LITURGY AND LIFE

By Anne Strachan

Love we share with family is only the beginning

23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time
Sept. 5, 2010

Wisdom 9:13-18
Psalm 90
Philemon 9-10, 12-17
Luke 14:25-33

“In the writings of the desert fathers there is much emphasis on renunciation and detachment. We have to renounce the world, detach ourselves from our possessions, family, friends, own will, and any form of self-content so that all our thoughts and feelings may become free for the Lord. I find this very hard to realize . . . instead of excluding I could include all my thoughts, ideas, plans, projects, worries, and concerns and make them into prayer. Instead of directing my attention only to God, I might direct my attention to all my attachments and lead them into the all-embracing arms of God.”
— Henri Nouwen, The Genesee Diary

The writer in the Book of Wisdom pleads, with a hint of desperation, “. . . who can discern what the Lord wills?” He laments, “For the reasoning of mortals is worthless, and our designs are likely to fail; for a perishable body weighs down the soul, and this earthly tent burdens the thoughtful mind.” I understand the frustration and sadness present in these words. Discernment can be difficult.

A warm summer day, and as hummingbirds swoop and hover, I sit and ponder the lives of my adult children. I miss and love them with a sense of loss accompanied by a sudden longing to grab hold again, to assert a modicum of desperate parental control. As I then gather myself to contemplate the liturgy, I’m confronted in Luke’s Gospel with Jesus’ disturbing words:

“Whoever comes to me and does not hate their father and mother, spouse and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even their life itself, cannot be my disciple.” We know that a literal translation of the Bible can be dangerous, and as I think about my family, loved and cherished, these words seem harsh and uncompromising. This is the same Jesus who teaches us to love our neighbour as we love ourselves. With this talk of hatred, what can Jesus mean?

Perhaps, gazing at the fickle crowd, his motive is to jolt them, like a plunge into cold water, into an unmistakable sense of the real and unavoidable cost of discipleship. He is, in essence, dispensing with the niceties, telling them in no uncertain terms, “I’m not fooling around here. Pay attention!”

Jesus continues, “Whoever does not carry their cross and follow me cannot be my disciple . . . whoever of you does not give up all their possessions cannot be my disciple.” At this point I’m tempted to pour a fizzy drink, preferably alcoholic, put the scriptures aside and work on my suntan. But I resist this temptation.

Hate my family, my own life? Carry a cross of suffering? Give up all my possessions? Does Jesus shock in order to push us out of comfort and complacency?

Do we listen to Jesus with hearts open to the expanded vision presented within his radical pronouncements? Nestled in my comfort zone, can I shift my perspective, set out to follow Jesus, this Son of God, into a vast unknown where, even as I continue to possess things, love my family and cherish my life, he remains my most significant point of reference? Can I let go of all remnants of crippling attachment?

When our bonds to people create a self-serving attitude, we lose perspective. We might name our desire to help and give advice to others as “love and devotion,” but these can become attempts to control, to keep people in our debt or in our thrall. We place conditions on our love, imposing these on parents, siblings, spouses and children. If we treasure life to the point where every decision we make is about “me” and “my” needs or wants, then we’ve tipped into narcissism.

We need to let go. Letting go hurts, and it’s scary. Releasing our grip on people and possessions, on our need to dominate, requires us to be vulnerable, to take up our cross. We may lose the comforts and reference points — often illusory anyway — we’ve come to rely upon, and yet Jesus asks us to trust in his healing presence. When, as individuals or institutions, we actually put Jesus first, we might finally be on the way to becoming authentic disciples.

The love we share with family is desirable and good, but it’s only the beginning. Can we cultivate a more all-encompassing and radical love with a daily, concrete commitment to serve others in this world as we attempt to follow Jesus all the way to eventual crucifixion and ultimate resurrection?

I love my parents, spouse and siblings. I love my children as much as I love the gift that is my own precious life. Jesus doesn’t exhort us to “hate” anyone. Nor, perhaps, does he so much ask us to place him ahead of our relationships as to give him primary importance from within these very relationships. Perhaps when Jesus is the priority, that’s when our human connections will, with all their burdens and challenges, finally flourish in truth and authenticity.

What, indeed, does the Lord will for us? This desperate prayer uttered in the Book of Wisdom is answered: “And thus the paths of those on earth were set right, and people were taught what pleases you, and were saved by wisdom.”

Jesus — wisdom personified — asks us to listen to him from our place deep within the crowd. His words challenge; he exhorts us to love, and never to hate. His sanctifying presence encourages us to discern our way into a deep and everlasting vision.

Strachan is married with three children and lives in Nakusp, BC. She is a Benedictine Oblate with St. Peter’s Abbey in Muenster, SK., and a member of the Saskatchewan Writers’ Guild.