The following is a sermon I gave at St. Luke’s Church, Forest Hills, NY, on October 6, 2024. The readings for that Sunday were Job 1:1, 2:1-10; Hebrews 1:1-4, 2:5-12; and Mark 10:2-16. The text has been lightly edited for written, as opposed to verbal, presentation.
Almighty, most holy, most high and supreme God, all good, supreme good, totally good, you who alone are good, may we give back to you all praise, all glory, all grace, all honor, all blessing, and all good. Amen.
I’m conflicted.
On the one hand, here I am, a Franciscan brother, speaking to you on our annual blessing of the animals Sunday, two days after the Transitus of Saint Francis, the great feast day of my order. I really, really want to talk to you about Francis of Assisi.
On the other hand, the main purpose of a homily, sermon, whatever you want to call this, is to reflect on the scripture readings assigned for the day: ruminations that with God’s grace will help illuminate and possibly even educate.
Perhaps I can do a little of both today.
Let’s begin with Mark’s Gospel.
Yikes.
Considering that the Episcopal Church, via its descent from the Church of England, wouldn’t exist but for one man’s desire to get a divorce, the opening half of today’s Gospel reading is a bit ironic. I will let those with a string of theology degree initials after their names perform the necessary “angels on the head of a pin dancing” arguments.
However, There is one line in there that stands out to me. When the Pharisees quoted Mosaic law regarding how a man may lawfully divorce his wife Jesus replies:
Because of your hardness of heart he wrote this commandment for you
Jesus is not blind to our human limitations, to our human imperfection. He asks us to do better, and stand as a living example of how to do better, but he knows you cannot legislate people into being perfect moral beings. The law is written because our hearts are hard; God calls us to strive for softer, warmer hearts (and perhaps less patriarchal hearts as well).
So how do we cultivate softer and warmer hearts? We get one answer immediately following Jesus’ discourse on divorce:
Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.
It’s easy for me to romanticize children—after all, I have none of my own, so whenever a child gets obstreperous, I just have to hand it over to a parent and say, “Feed it a fish,” and I’m done. But the one thing children have over us adults is that, generally speaking, they are uncomplicated. You know where they stand on things—if you don’t, they will tell you, earnestly and simply, until you do. They look at the world with fewer preconceptions and without many of the judgmental filters we more sober and jaded grownups use.
Above all, children give all of themselves to us—nothing is held back. When a child is sad, it is perfect sadness; when joyful, it is perfect joy. That is what Jesus is talking about here: we must be as a little child, giving all of ourselves, our perfect joy. Then, we may receive God’s kingdom.
There’s a famous story from the Little Flowers of Saint Francis about perfect joy. While on cold winter’s journey from Perugia to the order’s mother house, the Porziuncula, outside Assisi, Francis begins lecturing his companion Brother Leo:
If God desired that the Friars Minor should serve as a great example of holiness to all people in all lands, please write down that this would not be perfect joy.
You can imagine Brother Leo looking a bit quizical as he dutifully writes this down. A little further down the road Francis continues:
If the Friars Minor could make the lame walk; if we could straighten the crooked; if we could chase away demons; if we could give sight to the blind and speech to the dumb; and even if we could raise the dead after four days, please write down and note carefully that this would not be perfect joy.
I am sure that at this point Brother Leo is getting a bit confused, as these are all things the order would surely be joyful about. But he dutifully writes it down. A little later Francis says:
If the Friars Minor could speak every language; if they knew everything about science; if they could explain all the scriptures; if they could predict the future and reveal the secrets of every soul, please write down and note carefully that this would not be perfect joy.
This continues on in like manner, with Francis coming up with even more amazing things that would, nevertheless, still not be perfect joy, until Brother Leo finally gets up the courage to ask Francis, well… what IS perfect joy, then?
Saint Francis answered: “If we arrive at the Porziuncola and if we are drenched with rain and trembling with cold, covered in mud and exhausted from hunger; and if we knock on the convent gate; and if we are not recognized by the porter; and if he tells us that we are impostors who seek to deceive the world and steal from the poor; and if he refuses to open the gate; and if he leaves us outside, exposed to the rain and snow, suffering from cold and hunger; then if we embrace the injustice, cruelty, and contempt with patience, without complaining; and if we believe in faith, love, and humility that the porter knew us but was told by God to reject us, then, my dear Brother Leo, please write down and note carefully that this also is perfect joy!”
Saint Francis then said: “Brother Leo, if we knock again and if the porter drives us away with curses and blows; and if he accuses us of robbery and other crimes; and if we embrace this with patience without complaining; and if we believe in faith, love, and humility that the porter knew us but was told by God to reject us again, then, my dear Brother Leo, please write down and note carefully that this is finally perfect joy!” Saint Francis said once more: “If urged by cold and hunger, we knock again; if we call again to the porter; if we plead to him with many tears to open the gate and to give us shelter out of love for God; and if he returns more angry than ever; and if he calls us annoying rascals and beats us with a knotted stick; and if he throws us to the ground, rolls us in the snow, and beats us again with the knotted stick; and if we bear these injuries with patience without complaining; and if we think upon the sufferings of our Blessed Crucified Lord, then, most beloved Brother Leo, please write down and note carefully that this, finally, is perfect joy!”
Finally, Saint Francis said: “Brother Leo, please listen to me. Above all gifts of the Holy Spirit, that Christ Jesus gives to his friends is the grace to overcome oneself, to accept willingly, out of love for Him, all contempt, all discomfort, all injury, and all suffering. In this and all other gifts, we ourselves should not boast because all things are gifts from God.
How amazing is it to see contempt, discomfort, injury, and suffering as gifts from God? In the Letter to the Hebrews, we read,
It was fitting that God … in bringing so many children to glory, should make the pioneer of their salvation perfect through sufferings.
And in Job we read,
Shall we receive the good at the hand of God, and not receive the bad?
Now, let me take a half-step back here. I am not advocating for the kind of demonstrative self-inflicted suffering found with hair-shirt wearing or flagellation frenzies. There is enough suffering in the world without us artificially adding to it. No, what I’m advocating for is an awareness of suffering, both our own in times of personal distress and that of others: the poor, the friendless, the hungry, the unloved.
All of it is a gift from God, because all of it is yet another opportunity for us to love ourselves more, to love our neighbors more, and above all, to love Jesus, who suffers with us, even more.
Amen.