ALWAYS HERE WITH COMPASSION
Author: Fr. Michael Byron
August 02, 2020
I don’t think I’m alone in this, but among the names, email
addresses, and phone numbers on my list of electronic contacts are at least a
few that stand out – and not in a good way. They belong to people who get in
touch only under a certain set of circumstances – specifically, when something
is wrong and I’m supposed to fix it, or when they are in need of something and I’m
supposed to provide it.
One of those phone numbers is 651-291-4400, a number that
makes me cringe whenever it pops up. It’s the number of the Archdiocese of
Saint Paul and Minneapolis in general, and sometimes of the Archbishop in
particular. No pastor looks forward to unsolicited contact from that number,
because nobody from there ever calls just to say hello or to ask how my day is
going.
(I should note, though, exactly one exception to that rule. It
was on Holy Saturday morning this year, and there was a voice message from
Archbishop Hebda. My first thought was not positive. But it turns out that he
was spending that weekend call all the pastors, of which there about 150, to
wish them a Blessed Easter and to thank them for their faithful service. Wow.)
But that’s the singular exception. I think most of us know
of that relative or acquaintance whose only occasion for getting in touch is
some sort of personal crisis – they need money, or a place to stay, or someone
to complain to.
Typically they are not very much concerned with whether they
are inconveniencing me or us. These tend to be somewhat lopsided relationships.
Well, if we were to multiply that experience by roughly 5,000
times, we’d end up with the life story of Jesus, whose followers hung around
him and who appreciated him to a great extent because he was a solver of their
problems. And when he wasn’t willing to do that, many or most of them drifted
away.
Today’s Gospel of Matthew is a perfect example. Jesus was
fresh in his grief over the death of his mentor and relative John the Baptist
who had been brutally murdered on the orders of King Herod. Jesus wanted time
alone and he went off in a boat by himself to the far shore.
But the crowd didn’t much care about that, apparently. They ran
around the shoreline so that there were thousands of them waiting by the time
he arrived. They wanted things from Jesus – particularly healing for their
sick, and they wanted it now. If I were Jesus, I’d have reacted with anger and
resentment. But he reacted with pity, and he gave them what they needed. Even then.
He helped them not because he had to, but because he wanted
to. Even then. There is a compassion in his heart that is far deeper than any
that I bear or can even imagine. He could so easily have said, “Go away!”
And that crowd wasn’t just filled with people who were sick
and desperate; they were also hungry – physically hungry. And Jesus’s disciples
gave him an easy out and a sensible suggestion: “Dismiss them, Lord, and tell
them to buy dinner in the town. Make it their problem. They’re the ones who
showed up here uninvited in the first place.”
But Jesus’s response was as if to say that very fact of
their presence makes it my problem, our problem. There is no reason – indeed there
is no Christian excuse – for simply sending them away. Compassion must prevail
over convenience.
And we all heard what happened next. Staring into a
situation that seemed impossible, 5,000 men were fed with just a little bread
and a few fish – and as Matthew carefully notes, that didn’t even count the
women and children, which means that this was probably more accurately a feeding
of 10,000 or 15,000 people.
The point is that the numbers of people relative to the
amount of food on hand was preposterous. The point is that this Gospel
challenge for us is not to focus on the statistics, or on the alleged magical
powers that led to the multiplication of loaves and fishes. It’s not a question
of “how?”
The challenge is to be able to look squarely into situations
that seem hopeless and impossible and cause for despair, and to be able to hope
and trust even there – even here – God’s ability to rescue and to feed and to
heal.
It is that of which
the prophet Isaiah spoke to Israel in the First Reading today. He was speaking
to a nation that had been promised everything by God in the beginning: freedom
from slavery, a chosen status, an eternal blessing, an everlasting covenant, a
promised land. And because of their sin they had lost it all. They were in
Exile in Babylon – a seemingly hopeless situation. They had forsaken God, and
assumed that God had forsaken them in turn.
But it turns out that this too is a lopsided relationship. When
we put ourselves at odds with God, and when we get ourselves into situations
that seem unfixable, God’s unimaginable compassion never leaves us there to
perish.
“All you who are thirsty, come to the water!
You without money, eat and drink – for free!
Call to me, follow me, and you will yet live!”
It would be so much easier if we didn’t get in touch with
the Lord only when something is wrong or in crisis or seemingly impossible for
us to fix. But as Jesus shows us, God will be there even then.
In COVID-19
In the midst of systemic racism
In the face of senseless violence
In abusive relationships and shattered dreams
In unemployment or financial ruin
In chronic illness or addiction
And perhaps most importantly, in the hour of death
We may be one of those people on God’s contact list who only
show up when there’s a problem to solve. But unlike ourselves – or at least
unlike me – God doesn’t much seem to mind. He’s just grateful for the call.
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