the gospel.  I read it at least three times before that word stuck out to me.  And it’s curious because when we hear about “the exodus” we automatically think of Moses and all the Hebrews, wandering through the desert, out of Egypt and toward the Promised Land.  And, really, that’s what our reading from Genesis brings to mind: the Promised Land.

Only, here in the gospel, we’re not hearing about “the” exodus; we’re hearing about an entirely different one.  And that would be the “exodus of Jesus.”  And what’s fascinating is that it’s an exodus from the Promised Land (from Jerusalem and the whole surrounding region), and it’s a journey into yet another Promised Land.

When the Jewish people look back to their moment of freedom, they look to Moses and the desert.  But when Christians look back to their moment of freedom, we look to Jesus and to his own desert experience; namely, his Passion and Cross.

What Saint Luke is trying to get us to appreciate in his gospel is that, for us Christians, the Promised Land lies on the other side of the cross, on the other side of a life lived in service to God and the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  Just as the Hebrews wandered through the desert all those centuries ago, we today we wander with, and struggle with, and also rejoice in...the Cross of Christ.

And, yes, sometimes (like the Hebrews) we complain about the cross, we sometimes feel the pain and the dryness of trying to follow in Jesus’ footsteps.  Sometimes we even grumble about the leaders God gives us to guide us through the desert experience of Christian discipleship.  And so, the “exodus of Jesus” is a real thing.  And we know it is because whenever we try to get on board with wherever Jesus is going, we feel both the thrill and the agony of it.

It’s like when we try to do something new and different—it’s exciting, but it can also be something of a trial.  Just think of some of the habits you might be trying to break this Lent.  Maybe you’re trying to cut back on gossip.  And that’s a thrilling idea!: ‘Alright, I’m going to actually be a disciple of Jesus....This let is going to be different.’  Then, half an hour later, there you are gossiping again.  It’s the thrill and agony of trying to follow Jesus in his exodus.

Or maybe you’re trying to be less gluttonous, or less judgmental of others, or whatever it is you’re working on.  You start out great—just the Hebrews leaving Egypt when they celebrated and all was good.  But then, before long, the exodus through the desert starts to get to you.  And then, well...I guess gluttony really isn’t that bad, and that person I called an idiot really was an idiot—what’s wrong with judging somebody when it’s true.

The exodus of Moses and the Hebrews was a physical move from a place of slavery to a place of freedom.  But the exodus of Jesus and us, his followers, is more a spiritual move—away from the “ways of the world,” and toward the “ways of God.”  But no matter which exodus we’re talking about, there are both successes and failures along the way.

And so, our journey with Christ isn’t just the experience of thrill and agony.  It’s more like: thrill, agony, thrill, agony, agony, thrill, thrill, agony, and so on.  We Christians are very much on a journey—it’s why the Church is called the “pilgrim Church.”  And we have lots of ups and downs in our exodus from sin to freedom, from darkness to light. 

Just think of Jesus carrying the cross, and how many times he fell under its weight.  For us, the cross is our attempt to make that shift in our lives from slavery to sin, to freedom in God.  It isn’t easy to do.  The exodus we’re on is not an easy journey.  And we’re going to trip and fall sometimes.  The challenge in that is to just get up and keep going.

And, really, we have lots of help with that challenge; help in the form of mentors, leaders, and friends in faith—some of whom are sitting around us, and some of whom are near to us in spirit: the angels, the saints, the faithful departed.  We have lots of help in this journey toward God, toward freedom, toward life, love, and fulfillment.

Saint Paul reminds us of this in his Letter to the Philippians.  “Our citizenship is in heaven,” he says.  So, “be imitators of me...and observe those who conduct themselves according to the model you have in us.”  And he says this in a spirit of camaraderie and friendship, and with hope that we’ll make it through our own exodus. 

Our help comes from so many “models” of Christian discipleship and Catholic living that God has given us.  Paul is one.  If we look at him, we’ll see that he tripped up several times—but he just renewed his trust in God and his desire to the right thing.  And, as we know, he’s the one who would go on to write: “I have competed well, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.”  So, Saint Paul is a help to us.

Or we could look at Saint Mary Magdalene.  A former prostitute (so legend goes), tempted by demons, certainly not a person you’d want to be associated with.  But she loved Jesus, and that’s what he focused on—her fundamental wish to be with him, to journey with him.  Mary Magdalene says to us, “Be not afraid of your past sins, but hand them over to Christ, who loved me and healed me, in spite of it all.  And he will love you, too.”

In the Church there are also countless spiritual writers; authors who share their own journeys of faith as an aid for us, people like: Thomas Merton, Flannery O’Connor, Dorothy Day, G.K. Chesterton, Henri Nouwen, among many others.  They’re all people who’ve attempted to “imitate” Christ, after the model of Saint Paul and all the Apostles and first disciples.  And they all have some wisdom to share with us, to help us as we try to imitate Christ in his exodus journey from darkness to light, from sin to freedom, from death to life.

The thing about this “exodus of Jesus” (or any journey) is that there’s both the journey and the destination.  The destination is the Promised Land we call Heaven.  And the journey is this way of life we call Christian discipleship, and conversion of heart.  But the journey and the destination are not separate from one another.  Heaven isn’t just a future promise; it’s also a present reality—a reality which is “already here, but not yet fully here.”  Every time we take a step toward what is right and just, toward what is good, true, and beautiful, we take a step into heaven—right here on earth.  And every time we fall, but trust in God’s mercy, we take yet another step into heaven—right here on earth.

The further we step away from everything that weighs us down and holds us back, the more we experience little rays of heaven—not only for the future, but even today.  It’s why Easter is such a glorious day!  We haven’t arrived yet (because next year we’ll have Lent again...), but we’ll have taken many positive steps toward our common goal, the goal of: real life, true and lasting happiness, unbreakable companionship with our Creator and all his creation, and love and joy and peace and fulfillment beyond anything we can dream up. 

But before we get there, we have to keep on our journey.  We have to keep moving forward with Jesus in his exodus, through the desert of Christian discipleship; not alone, but with many others to help us, and to inspire us, to keep going.  Even when we fall, to keep going.  Even when we’re triumphant, to keep going.  Always, with faith and hope, we keep going.