The Eleventh Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year A)
My homily for the Eleventh Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year A), preached at the Basilica of St. Josaphat in Milwaukee, Wisconsin
In a recent interview, Jesuit Father Tom Smolich, the international director of Jesuit Relief Services, remarked that he has come to see the world’s refugee crisis as “a problem of the heart.” Father Smolich has spent more than 8 years directing this non-profit that supports refugees and displaced persons in 59 countries, and he has shared that he now sees that this crisis is more than just a “humanitarian problem” of getting resources to the people who need them. The indifference of so many governments and international organizations—even as the number of refugees and refugee deaths increases—reflects a spiritual crisis… an inability to feel compassion.
This is a powerful insight.
It becomes all the more powerful when we remember the loss of more than 500 lives when a ship carrying refugees sank of the coast of Greece this past Wednesday. But this “problem of the heart” isn’t only related to the hard realities around migrants and refugees. Take a moment to think of the pain, the conflicts, the tragedies that fill our social media feeds and news outlets…
I think it is fair to say that many of the issues—and so much suffering—that we face locally and internationally often come down to a lack of compassion.
Compassion.
It’s a beautiful and terrible word.
Although most of us think of “compassion” as something like kindness or sympathy, the origins of the word are much richer. “Compassion” comes to us from two Latin words: cum, which means “with,” and passio—"to suffer.” In its fullest sense, to have compassion literally means that we suffer with the one who is struggling, marginalized, or abused.
Compassion touches something deep inside of us and, when it is true compassion, we can’t help but move to action.
God’s compassion and mercy were described in the Reading we heard from the Book of Exodus, when God reminded the people of Israel: “You have seen for yourselves how I treated the Egyptians and how I bore you up on eagle wings and brought you here to myself.” The compassion of God lifted up and liberated the Israelites who were crying out for freedom and life.
In Matthew’s Gospel—from which we heard just a few moments ago—we find Jesus carrying forward this saving, compassionate work. Fulfilling his mission of proclaiming that the Reign of God—the Kingdom of God—is at hand, Jesus teaches, touches, and heals. Again and again, Jesus demonstrates that his mission is anchored in compassion, as he is constantly reaching out to those who need forgiveness, healing, and wholeness. And this Sunday’s Gospel highlights the mystery of Jesus’ compassion as the evangelist observes that, “at the sight of the crowds, Jesus’ heart was moved with pity… because they were troubled and abandoned, like sheep without a shepherd.”
His “heart was moved with pity” … that’s a beautiful image.
But if we look at this Gospel text a bit more deeply, we find that the evangelist uses a very specific Greek word to try to communicate to us what was happening inside of Jesus. The word is splanchnizomai. It literally means “he was moved in his guts.”
The sight of this shepherd-less crowd was like a punch in the gut. Jesus wasn’t feeling sorry for them. He didn’t just hurt or ache for them. He was moved in the deepest part of himself because he felt their pain.
To say it another way: Jesus felt compassion.
But the text doesn’t stop even there. If have paid attention to the Gospel, we know that Jesus doesn’t keep his saving mission—this compassion—to himself. Rather, he passes it on to the Twelve. Just as Jesus traveled around Israel, “teaching in their synagogues, proclaiming the gospel of the kingdom, and curing every disease and illness” as Matthew tells us (9:35), the Twelve are now to go out, like their Teacher, to “cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse lepers, drive out demons” (Mt 10:8). Their task is to take the compassion of Jesus out into the world, and they have been given power and authority over the powers of death.
These disciples were sent out to give to others what they themselves have received. They don’t go out and proclaim abstract theories or syllogisms. They don’t lead with moral absolutes or mandates. Instead, what they share with the world are their own experiences of that compassion that makes people whole, of mercy, and the assurance that the Reign of God is at hand.
They testify to what they have seen: sinners have been forgiven, the blind have been given sight, bent bodies and broken hearts have been restored, and hope has been proclaimed to the poor. They share how they have felt the transforming power of Christ’s grace and forgiveness at work in their own lives.
They proclaim the Gospel—the Good News—that the promises made to their ancestors have been fulfilled, and the signs and wonders that they will perform is divine assurance that what they are saying is true.
So it is with us.
We, too, have been chosen. We have been called to live as disciples and the good news of salvation has been entrusted to us, just as it was to the Twelve. But these gifts aren’t something “precious” to be hoarded, because, in the end, we are simply stewards, caretakers of the mysteries of faith. Our task is simple: to share that same good news—to proclaim Christ—by sharing with the world what we ourselves have seen and come to believe. To be mindful and to name how, in our own lives, we have experienced God’s compassion: those times we have felt those eagle wings lifting us up when the struggle, the illness, the loss, the sin, the emptiness seemed so big that we didn’t know how to take the next step… the next breath.
This is the work of evangelization and, as we think of the pain, suffering, and anger that threaten to suffocate us, I think we can also see that this gift of Christ’s compassion is what we can give to one another and to the world. We can be that healing touch of Christ.
And so, we comfort those who mourn,
We bring life to those who are in despair,
We work for justice for the last and the least,
We embrace those who alone and outcast,
We stand against fear, judgment, and hate because these are the enemies of love.
In the end, whatever form my mission—your mission—might take, the work of compassion is non-negotiable for disciples of Jesus:
Without cost we have received; without cost we are to give.
Unless we open our hearts and souls to the cries that moved Jesus in the deepest part of himself, we will never be the people of compassion—the disciples—that we are called to be.
May that Lord of Compassion grant us the grace of compassion, so that we may truly give to others what we have received in such abundance. Amen.
O God, strength of those who hope in you,
graciously hear our pleas,
and, since without you mortal frailty can do nothing,
grant us always the help of your grace,
that in following your commands
we may please you by our resolve and our deeds.
Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,
who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
God, for ever and ever. Amen.
-Collect for the Eleventh Sunday in Ordinary Time
