Sermon
St. Simon's on the Sound
Proper C – The Tenth
Sunday after Pentecost
Luke 12:49-56
I stood in the Catholic Charities
Respite Center's food distribution line wrapping tacos in paper napkins and
handing them out one by one to a crowd of over 350 refugees – men, women and
children. Refugees waiting to board buses. Refugees waiting to be transported
to places far and wide throughout the United States. Refugees journeying from a
place of terror to a place unknown; but, a place somewhere out there that they
would now call home.
I looked into the grateful face
of each taco recipient. I looked out at the crush of people sitting peacefully side
by side, slowly eating their tacos. I glanced into the adjoining room where
mothers and their children lay side by side on blue mats, not sleeping; just
staring at nothing in particular, with vacant eyes.
Not much talking among adults;
absolutely no crying children. Just people exhausted, spent, bewildered, sad, and
lonely. People wondering how they will find the strength to continue their
incredibly treacherous journey – this disruption in their lives with a goal of
finding a better place – a better life.
As I stood there, I was struck by
a force that formed a knot of anxiety and deep sadness in my heart and in my
soul. As I gazed out at this crush of weary refugees, I realized that these
men, women, and children – these journeymen - were coming to live with me; coming
to live with us. I was shamed by the realization that previously I had not
understood this situation at all; and, that in my ignorance I was in no way
ready to welcome my new neighbors. I saw with crystal clarity that as a nation
we are no different than the crowd Jesus spoke to in today's gospel when he
said, "You hypocrites! You know how to interpret the appearance of
earth and sky, but why do you not know how to interpret the present time?"
(Lk 12:56)
According to the Department of Homeland Security
(DHS), a refugee is a person outside his or her country of nationality who has
experienced past persecution or has a well-founded fear of persecution on
account of race, religion, nationality, membership in a particular social
group, or political opinion. An asylee
is a person who meets the definition of refugee and is already present in the United
States or is seeking admission at a port of entry.
All refugees wishing to enter the U.S. undergo a
credible fear interview. For immigrants in detention who are fleeing
persecution, the credible or reasonable fear interview (actually a series of up
to four or five interviews) is crucial. Without a positive determination, an
immigrant will be deported from the U.S. and unable to re-apply for entry ever
again.
The refugees at the Catholic Charities Respite
Center had all passed their credible fear interviews and had been given asylee
status. They had been released from detention and could now legitimately enter
the United States.
I cannot imagine what these men, women and
children have experienced. I cannot imagine fleeing persecution and violence
with nothing but the clothing on my back and traveling thousands of miles on
foot with little or no food or water. I cannot imagine leaving my home, my
family, and my friends – all I have ever known - and beginning a journey of
nothing but hardship, with no real knowledge of how my journey will end. I
cannot imagine the courage needed; the heartbreak and the terror encountered.
According to the Pew Research Organization,
today, more than 40 million people living in the U.S. were born in another
country. Looking forward, the Pew Organization predicts that immigrants and
their descendants are projected to account for 88% of the U.S. population
growth through 2065.
We in America are a people of many nationalities.
I, myself, am first generation American. I was born to an Italian father who
became an American citizen late in his life after a struggle with immigration
that included detention at Ellis Island in New York City during World War II.
While there is great physical,
cultural, religious and racial diversity among us – the color of our skin, our
country of origin, the language we speak, the religion we follow – we are all
the same in God's eyes. The Apostle Paul writes in Galatians, "There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither
slave nor free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ
Jesus. (Gal. 3:28)
Strangers to us - those whom we categorize as
"the other" - are not strangers to God. God's love and grace extend
to all – there are no favorites; no special cases.
As a people who have committed themselves to
following Jesus as their way, their light, their life we must strive with all
our hearts and all our souls to understand Jesus' simple, yet so very complex,
commandment, "Love your neighbor as yourself." And, we must find
the compassion and the courage to honor our baptismal vow to "respect
the dignity of every human being."
Finding myself in the midst of the turmoil of the
immigration situation on the Texas-Mexican border was my most recent gift from
God. It allowed me to grasp on many levels the challenges many, if not most, refugees
face as they journey from other countries hoping to enter the United States. Hoping
to assimilate and become one of "us." Hoping to find work, education
for their children, and a better life for themselves and their families. Hoping
to be loved, not terrorized.
It struck me that I have done very little, if
anything, to truly welcome the stranger among us – to become a better neighbor
as we all strive for the common good. I guess you could say I had an epiphany –
a wake-up call.
So, when I arrived home and prepared to write
this sermon by reading the gospel passage for today – I thought to myself,
"Now I get it. Now I understand why Jesus was saying to his disciples, 'Do
you think I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you rather
division!' "
Now I get this shocking declaration and Jesus'
prediction that houses will be divided, and families will find themselves
against each other as they bicker and disagree with each other. Turmoil will
reign. Now I get it.
Jesus' relationship with the Father determined
his identity; his very being. In every action, in every relationship, in every
moment of his life he remained faithful to the Father. Although he knew that his
actions, driven by his commitment to the Father, would threaten the powerful
Roman Empire and the Jewish elite, and that, ultimately, he would face certain
arrest, torture and crucifixion, he was not deterred from his mission. His
obedience to God's commandments was unshakable. And at the very end, he
prayed, "Father, if you are willing remove this cup from me; yet, not
my will but yours be done." (Lk 22:42)
Not my will, but yours be done.
What Jesus is telling us in this passage from
Luke is that once we choose the Father as the ultimate relationship through
which all of our actions and relationships are mediated, we stand the chance of
butting heads with those who have chosen other Gods, such a power, wealth, and hatred
as their relationship mediator. To choose God as the authority through whom we
act and have our being, is to run the risk of causing division among many of
our other relationships. To choose God as our ultimate authority is to run the
risk of losing friends, colleagues, and yes, even family.
That is the choice that Jesus sets before us
today – and every day.
Who or what is the determining relationship that
guides our lives; that shapes our way of being in the world, our decisions, and
our interactions with the "other"? Who is our ultimate authority?
It's a choice we must make over and over, day after day as we respond to our
many relationships and various life situations. It is a choice that frequently,
if not always, brings division and disruption in our lives. It is a choice that
we must make if we are to have the courage to "love our neighbor as
ourselves and to respect the dignity of every human being."
In one of his incredibly powerful sermons, Martin
Luther King, Jr. said, "The ultimate measure of a man is not where he
stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands in times of
challenge and controversy. The true neighbor will risk his position, his
prestige, and even his life for the welfare of others. In dangerous valleys and
hazardous pathways, he will lift some bruised or beaten brother to a higher and
more noble life."
Have we the courage to live the life of the Good
Samaritan? If so, what does that mean for us in the here and now?
If we are to be Good Samaritans, we should listen
closely to Jesus when he says to us, "You hypocrites! You know
how to interpret the appearance of earth and sky, but why do you not know how
to interpret the present time?"
The present time confronts us as
an urgent matter. The present time brings us back to the Texas/Mexican border
and the asylees from Mexico and Central America, Cameroon, Peru, Venezuela, the
Congo, Columbia, Syria and so many other countries where terror and genocide
reign, propelling God's beloved children to seek refuge in safer places. Places
where they will be greeted in love, not as "the other". Places where
they will be greeted as a brothers and sisters in Christ – fellow journeymen in life – all recipients of
God's love and grace.
To interpret the present time is
to understand that now is a time to have the courage to speak out from a heart
and soul filled with love, not fear – love, not hatred. Now is a time to
disregard fear of divisiveness among family, friends, and colleagues, of
disruption of the comfort and complacency of our lives. Now is the time to be
clear that to reject those who legitimately seek asylum is to reject God. Now
is the time to "pick up the cross of Jesus". Now is the time
to "lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely and run
with perseverance the race that is set before us." (Hebrews 12:1)
It is a time that requires solid
faith in our loving God, and the courage to love "the other" as God
loves us.
