Extraordinary Praise for Ordinary Work: The Feast of Christ the King
"Whatever you did for the least among you, you did for me."
[Note: The first draft of my homily for this feast is posted at the conclusion of this article.]
This weekend marks the last Sunday of the liturgical year. We conclude our year-long reading of the Gospel of St. Matthew with the powerful scene from the 25th chapter where Christ, enthroned in glory, judges the people of the world according to their depth and evidence of their compassion.
One of the amazing elements in this passage is the surprise registered on the part of those who received the King's commendation. "Lord, when did we do these things for you?" It speaks to me of people whose service of others--be it rendered to children, co-workers or customers--has become as natural to them as breathing.
Below is a reflection on this passage from Sister Joyce Zimmerman, c.pp.s. which might help connect this story with the stories of many workers, parents and other weary laborers:
The kings of the earth demand from their subjects loyalty and taxes; some kingdoms require military service. Christ the King demands care for "the least of my brothers." Though all the brothers and sisters of Jesus are members of his royal family, some are without food and drink, others are naked and imprisoned. Jesus accounts care of them as care of him.
Is it not in our "ordinary work" (raising a family, punching cattle or punching a clock) that we come upon "ordinary needs" of God's people?
_________________________________________________
Homily for the Feast of Christ the King
(First draft)
What’s the difference between buying a house…
where the rooms are empty and the carpet is new…
and living in one where the closets are full and the laundry piled up?
Part of the difference is time:
An empty house requires a bit of time for its rooms to fill up.
Another part of the difference is emotion…
We find excitement in things that are new…
(like the anticipation a young person feels
when getting ready to go out on a date)
But we find security in things that are familiar
(like the sound of the garage door closing behind us
at the end of the day
or the feel of the family room in the early evening
or the soft wheezing of a baby in a crib in the middle of the night).
So, you might say that the difference between buying a house and living in a house
is one part time and two parts experience.
Can the same be said about the difference between being saved by Christ
and living in Christ?
What’s the difference between being “born again” in Christ
and living everyday…day by day…in Christ?
In American culture, when it comes to religion,
there is a lot of emphasis on the flash and excitement
of emotion and conversion.
More and more, people are talking about
dramatic moments in their lives
when a powerful feeling comes upon them
and they turn away from destructive patterns of behavior…
addictions, abusive relationships, meaningless work
and embrace a new way of life in Christ.
Suddenly, their eyes are opened
their past no longer haunts them
they discover that Christ died for them
and now intercedes for them before the throne of God the Father
and the Holy Spirit enters into their heart and soul
and, well, it’s wonderful, completely wonderful.
It’s like walking into a house
where the kitchen gleams
and the windows shine with sunlight.
It’s like a young man pulling into a driveway
to pick up his date.
This is what it’s like to experience grace as though for the first time.
It’s like coming out of the slump of depression
on a day when God gives us a slap on the shoulder
and says,
“Let’s go for a swim and get rid of that sin!”
These are days when living our faith is like stepping into a new house.
You sense a new beginning, a new stage in your life with Christ.
Like receiving Holy Communion
and kneeling next to your spouse in prayer and worship
on the day of your first wedding anniversary
and your 10th anniversary…and your 25th and your 50th.
Protestants identify this experience with “being saved.”
Catholics tend to see it as being “in the state of grace” and “being full of grace.”
It doesn’t matter how we talk about it…
What matters is that we know when it happens and can tell about it.
Like the grace that fills your spirit as hear your daughter’s voice
singing along with a song on the radio in the car
and maybe even singing a hymn next to you in church…
Like the redemption that happens when a young man goes on a high school retreat.
Like the awe that overcomes a family gone camping in the mountains.
Or the reverence that accompanies parents
as they carry a newborn child into their home for the first time.
I’m talking here about the excitement of grace.
I’m talking about the thrill that enters the soul
when a new experience of grace comes knocking
and your spirit is renewed and reborn…
and we all love this part of being saved…
we all love this part of our religion.
* * *
But the grace that fills the Church on this feast of Christ the King
is a different kind of grace.
It is not the grace of a new house,
it is the grace of a house well-lived in.
It is not the slick grace of a young man on retreat
giving his life to Christ…
rather, it is the scratchy grace of Lava soap
on the hands of mechanic as he gets ready to leave the shop
to go home for a night of paying bills,
helping his fifth grader with her math homework.
Today’s grace is not that of a gospel choir waving its arms in praise
but rather the grace of a nurse’s aid lifting a elderly man
from a wheelchair into a bed.
Today’s grace is iron-hard love etched into the face
of a man driving to Lucasville to visit his son doing time.
It’s not the grace of baptism we’re celebrating today
but the grace of on-going salvation that comes to us
by way of Atavan and bedpans…
For…
when I was sick you assisted me,
when I was in prison you visited me
and when I was naked you clothed me.
This too, is a part of our religion:
more than the thrill of something new
the daily routine of doing the good and decent thing
brings us close to God
even when we are not aware of it.
Today I pray that this final parable of Matthew’s Gospel
on this final Sunday of the liturgical year
might carry a sound similar to that of garage door closing
at the end of day…
a plain, utilitarian sound reminding us
that, at the end of the day,
the hours we work in order to feed our family,
and the efforts we extend to help those in need
and the commitments we make to stay the course through difficult times…
these things matter deeply to Christ.
And His word to us today makes it clear
that the faith that carries us to heaven
is morer like Lava soap than singing Alleluia.
[Note: The first draft of my homily for this feast is posted at the conclusion of this article.]
This weekend marks the last Sunday of the liturgical year. We conclude our year-long reading of the Gospel of St. Matthew with the powerful scene from the 25th chapter where Christ, enthroned in glory, judges the people of the world according to their depth and evidence of their compassion.
One of the amazing elements in this passage is the surprise registered on the part of those who received the King's commendation. "Lord, when did we do these things for you?" It speaks to me of people whose service of others--be it rendered to children, co-workers or customers--has become as natural to them as breathing.
Below is a reflection on this passage from Sister Joyce Zimmerman, c.pp.s. which might help connect this story with the stories of many workers, parents and other weary laborers:
The kings of the earth demand from their subjects loyalty and taxes; some kingdoms require military service. Christ the King demands care for "the least of my brothers." Though all the brothers and sisters of Jesus are members of his royal family, some are without food and drink, others are naked and imprisoned. Jesus accounts care of them as care of him.
Is it not in our "ordinary work" (raising a family, punching cattle or punching a clock) that we come upon "ordinary needs" of God's people?
_________________________________________________
Homily for the Feast of Christ the King
(First draft)
What’s the difference between buying a house…
where the rooms are empty and the carpet is new…
and living in one where the closets are full and the laundry piled up?
Part of the difference is time:
An empty house requires a bit of time for its rooms to fill up.
Another part of the difference is emotion…
We find excitement in things that are new…
(like the anticipation a young person feels
when getting ready to go out on a date)
But we find security in things that are familiar
(like the sound of the garage door closing behind us
at the end of the day
or the feel of the family room in the early evening
or the soft wheezing of a baby in a crib in the middle of the night).
So, you might say that the difference between buying a house and living in a house
is one part time and two parts experience.
Can the same be said about the difference between being saved by Christ
and living in Christ?
What’s the difference between being “born again” in Christ
and living everyday…day by day…in Christ?
In American culture, when it comes to religion,
there is a lot of emphasis on the flash and excitement
of emotion and conversion.
More and more, people are talking about
dramatic moments in their lives
when a powerful feeling comes upon them
and they turn away from destructive patterns of behavior…
addictions, abusive relationships, meaningless work
and embrace a new way of life in Christ.
Suddenly, their eyes are opened
their past no longer haunts them
they discover that Christ died for them
and now intercedes for them before the throne of God the Father
and the Holy Spirit enters into their heart and soul
and, well, it’s wonderful, completely wonderful.
It’s like walking into a house
where the kitchen gleams
and the windows shine with sunlight.
It’s like a young man pulling into a driveway
to pick up his date.
This is what it’s like to experience grace as though for the first time.
It’s like coming out of the slump of depression
on a day when God gives us a slap on the shoulder
and says,
“Let’s go for a swim and get rid of that sin!”
These are days when living our faith is like stepping into a new house.
You sense a new beginning, a new stage in your life with Christ.
Like receiving Holy Communion
and kneeling next to your spouse in prayer and worship
on the day of your first wedding anniversary
and your 10th anniversary…and your 25th and your 50th.
Protestants identify this experience with “being saved.”
Catholics tend to see it as being “in the state of grace” and “being full of grace.”
It doesn’t matter how we talk about it…
What matters is that we know when it happens and can tell about it.
Like the grace that fills your spirit as hear your daughter’s voice
singing along with a song on the radio in the car
and maybe even singing a hymn next to you in church…
Like the redemption that happens when a young man goes on a high school retreat.
Like the awe that overcomes a family gone camping in the mountains.
Or the reverence that accompanies parents
as they carry a newborn child into their home for the first time.
I’m talking here about the excitement of grace.
I’m talking about the thrill that enters the soul
when a new experience of grace comes knocking
and your spirit is renewed and reborn…
and we all love this part of being saved…
we all love this part of our religion.
* * *
But the grace that fills the Church on this feast of Christ the King
is a different kind of grace.
It is not the grace of a new house,
it is the grace of a house well-lived in.
It is not the slick grace of a young man on retreat
giving his life to Christ…
rather, it is the scratchy grace of Lava soap
on the hands of mechanic as he gets ready to leave the shop
to go home for a night of paying bills,
helping his fifth grader with her math homework.
Today’s grace is not that of a gospel choir waving its arms in praise
but rather the grace of a nurse’s aid lifting a elderly man
from a wheelchair into a bed.
Today’s grace is iron-hard love etched into the face
of a man driving to Lucasville to visit his son doing time.
It’s not the grace of baptism we’re celebrating today
but the grace of on-going salvation that comes to us
by way of Atavan and bedpans…
For…
when I was sick you assisted me,
when I was in prison you visited me
and when I was naked you clothed me.
This too, is a part of our religion:
more than the thrill of something new
the daily routine of doing the good and decent thing
brings us close to God
even when we are not aware of it.
Today I pray that this final parable of Matthew’s Gospel
on this final Sunday of the liturgical year
might carry a sound similar to that of garage door closing
at the end of day…
a plain, utilitarian sound reminding us
that, at the end of the day,
the hours we work in order to feed our family,
and the efforts we extend to help those in need
and the commitments we make to stay the course through difficult times…
these things matter deeply to Christ.
And His word to us today makes it clear
that the faith that carries us to heaven
is morer like Lava soap than singing Alleluia.
posted by BlueCollarPreacher at 9:32 AM
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