Back to the Manufacturer

The Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time
Today’s Readings: Isa. 43: 18–25; Ps. 41; 2 Cor. 1: 28–22; Mk. 2: 1–12

My brother, Greg, is pretty clever when it comes to computers. He’s got a knack for getting dead wireless network connections to spring back to life, silent speakers to play again, uncooperative programs to run smooth as silk. Why, he’s not even afraid to take a screwdriver and open up the back of the case if that’s what it takes to fix something.

Greg is a college professor and he uses his computer all the time, even for PowerPoint presentations during his lectures and seminars. He bought himself one of those fancy Apple Macintosh PowerBook G4 laptops, and one fateful day, about a year ago, he was carrying it from the lecture hall back to his office. He’s not quite sure what happened—either he slipped or some gremlin jostled him—and the next thing he knew, the computer had flown out of his hands down an entire flight of stairs. When the poor Mac stopped moving and Greg’s heart started up again, let’s just say that the result was not pretty.

Even Greg, with all his computer fix-it skills, couldn’t get his Mac running again. He had to send it back to Apple, so the manufacturer could repair all the damage and make it good as new—actually better, since some of the parts and components had now been upgraded.

I thought about this calamity as I read today’s first reading from the prophecy of Isaiah. The people of Israel were in rather a mess—much like Greg’s busted-up computer lying at the bottom of the stairway. Their whole nation—socially, politically, religiously—was in shambles. They had been conquered by the Babylonian army and were forced into exile. Many families were torn apart in the process. Their king was held captive. Even their magnificent temple, built so gloriously by King Solomon, was desecrated and destroyed. The people’s spirit was crushed. In short, the Jewish nation was broken beyond repair. No amount of tinkering or bailing wire could patch this once-great nation back together again.

Against this backdrop, Isaiah tells the heartbroken people of Israel essentially this: we can’t fix things ourselves. The damage is too great, too extensive. But the good news is, the One who made us can fix us. You might say, we’ve got to send our nation back to the manufacturer.

Isaiah appeals to his fellow Jews by speaking so beautifully and poetically about God’s power and love. He says, “In the desert I make a way and in the wasteland, rivers.” In other words, picture the desert at its worst: swirling, blustering, disorienting, ever-shifting sands… Not only can God tame this arid and barren desert and build a roadway through it, but also he can fill it with an endless supply of fresh water and make it burst into life. “If only you have faith in God to fix things,” says Isaiah, “you’ll see that the God who created us will certainly redeem us.”

That redemption required a whole new world order.

The original order of things was wonderful: God made a beautiful world and filled it perfectly with living things. Humanity’s idyllic domain amid this perfection was the Garden of Eden… until Adam and Eve crashed down harder than Greg’s computer. The damage began then and there, and over the ages, it only got worse and worse. Sin had absolutely corrupted creation.

We see God’s new world order—his repair and renovation, you might say—in the gospel today: When Jesus saw their faith, he said, “Child, your sins are forgiven.”

How beautifully simple! Since sin caused the damage, God decided to make the necessary repairs by taking away the sin. And not just that, but he also made a better world order by making the former sinners members of his family! Child, your sins are forgiven…

The church has always taught that all we have to do is confess our sins and be absolved to get us back on track with God and stay a member-in-good-standing in this new world order.

But frankly, most people these days don’t realize that they’re even broken or in need of repair. There aren’t usually lines at the confessionals.

Nevertheless, there are times in life when we might find ourselves in a situation that seems pretty hopeless—beyond repair. Finding out that you or someone close to you is dying with a terminal illness is a pretty good example. There comes a time when you’ve got to accept that the end of the road is coming.

In my own ministry, I’ve been blessed so many times to witness this last leg of the journey. You might think that a person would become bitter or frustrated or angry… but I can’t recall a single person like that. Amazingly, people discover in themselves acceptance and peace. To use the metaphor I’ve been repeating, it’s as if they realize that their situation is simply unfixable, so it’s time to send it back to the manufacturer for repair.

Once they’ve made this decision, not only do people typically find acceptance and peace, but they also bless God more than ever! They thank him for his goodness and his many gifts. They appreciate their family and friends and all the kindnesses people have done for them more than ever. They find that their love for God is actually strengthened and deepened. In other words, through their struggles and suffering, they find their faith. When Jesus saw their faith, he said, “Child, your sins are forgiven.”

Do we really have to be sick or dying or otherwise broken beyond repair to appreciate and learn from today’s soothing lesson? Wouldn’t it be great to remember all the time that God is with us always, committed to rescue and redeem us no matter what. We are totally safe with him not just when times are utterly bleak, but also when they’re just so-so or even absolutely great.

Today, I pray that we can all turn through Jesus Christ to our good and gracious God—to thank him for all his blessings and to deepen our faith, which is the foundation of everything. My friends, we may not be totally broken, but it seems pretty clear we can all stand a divine tune-up.

God Rejects No One

Rembrandt,
Christ Healing a Leper,
c. 1657-60,
Rijksprentenkabinet, Amsterdam.

The Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time
Today’s Readings: Lev. 13: 1–2, 44–46; Ps. 32; 1 Cor. 10: 31 – 11: 1; Mk. 1: 40–45

I felt troubled this week as I sat and prayed with today’s Bible readings. I had a strong mental image of the poor person with leprosy being examined by the priest, declared to be unclean, and then ejected from the community—maybe for life. To my ears, the language of the Book of Leviticus seems so harsh:

The one who bears the sore of leprosy shall keep his garments rent and his head bare, and shall muffle his beard; he shall cry out, “Unclean, unclean!” As long as the sore is on him he shall declare himself unclean, since he is in fact unclean. He shall dwell apart, making his abode outside the camp.

How can our God—whom John keeps telling us “is love”—treat one of his own creatures, his own children—this way? And somehow, when Jesus came, things seemed to be different, didn’t they? Christ didn’t shun the leper. On the contrary! He embraced him—figuratively and literally—and cured him. That’s how we want to picture our loving and merciful God.

But then, curiously, Jesus told the man to go show himself to the priest to be pronounced ritually clean again. In other words, somehow the words of Leviticus still seemed to apply. What are we to make of all this?

We must begin by recognizing a very important principle: God is not harsh, and he rejects no one. Rather, God is inclusive and loving and embracing.

It is a very serious error to think that certain people are bad, or cursed, or punished, or somehow unworthy of God’s love. Yet we folks who call ourselves Christians make this kind of judgment all the time—usually out of fear!

Think about it. When we are afraid, we often respond by condemning. In biblical days, lepers were walking cesspools of contagion. How afraid would you be that you or your children might contract that dread disease? Is God humoring us by playing into our fear and telling the lepers to get lost? Not likely. Yet perhaps we might be tempted to read the law this way.

In our modern world, we’re still afraid of some people, so we continue to use God’s law as a tool to reject people or put them down. That, my friends, is not only wrong, but it’s a terrible sin.

Do you remember when the news of the AIDS pandemic first broke about 20 years ago? Everyone was petrified. We didn’t want kids with AIDS in the classroom or grown-ups with AIDS waiting on tables. Over time, though, we learned that the AIDS virus isn’t transmitted by touch or even by a kiss. Yet some people are still afraid and would be happier if AIDS victims simply went away.

Some of us are afraid of people who are crushed by addictions: drug abusers and alcoholics and priests or school-teachers with sexual dysfunctions who molest children. Maybe we’re outraged, too. Of course we don’t want our children lured into dangerous or abusive situations. Yet what is our fear doing to us? Are we learning to hate and condemn?

Some of us are afraid of people of certain races. In the old days, lots of white people were scared of black people. Today, the prejudice of choice is against Arabs or Muslims. Some people think they’re all real or potential terrorists.

And these days, a lot of folks are scared to death of sexual minorities. We’re sure they sit up late at night thinking of ways to infect our children, destroy marriage and society, and threaten our way of life. Maybe you think that God wants them to muffle their beards and cry out “unclean, unclean!” when they walk down the street.

But no. I repeat: God rejects no one. He loves and embraces all of us. And thank God for that… because I promise you, each and every one of us has something in us that makes us worthy of condemnation by somebody else!

The leper in the gospel came to Jesus and said, “If you wish, you can make me clean.” Christ was moved and healed him. “I do will it. Be made clean.”

In other gospel stories, we hear that some people come to the Lord on behalf of a friend or family member:

“My little girl is dying. Please come help her.”

“My servant is home sick in bed. Don’t trouble yourself to come. Just say the word and he’ll be healed.”

“His friends lowered the paralytic on his mat through the roof and Jesus cured him.”

And of course, we hear evidence of so many who have also had their hearts changed so they no longer hate, but love:

Saul turned from being a vigilante into the apostle Paul.

Matthew once was a tax collector—a crook and a leech—and he became an evangelist for Christ, a holy man and ultimately a martyr.

I think the gospel today reminds us that we mustn’t jump to conclusions about what God has in his mind until we see Jesus’ teaching in context. Leviticus seems harsh, the work of a cruel god… until Jesus clarifies that every cross in life is meant to make us remember our dependence on God and is meant to make us love more. The lesson is not at all to push people away or marginalize them. Rather, we’ve got to learn that we need God to take away our fears and infirmities and the fears and infirmities of our loved ones, our friends, our enemies, and even the people we don’t understand or who scare us or threaten us. That’s the point of the Psalm: I turn to you, Lord, in time of trouble, and you fill me with the joy of salvation.

If you think that there are certain people or lifestyles that the Church denounces as evil, I gently urge you to keep reflecting on today’s powerful lesson. We must pray for ourselves and each other—and let absolutely nothing separate us from the love of God.

Go to Galilee

The Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time
Today’s Readings: Job 7: 1–7; Ps. 147; 1 Cor. 9: 16–23; Mk. 1: 29–39


The well-known architect, Frank Lloyd Wright, loved to tell a story about a little incident that happened when he was about 9 years old. He had an uncle who was very reserved and proper—a no-nonsense kind of man. The two of them went for a walk that took them across a snow-covered field. When they reached the far end of the field, his uncle stopped him and had him turn around. He pointed out his own footprints in the snow, which made a perfectly straight line. Then he pointed to young Frank’s tracks, which meandered all over the field. The uncle said, “Look how your tracks wander aimlessly from the fence to the cattle to the woods and back again. Now see how my tracks aim directly at my goal. There’s an important lesson in that.”

Years later, the world-famous architect enjoyed telling how the experience contributed to his philosophy in life. “I determined right then,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, “not to miss the things in life that my uncle had missed.”

Frank Lloyd Wright saw in those tracks something his uncle could not see—how easy it is to let the demands of life keep us from the joys of living.

Everybody knows that any goal in life that’s worth achieving is going to take a lot of our energy—whether it’s schooling, practice, study or simply paying our dues. But really, how important is the goal itself? Whether you’re the world’s best teacher or doctor or carpenter or farmer or mother or anything else, one day you’re going to die… and that’s that. Your days of teaching or doctoring, building or parenting are over.

Isn’t the journey to the goal more important than the goal itself? It’s on the journey that we show our true character and teach the lasting lessons of our life: whether we’re kind or nasty… patient or intolerant… honest or deceitful… humble or a puffed-up egomaniac.

We meet Jesus today at Simon and Andrew’s house. As Mark tells us, the whole town had gathered around the door, pressing in to see Jesus. The demands on him were already piling up. Every time he healed another person, or cast out a demon or taught more about his loving Father, his fame increased by another notch. And frankly, the disciples didn’t help matters. When he left early in the morning to go pray, they went searching for him. And when they found him, they said, “What are you doing? Everyone is looking for you!”

Pause right there for a moment and consider what you might say or feel in that position.

Maybe you’d be flattered: wow, they like me! They need me! I might have to widen the doorway so I can get my swollen head through.

Maybe you’d be cranky: I’m tired. They never give me a break. Can’t somebody else take care of them?

Maybe you’d feel guilty: oh, OK… I guess I better go back and keep at it. I don’t want to disappoint anyone or miss an opportunity to do God’s work.

But look what Jesus does. Something unique and important shows up in this passage. When Simon and the others interrupt his prayers to announce that everyone is looking for him, Jesus does not return to the house, but instead chooses to go on to Galilee to teach.

How come?

Maybe the Lord is demonstrating some of his humility. His life as a miracle worker and healer had to have been a constant ego-trip—and probably an ongoing temptation for him. If he had allowed himself to get caught up in the hoopla of his healing power… if our Savior had turned into a megalomaniac… would we follow such a figure?

We’ve seen too many people who seem to be able to do incredible, amazing things—and then so many of them fall from grace: politicians, celebrity entertainers, sports stars, media darlings, and even religious leaders. It’s easy to rattle off a list of well-known names, isn’t it?

But when Jesus decides to head off to Galilee, this reminds us that if we’re going to be a true follower of the Lord, we can’t pay too much attention to our own press clippings, to the people who prop us up or admire us, or to our list of good deeds.

Instead, when our work is done, there are still lessons left to teach and Christ’s work left to do. We are called humbly into service with Jesus Christ.

Frank Lloyd Wright got the message. He learned that preparation and hard work are required. He learned not to let other people define your goal. He learned: remember to pray!

And those are the same lessons we should take with us today, too. Each of us has a Galilee that is calling us. May our faith, our unique gifts, and God’s wonderful grace lead us there.