16th Sunday after Pentecost
In today’s epistle, we come across some words of St Paul that at first sight seem enigmatic. The chapter begins with the apostle telling the Ephesians that he is in prison for preaching the word of God. Then he goes on to write: I ask you not to lose heart over what I am suffering for you, which is your glory (Eph 3:13). The first part is easily understood. He is simply telling them not to be distressed when they see him suffer for the Gospel. For Paul, this is a normal occurrence, as he makes clear to Timothy: All who desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted (2 Tim 3:12). What is somewhat intriguing is that he adds: which is your glory. In other words, if your spiritual father is suffering persecution, not only should that not cause you to lose heart, but you should actually be grateful, for it will redound to your own glory. To see the apostle, the father, the guide, the leader suffer for what he preaches is not just an ordinary occurrence; it is something to be proud of. What we have here is yet another insight into the mystery of the cross that leads to the resurrection, death that leads to life, ignominy that leads to glorification. Such is the mystery that is at the heart of the Gospel and at the heart of any true spiritual life, as the lives of the saints attest at every turn.
Before being put behind bars, Paul was pursued by his former allies, who made every effort to trip him up. They laid snares for him in numerous ways, and finally got what they wanted. This pattern of persecution of the spiritual father begins in the Old Testament, in which the just man is often persecuted by evil-doers. It is brought to its climax in the life of our Blessed Lord, who, unlike most of his types in the Old Testament, is not delivered at the last minute. The Lord is pursued by His enemies, and while He escapes their malice for three years, the day comes when they get Him for good. He is condemned and executed. It’s over, apparently at least. In reality, it is the path to glory.
We see the beginnings of this persecution of the Saviour in today’s Gospel. St Luke tells us that He had been invited to a meal in the house of one of the Pharisees, on the sabbath day. The evangelist gives away the Pharisees’ intentions when he notes: ipsi observabant eum – they were watching Him. They were watching Him, not to learn from His examples, not to be edified by His virtues. They were watching Him as a man watches his enemy, spying on him, observing his every step, closely monitoring his every move. We have all seen this in movies or read about it in novels. Some of us have seen it in real life. And some have even experienced it firsthand. The adversaries watch, and they keep extensive journals of everything they see and hear. And when the opportunity arises, they will bring out the journals and point an accusing finger at the one who is the object of their hatred.
The saints tell us that nature is the first book of meditation. Indeed, in the natural world, the Lord has given us any number of animals that reflect human virtues or vices. The spying Pharisees are aptly portrayed by the cat. The cat is cunning; it roams about in the dark, hiding itself, noiselessly encircling its prey and then pouncing on it when it least expects it. The dog, on the other hand, man’s best friend, as they say, sits silently near its master. As long as everything is in order, the dog is content to observe approvingly. But as soon as a stranger comes along, the dog challenges; it barks, and if things get bad for the master, it can bite. Dogs do not hide their cards; there is no facade with a dog, no slyness, no hiding to catch you unawares. What you see is what you get.
Gossip is the human activity that most resembles the cat. Information is collected and shared behind the back of the one who is the first to be concerned by it. It is certainly not shared with the one who is concerned. It is carefully kept from him. It is shared with others in order to create a web of enemies who seek to hurt, or at the very least, are glad to see another person dragged in the mud. It is truly wretched to contemplate this innate need that certain people have for being busybodies, whispering stories that spread lies about people. They seem to derive pleasure from it because it puts them in a position of superiority, or so they think. It makes them feel good when they can make others look bad, for deep down they know they too are bad, but not as bad as these others.
The dog, on the other hand, gives us an image of what fraternal correction should look like. As Our Lord says in the Gospel: If your brother sins against you, go and tell him his fault, between you and him alone. If he listens to you, you have gained your brother. But if he does not listen, take one or two others along with you, that every word may be confirmed by the evidence of two or three witnesses (Mt 18:15-16). The gossiper, however, does not want to confront the person, because all the fun would be over. More importantly, they would lose their power. By approaching the person against whom you may have some disagreement, you disarm yourself and make yourself vulnerable, whereas if you keep it and tell others, you think you are mighty, and to a certain extent you are. You are mighty to do evil – potens in iniquitate – Why dost thou glory in malice, thou that art mighty in iniquity? All the day long thy tongue hath devised injustice: as a sharp razor, thou hast wrought deceit (Ps 51). So it is that they will stab you in the back, while they embrace you as a friend. And all this because they are weaklings; they are cowards.
What does the true Christian do when he is confronted with this? Not just on a movie screen or in a play, but in real life? While carefully avoiding the same vice, he should imitate his adversary in one point. He should watch carefully and observe. He observes carefully the cats lurking in the dark and the spiders weaving their webs. He has recourse to the virtue of prudence and does not trust those who are not worthy of his trust. Respect is due to every man in his rank, but confidence is given only to those who deserve it. Once lost, it is lost forever and cannot be retrieved. But his watching goes much further than just being careful about the traps laid around him. He must observe them, but he does so with the eyes of Christ.
There is a prayer card that one finds every now and then with a text attributed to St Teresa and which runs like this: Christ has no body now on earth but yours, no hands but yours, no feet but yours. Yours are the eyes through which must look out Christ’s compassion on the world. Yours are the feet with which He is to go about doing good. Yours are the hands with which He is to bless men now.
And so it is that when they watch us to destroy us, we too watch them, not to fight back and hurt, not to seek revenge, but to help them. We take to heart that word of St Ignatius in the Meditation on the Two Standards when he says that the envoy of Christ seeks to help all men. Help them? Help them how? Help them by casting upon them the gaze of Christ. St Mark portrays this attitude in Our Blessed Lord: The apostles returned to Jesus, and told Him all that they had done and taught. And He said to them, “Come away by yourselves to a lonely place, and rest a while.” For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. And they went away in the boat to a lonely place by themselves. Now many saw them going, and knew them, and they ran there on foot from all the towns, and got there ahead of them. As He landed he saw a great throng, and He had compassion on them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd; and He began to teach them many things (Mk 6:30-34).
It is the merciful gaze of Christ that has inspired so many saints, those who could not see suffering of any kind without wanting to do something to ease it, at whatever cost to self. One thinks of a St Vincent de Paul, a St John Bosco, a St Teresa of Calcutta. They could not see suffering without seeking to alleviate it in some way. They felt concerned by every human pain and every human failure. Their hearts were as wide as the sea, and they held room in them for all, including their enemies. Indeed, there is no one more in need of mercy than the one who is unable to show mercy. Psalm 108 tells us that the punishment of the sinner will be precisely for having failed to show mercy: For he did not remember to show kindness, but pursued the poor and needy and the brokenhearted to their death (Ps 108:16). The saints take care not to be guilty of such a crime, even when they are deeply hurt by the betrayal of those they thought they could count on.
For them, it is always the Good Samaritan who does not turn away, but casts His eyes on the poor man half-dead on the road to Jericho. It is the merciful gaze of the Good Shepherd who sees the guilty, shamed adulterous woman, and wards off the would-be stone-throwers, stretching out a merciful hand and giving her an opportunity for a fresh start. It is the triumphant Messiah who raises His hand on Palm Sunday to bless those who honour Him, all the while knowing that some of them will be calling for His death in just a few days’ time.
No, it does not matter how much we may be hurt; we must never give up on anyone. Let them observe us and do us harm. But let us always observe them, to do them good. Let them exalt themselves at our expense, and let us humble ourselves for their redemption.
But I say to you that hear, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. To him who strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from him who takes away your cloak do not withhold your coat as well. Give to every one who begs from you; and of him who takes away your goods do not ask them again. And as you wish that men would do to you, do so to them. If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. And if you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. And if you lend to those from whom you hope to receive, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to receive as much again. But love your enemies, and do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return; and your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the Most High; for he is kind to the ungrateful and the selfish. Be merciful, even as your Father is merciful (Lk 6:27-36).