Where am I from?

Homily

19th Sunday in Ordinary Time BI

St. Lawrence Catholic Campus Center at the University of Kansas

8 August 2021

AMDG +mj

I am from heaven.

I've actually tried this answer out on people.  They think I'm full of myself.  They don't believe me, whether or not it's true.  It's not what they want to hear.

Father, where are you from?  I'm from heaven, can't you tell by looking?  Can't you see?  I try answering like Jesus, as his disciple, as one incorporated into His body and conformed to His image by baptism.   Yet people don't want to hear it.

My name is Mitchel!  It's a take on Michael, which means one who is like God!  Again, can't you see it?Can't you see I am from heaven? Whoever has seen me has seen God!

No, Father.  We mean where were you born?  Who are your parents?  I was born from above.  I have been adopted into the family of God.  My mother and my brothers are those who do the will of God!

They don't want to hear it.  They want to know that I am from Hoxie, Kansas, second son of Elmer and Yvonne's six children. That's what they want to know.

Try telling someone you're from heaven and let me know how it goes!

My dear friends, we are in the middle of Jesus' most annoying sermon.  The guy knew how to teach and preach.  He could make people angry.  He could command attention!  Where did he get all this!  We might tend to think his most effective sermon was the Sermon on the Mount.  You know that one.  If your eye cause you to sin, pluck it out!  Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.  Yea, that one.  The one calling me to be perfect, as God is perfect.   The one that makes us exasperated like Elijah in the first reading.  I have no chance to finish this race.

Yet that's not his most annoying sermon.  The Bread of Life discourse is.  It bothered people like none other.  How can He say He is from heaven?  His parents are right here!  How can He give us His flesh to eat.  Especially for a Jew, that is the most offensive thing imaginable!

When pressed Jesus doubles down, and says I might also drink His blood.  How can I not be bothered by this?  Jesus is insane.  How can I believe?  What if I brought a quart of my blood to Mass and told you all you must drink it.  How many of you would remain?  What if I chopped off my arm and said you have to eat it lest you die.  How many of you would remain?

Yet this is precisely what Jesus is asking us to believe in, and to remain in.  It is the most bothersome, offensive and incredulous thing He could possibly say.  It is his hardest sermon.  Thankfully, with the Assumption next week, we are spared the end of the homily, when he insists we gnaw on him like a piece of jerky, leading nearly all his disciples to abandon him.

Will I let myself be bothered by Jesus' hardest sermon?  Will I dare by foolish enough to say I am born from above, and fed by bread from heaven?  I can certainly say there are things that bother me much more than the absurdity of the Eucharist.  The nun sitting right behind me during 30 days of silent Holy Hours cleared her throat every 30 seconds.  Can you imagine what I wanted to scream at that sweet nun if I could have talked?

I get bothered by people eating at meetings.  I'm annoyed by people who sit on counter tops and tables!  Those are for preparing food and for eating, not for your backsides people! That's gross.  Oh I can be bothered for sure.

What's crazy for me is to see that those who didn't believe were more bothered by Jesus' words than we who believe.  Will you let the absurd reality of the Eucharist affect you?

If so you might have a new answer to some pivotal questions. Where am I from?  Where am I going?  Do I have what it takes to get there?