The Fourteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year A)
My homily for the Fourteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year A), preached at the Basilica of St. Josaphat in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, July 8 and 9, 2023
We all live with expectations. Everyone has them and they touch on all areas of life. They help to shape our careers and our relationships. Expectations play a major part in how we set goals; they shape our vision of our future.
Of course, our expectations can also change over the course of our lives. Surprising opportunities, disappointments, and the universe of “curve balls” that life throws at us become invitations to adjust our expectations and this is part of living in the present moment and navigating the realities of life in a healthy way.
We also have expectations of God and that’s okay because, at their best, these expectations are expressions of faith. At other times—when we’re not at our best—our expectations of God can have more to do with how we want the world to be. And so, as adult believers, we have to be mindful of what, exactly, it is that we are expecting.
Who is it that I expect God to be for me?
What happens when God doesn’t meet my expectations?
What are my expectations for God even based on?
Certainly, our spiritual ancestors—the People of Israel—wrestled with these questions. Countless times in psalms, in the writings of the Prophets, and the Ketuvim—the wisdom writings—of the Hebrew Scriptures we hear these expectations expressed in rich images: “shepherd”… “potter”… “mother bear”… “king”… “rock”… “consuming fire” are just a few examples. Each of these symbols, these names of God, holds within it a universe of meaning and expectations about who and what God was for them.
Of all these images and understandings of God, the one that resonated the most strongly throughout Israel’s later history was that of “Messiah”—the anointed one of God—a savior—who would be like a new King David, restoring unity and glory to Israel. The Messiah would be the one who would bring about the defeat of enemies and his rule would be defined by both royal and priestly power. At the heart of this vision was hope and a longing for justice. And so, it was expected that the Messiah would usher in a new age when everything would be made right. There would be prosperity for the poor, healing for the sick, freedom from every type of enslavement; there would be justice. The long-sought Messiah would simply overpower all evil, drive the wicked off the face of the earth… the Messiah will make all things new.
And this vision, this hope makes sense.
Think about life today. Think about when we feel challenged and overwhelmed, about those times when the world isn’t the way we think it should be, or when we’re confronted with suffering. Aren’t there moments when we also want a god who flexes his muscles and simply who takes away our problems? Who silences those who don’t agree with us? Aren’t there times when we might also wish a savior will magically remove all the challenges and disappointed expectations we feel?
But then we have today’s Reading from the Prophet Zechariah. In this passage, Zechariah doesn’t lean into the promise of a savior who would bring freedom and renewed prestige to the People through demonstrations of power or mighty acts of war. Rather, the One the prophet describes is noted for another quality: “See, your king shall come to you,” the prophet promises: “a just savior is he, meek and riding on an ass” (9:9).
This isn’t who or what the people would have been looking for. Where were the revenge, the weapons, the war horse? Where were the demonstrations of royal power?
Talk about disappointed expectations!
This was a time when Israel was only beginning to rebuild after decades of exile and oppression in Babylon, the People were anxious to reclaim their place among the nations of the world again and—using very human logic—they were looking for a mighty leader to help make this happen.
But this wasn’t the vision that Zechariah offered. The One who is the long-awaited, divinely appointed king of God’s Chosen People would be meek. And yet… and yet, this meek king would banish warring chariots and warrior’s bows.
This meek king would proclaim peace—would be peace—for the nations.
How do we make sense of this? What do we do with this?
First, we should understand that “meek” doesn’t mean mousy, and it certainly doesn’t mean weak. Meek, as Zechariah uses the word here—and the way Jesus uses it when he says, “Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the land” (Matthew 5:5)—refers to a person who isn’t impressed by their own power or self-importance; they aren’t caught up in their ego or need to assert their authority. The One promised by Zechariah isn’t afraid to disappoint the expectations of those who wanted to bring about justice and the Reign of God through force.
And, so it is with Jesus.
In the Gospel, Jesus isn’t denying the very real demands of faithful discipleship or that life, itself, can wear us down. “Come to me,” he says, “all you who labor and are burdened.” And he promises rest. This is where the meekness of Jesus becomes real for us. Rather than simply remove the struggles, the sacrifices, the disappointments we face, he promises to be with us in those moments. As Pope Francis has reflected, “Today, Jesus says to each one [of us]: ‘Take courage; do not give in to life’s burdens; do not close yourself off in the face of fears and sins. Come to me!’”.
“Many times in the face of a burden of life or a situation that saddens us, we try to talk about it with someone who listens to us, with a friend, with an expert… This si a great thing to do, but let us not forget Jesus. Let us not forget to open ourselves to him and to recount our life to him, to entrust people and situations to him.”
-Pope Francis, Angelus Address (July 9, 2017); Image: Icon of Christ and St. Menas (8th century)
Jesus, who is “meek and humble of heart” doesn’t magically resolve the problems of life. But—and this is essential—he opens his heart to embrace the heaviness that we carry in ours; he doesn’t take away our cross, but he labors with us. This is how burdens become light: he carries them with us.
In the end, the invitation for us this Sunday is to let go of the expectations of those who are worldly-wise—the expectations of those who believe they know exactly how God works and how the world should be. The invitation is for us to become small, to become meek ourselves, letting go of any pretense of power or self-importance. Today, Jesus is asking us to live as “little ones,” who are open to the love of God and who are able to accept that we are all children of God.
Blessed are you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth;
you have revealed to little ones the mysteries of the kingdom. Amen.
