Fr. Roger J. Landry
St. Agnes Church, Manhattan
Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost, Extraordinary Form
September 1, 2019
To listen to an audio recording of today’s homily, please click below:
The following text guided today’s homily:
The lawyer in today’s Gospel asks Jesus one of the most important questions a man or woman, a boy or a girl, can: “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” What do I have to do, in other words, to get to heaven? We don’t get to heaven simply by being born. We don’t get to heaven by coasting there. It’s a choice in response to God’s choosing us; or more precisely, a series of choices, and the most important ones we’ll ever make. Jesus questioned the lawyer what he himself thought the answer was to his own question, and the lawyer gave what Jesus admitted was the right response and what he had himself said on another encounter (Mt 22:34-40). Putting together two parts of what God had revealed in the Old Testament, the scribe said that to inherit eternal life we must love God with all our heart, soul, strength and mind (Deut 6:5) and to love our neighbor as ourselves (Lev 19:18). On these two commandments, Jesus himself would say, “hang all the law and the prophets” (Mt 22:40). These two commandments are a summary, in other words, of the entire Old Testament. It’s no surprise, therefore, that Jesus said, “Do this and you will live.” The whole Old Testament was God’s revelation to help his people enter into life and be prepared to embrace “life to the full” (Jn 10:10) when it finally was revealed in the person, words and deeds of Jesus.
But as conceptually straightforward as Jesus’ answer is, there are obviously some practical considerations — for us and the lawyer — to putting it into practice. There are concrete issues involved in loving God not with “some” but with one-hundred percent of our mind, heart, soul and strength, as well as one-hundred percent of our time, talents, and wallets. But the scholar of the law didn’t ask Jesus for help putting the commandment to love God into practice. Instead, he asked him to make concrete how he was to love his neighbor, by querying, “Who is my neighbor?” We’ve heard Jesus’ answer so many times that to us the answer ceases to shock us, but it was totally startling and unnerving at the time Jesus gave it. To give a sense of the shock, it would be as if Jesus today said a man leaving St. Patrick’s Cathedral had been mugged, abused, and dropped in a dumpster in an alley waiting to die. A Bishop and a doctor, hearing the man’s groaning and cries for help, walked on the other side of the alley because they had other, seemingly more pressing matters, but then a drug dealer, or a pimp, or a member of Al Qaeda, or someone else those in the world often deem a despicable low-life drew near to care for him, nurse him back to health and sacrifice money for future care. That’s how shocking the parable was to its original listeners.The question of who is one’s neighbor was one of the most discussed and controversial debates among Israelites. A typical Jew was raised with an attitude to which Jesus referred in the Sermon on the Mount, “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy’” (Mt 5:43). Therefore, if one were to sacrifice for one’s neighbor and detest one’s enemy, it was crucial to determine who one’s neighbor was. Almost all Jews admitted that one’s neighbor extended beyond one’s family or those who lived physically proximate. Most interpreters considered that one’s neighbor included all fellow Israelites and those Gentiles who adhered to the Mosaic law. But no one was quite prepared for Jesus’ answer, which he gave in the form of the parable of the Good Samaritan. He flipped the understanding of the question around. The Jews looked at the question objectively, about others who fit the definition of their neighbor. Jesus’ answer looked at it subjectively, saying that he wants us to have the heart of a neighbor, and once we do, we will recognize basically that everyoneis in our neighborhood — even those considered enemies, as Jews and Samaritans, for historical reasons, deemed each other.
In the parable of the Good Samaritan, Jesus stressed that God’s love has no limits and that likewise there can be no limitto our love for neighbor. The first point about God’s love is often missed, but the Fathers of the Church saw this as the necessary “background” for the proper understanding of the parable. They saw manas that person who had started to go down from the place of God’s dwelling, represented by Jerusalem, to Jericho, literally the lowest place on earth, 1388 feet below sea level. His descent was sin. While walking in paradise, man was ambushed by the evil one, who left him at the brink of death because of the natural and supernatural consequences of sinful choices. The priest and the Levite were, respectively, those who, even though they knew the law and the prophets, chose to pass the nearly-dead sinner by — chose to separate themselves totally from the tax collectors and sinners, like many of the Scribes and Pharisees — so that they would not be contaminated by his sins. Eventually Christ, the Good Samaritan, came. When he beheld the human person half dead, he had compassion on him and for all his wounds, self-inflicted by his own sins and exacted upon him by the sins of others. So, as we read in the parable, “he approached.” Christ approached all the way from heaven, getting so close as to take on our nature, humbly becoming “God-with-us” (Mt 1:23). He poured the oil and wine of his redemptive blood on our wounds to heal them. He brought us with our wounds to the inn, which represents the Church, and gave the inn-keepers (all of us in the Church) the instruction to care for those wounded until he returned and to help nurse them back from sins to the full health of holiness. The extremely generous two denarii and the promise for more upon his return were the treasure of Christ’s merits, especially the Sacraments, which continue the healing process within us. Finally, the reference to his return was an allusion to the second coming, when Jesus will come to repay each of us according to our deeds (Rom 2:6), according to whether we act on this summons.
The parable of the Good Samaritan, therefore, is first a commentary on God’s love for us and, secondly, a clear illustration of Christ’s statement during the Last Supper, “Love one another as I have loved you” (Jn 15:12). Our love for each other is based not merely on our love for ourselves — “love your neighbor as yourself” — but on God’s love for us. Never in the Gospel did Jesus say, merely, “Do what I say.” He stated time and again, “Come, follow me!” He would set us an example and tell us to imitate him. That is why Jesus said at the end of the parable, “Go and do the same;” we were to follow his example of love. He was calling us to go out to seek those who have been ambushed by the evil one and left at the point of death in sin, and patiently take them to the Church, his Bride and Body, to nurse them back to health. He was explicitly calling us to cross the road and approach all those who have been mugged, bruised, beaten, victimized, and abandoned by others in this world and use our donkeys, our shoulders, our cars, whatever resources he has given us, to bring them to safety, to nurse them back to health. In other words, Jesus was giving us marching orders to love others — even those who seem to be our enemies, even those we find most despicable — to the point of sacrificing our lives, our goods, our time for them.
Hence, Jesus gives all of us a point on which to examine our consciences today. To be a Good Samaritan means to behave like Christ and draw close to those who are in need, close enough to become their neighbor. In today’s first reading St. Paul says that as Christians we are to be a “letter of Christ,” “written not in ink but by the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets that are hearts of flesh.” We are supposed to be the living commentaries, the breathing elucidations of God’s word. To know what God says, people should be able to readitfrom the way we live. And therefore they’re supposed to be able to read in the letter of our Christian lives how to love God with all we’ve got and how to be Good Samaritans through the love we have concretely have for everyone God has placed in our neighborhood. And so we must ask ourselves: When we see someone in need, do we behave like the priest and the Levite, who, although outwardly religious, pass by on the other side of the road, afraid to get our hands dirty and commit our time to helping someone in dire straits? Or do we draw close and see how we can help, even to the point of sacrifice? Are we willing to be inconvenienced to help others or are we too busy minding our own business to stop and place others and their urgent needs above ourselves and our own desires? Do we look at care for them as merely a reluctant duty or do we run to those in need, the way the father in the Parable of the Prodigal Son ran to embrace his repentant son, or the way a mother would run into traffic to care for one of her children whose bicycle had just been struck by a car?
One of the things that Pope Francis has been prophetically exposing is the indifference with which so many people, including Christians, live. So many don’t care when people are starving to death, or losing their lives trying to emigrate, or being gunned down at Sunday Mass in Sri Lanka or Nigeria, or being victimized by violence in Odessa, or El Paso, or Dayton. We might give these things our attention for a little bit, we might say a prayer, we might text in a contribution, but then many of us simply change the channel of our attention. Pope Francis says many are more concerned about a drop of a few points in the stock market than they are about people dying of exposure on the streets. To be a Christian, he stresses, in communion with every Pope back to St. Peter, is to grasp that, unlike Cain, we are our brother’s keeper. To be a Christian does not mean just to know the Catechism or to fulfill our weekly obligation on the Lord’s day or not violate the commandments. To be a Christian is to cross the road to help others as Christ helped us first. To be Christian means to seek to love God with all we’ve got and to love our neighbor with all we’ve got. It’s eschatologically essential for us to grasp this. Jesus tells us that those to whom he will say at the judgment, “Depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels,” will not merely be people like Nero, Pol Pot, Hitler, and Stalin, but those who didn’t give food, drink, clothing, care, visits, or welcome to others in need, “for as often as you failed to do it to the least of my brothers and sisters,” Jesus tells us he will say, “you failed to do it to me.” To be a good Samaritan isn’t just “extra credit” on the final exam of life. To be a Good Samaritan is a command: “Go and do likewise.” That’s the way Christ’s kingdom is built up here on earth. That’s the way we inherit eternal life. If we’re not living in God’s kingdom here on earth — and God’s kingdom is a kingdom of Good Samaritans! — then why should we expect to enter into his eternal kingdom?
Whenever we talk about living with this type of charity, however, there are lots of practical questions that arise. We know that none of us can help everyone with every possible need — and that God would never demand of us the impossible. We know that there are con-men and con-women who try to exploit the generosity of others and that therefore to give to them might be catalyzing their sinful deception. We know others are, for example, addicted and may misuse our generosity to harm rather than help themselves. How do we know when to give, to whom to give, and how much to give?
The last time we were together, on August 4, we pondered a little the life and wisdom of St. John Vianney, the patron saint of parish priests, whose 160thanniversary of his death and birth into eternal life we were celebrating. I have always found him one of the most practical of saints, one full of great wisdom and discernment, still very useful today since his parishioners had the same questions as parishioners in every age. They too wondered about how to be a Good Samaritan when others might take advantage of their Christian generosity and hospitality. I’d like to share some of the insights he gave to these important, practical questions.
The Curé of Ars began by stressing that for a Christian who wants to be saved, charity is not optional.“All of our religion is but a false religion, and all our virtues are mere illusions, and we ourselves are only hypocrites in the sight of God,” he declared emphatically, “unless we have universal charity for everyone, for the good and for the bad, for the poor people as well as for the rich, for all those who do us harm as much as those who do us good.” He said that excelling in Christian charity ought to be the most important priority of our life. “The obligation we have to love our neighbor is so important,” he stressed, “that Jesus Christ put it into a commandment that he placed immediately after that by which he commands us to love Him with all our hearts.” His advice was influenced by his personal experience. When he was a seminarian, struggling in his studies, he decided to make a 120-mile round trip pilgrimage to a mountain shrine dedicated to St. Francis Regis. He made a vow that he would not bring any provisions, but beg for his food along the way. He anticipated people would be kind, especially to a pilgrim seminarian. He was wrong. No matter how many people he asked, he was consistently refused and often gratuitously insulted and derided. He was so hungry toward the end of his 60-mile hike to the sanctuary that out of desperation he began to eat some grass and shrubs. At the shrine, a wise priest commuted his vow so that he could buy provisions for his walk home. St. John Vianney would never forget, however, what it felt like to beg and to be refused. This experience gave him a great compassion toward all those in need. “I begged only one time in my life,” he confessed later, “and it was awful. It’s then that I came to know that it’s better to give than to ask.”
The most important principle he taught was that we should always try to see God in the poor. “When we give alms, we should think that it’s to the Lord and not to the poor that we’re giving.” He loved to tell the stories of the saints who literally saw Christ in the poor. He would regularly recount the story of St. Martin of Tours, a Roman soldier who upon seeing a shivering, barely-clothed beggar at the gate of Amiens, dismounted his horse, evaginated his Roman lance, split his military cape in two, and covered the poor man with half of it; later that night, the Lord Jesus appeared to Martin in a dream wearing that part of Martin’s cape. He would also tell the story of St. John of God whom a poor man approached for help. As he was reaching into his pocket, St. John looked down and noticed the man’s bare feet, each of which bore stigmata. “Often we think we’re giving to a poor man,” Fr. Vianney concluded, “but we find it’s the Lord.” For that reason, he said, “We should never reject the poor.” Many of us do, thinking we’re justified. Repeating phrases he heard from some of his parishioners, which still echo today, the Curé noted, “Some say to the poor, haughtily, ‘You are a parasite! You should get a job.’” Basing himself, however, on Christ’s words that “the poor you will always have with you” (Jn 12:8), Fr. Vianney intimated that one reason for endemic poverty is to unleash love and move us to become Good Samaritans. “The poor man is an instrument that God uses to make us good,” he said. “When we give a small bodily alms to the poor, they give us a great spiritual alms” in return. If there were no people who were poorer than we are, we would never have an opportunity to learn how to give.
The Curé of Ars wasn’t afraid of being exploited. His assistant Fr. Antoine Raymond sought to persuade him that many of those who asked for alms were “impostors” just trying to take advantage of his generosity. Many of the leading residents of Ars complained that their village had become a place where all the indigent of the region would converge, including many who were poor by choice rather than by circumstance. Fr. Vianney wasn’t naïve and therefore sought to be discriminating in his charity, giving more to those who had greater need. But at the same time, he gave something to everyone who begged. “We are never taken in,” he said, “if we give to God.” He expanded upon the point, saying, “If it’s for the world that you give alms, you are right to complain [about being taken advantage of]. But if it’s for the good God, whether one thanks you or not, what does it matter?” He would regularly add, “I prefer to be deceived that to deceive myself,” meaning that he would never want to make a false conclusion about someone’s motives and refuse someone in real need, that he would rather be deceived 99 times than once not give someone in real need. To those who complained that some recipients made bad use of his sacrifices, he replied, “The poor man will be judged on whatever use he makes of your alms, but you will be judged on the alms itself that you could have done but didn’t.”
He tried to help his people see the selfishness behind the many excuses we use to claim we cannot give or can only give spare change. “You say you don’t have money to give alms,” he said, “but you have enough money to buy another field!” In our own day, many lament that they cannot give a lot to charity, but somehow they miraculously find money to pay cable bills or buy high definition televisions, new cars, make investments and leave sizable inheritances this side of the eschatological eye of the needle. Fr. Vianney’s principle was simple: “If you have much, give much; if you have little, give little; but give — with all your heart and with joy.” For those with more than they need, he taught, “Your well-being is nothing other than a depository that God has put in your hands; after taking what is necessary for you and your family, the rest is owed to the poor.” Out of love for us, God has put so many resources into our hearts and hands, precisely so that we can become like him, as we seek to love him back in others with a similar love to the way with which he has loved us. And the Lord has made this Christian loving generosity easy. St. John Vianney used to praise God for making it easy for him to become a Good Samaritan. For the last 31 years of his life, he heard confessions 12-18 hours a day and didn’t have a chance to go out in search of the poor. But the Lord had brought the poor to Ars, and in passing from the rectory to the Church, they would be waiting for him there, as he would empty his pockets according to the needs. The Lord has made it even easier for us in Manhattan. We can’t leave this Church without finding people in need. We can’t walk a half-block to Grand Central Station without finding others. Our of love for us, God has made it easy for us to cross the sidewalk to care. And out of love for others, he sends us onto the sidewalk!
As we prepare now to enter into Christ’s supreme act of love in the Last Supper and on the Cross, we call to mind that the Lord himself, like the man who went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, was once stripped, beaten and left for dead. While he was dying on Calvary, most of his disciples ran off in the other direction. Only a few faithful followers — the Blessed Mother, St. John, St. Mary Magdalene, Mary the wife of Clopas — drew near. Only these that day proved neighbor to him. As we follow in their footsteps and approach this altar to receive the body and blood that was offered on the Cross for us, we ask the Lord for the gift to recognize him not only under the appearances of bread and wine but also in the distressing disguise of those we will meet after Mass. Jesus tells us today to “do this in memory of” him, to “go and do the same.” May the Good Samaritan whom we’re about to receive in one-flesh union, help us from within to become his hands, his feet, his compassion, in the midst of a world that still desperately needs the whole Mystical Body to be inn-keepers and to help him announce and help others fully to enter his Kingdom, which is nothing less than a kingdom of love, a neighborhood of compassion, a communion of Good Samaritans. What must we do to inherit eternal life? We must become living illustrations of the Parable he has proclaimed to us today.
The readings for today’s Mass were:
A reading for the Second Letter of St. Paul to the Corinthians
Are we beginning to commend ourselves again? Or do we need, as some do, letters of recommendation to you or from you? You are our letter, written on our hearts, known and read by all, shown to be a letter of Christ administered by us, written not in ink but by the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets that are hearts of flesh. Such confidence we have through Christ toward God. Not that of ourselves we are qualified to take credit for anything as coming from us; rather, our qualification comes from God, who has indeed qualified us as ministers of a new covenant, not of letter but of spirit; for the letter brings death, but the Spirit gives life. Now if the ministry of death, carved in letters on stone, was so glorious that the Israelites could not look intently at the face of Moses because of its glory that was going to fade, how much more will the ministry of the Spirit be glorious? For if the ministry of condemnation was glorious, the ministry of righteousness will abound much more in glory.
The Continuation of the Holy Gospel according to St. Luke
Turning to the disciples in private he said, “Blessed are the eyes that see what you see. For I say to you, many prophets and kings desired to see what you see, but did not see it, and to hear what you hear, but did not hear it.” There was a scholar of the law who stood up to test him and said, “Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus said to him, “What is written in the law? How do you read it?” He said in reply, “You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your being, with all your strength, and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself.” He replied to him, “You have answered correctly; do this and you will live.”But because he wished to justify himself, he said to Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” Jesus replied, “A man fell victim to robbers as he went down from Jerusalem to Jericho. They stripped and beat him and went off leaving him half-dead. A priest happened to be going down that road, but when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side. Likewise a Levite came to the place, and when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side. But a Samaritan traveler who came upon him was moved with compassion at the sight. He approached the victim, poured oil and wine over his wounds and bandaged them. Then he lifted him up on his own animal, took him to an inn and cared for him. The next day he took out two silver coins and gave them to the innkeeper with the instruction, ‘Take care of him. If you spend more than what I have given you, I shall repay you on my way back.’ Which of these three, in your opinion, was neighbor to the robbers’ victim?” He answered, “The one who treated him with mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.
