Memorial of Saint Jerome, Priest and Doctor of the Church
For the most part, my kids can freely roam the house. There are some obvious exceptions, such as, stay out of Avila’s room when she is napping, don’t go outside by yourself, and stay off the roof (I’m to blame for that rule). However, for a time we had to institute a rule keeping them out of the dining room. For Iggy, the dining room table was just too tempting. Not as something to climb on, but as a place to hide when he was up to no good. Pilfered candy or a forbidden objected would be taken under the table as he hoped we wouldn’t find him, or at least not notice his absence until he was finished. He snuck off with these things because he knew he wouldn’t like the answer if he had asked to have them.
A similar motivation holds the disciples’ tongues in today’s Gospel. They aren’t silent to hide their wrongdoing, but they are afraid of the answer they will receive if they ask.
At this point in Jesus’ ministry they are in awe of him, amazed by him as the Gospel says it. They don’t understand him, but he fits within a category that they can handle. He will usher in the New Israel that will have nations flocking to it, like we hear in today’s first reading. Categorically, he is going to be the new prophet, a religious messiah the equal of Moses. He will be the new king, a political messiah the equal of David.
This doesn’t mean that everyone believed we was going to lead a military uprising, but certainly, he wouldn’t be crushed by the present powers. Moses was delivered from Pharaoh’s forces, not defeated by them. David defeated Goliath, he wasn’t smashed into jam by him (sorry, Goliath always reminds me of Tolkien’s trolls). The nations were to be handed to the Son of Man, not the other way around.
They don’t get it, but they don’t ask because they are afraid that they won’t like the answer. It will require a categorical shift in how they view Jesus large enough to send California into the ocean.
That struggle is not unique for those disciples. We all have questions we don’t want to ask, because we are afraid of the answers we will receive.
How do we truly handle people asking for money on the curb? How do we vote? Is it ok for me to keep watching this show? Should I really cut ties with this friend? Should I be giving more? I’m not implying answers for any of these, and believe me these only scratch the surface. We don’t need to ask everything at once, and we aren’t expected to have all the answers, but we are expected to start somewhere.
A dear friend once told the story of his conversion this way, he said, “It was like I was holding one end of a rope and it disappeared into the sand. I didn’t know where it was going to lead, and I wasn’t sure I was going to like it, but I knew I had to pull on the rope little by little, seeing what the next section would reveal as it came out of the sand.” That journey led him back to his faith, back to the Church, into a tear-filled confession where the priest asked questions and he nodded or shook his head because he couldn’t bring himself to speak. It led him past that to offering his gifts in ministry and even serving others overseas with his gifts and talents.
The disciples were afraid to ask the question, because they were afraid of the answer. In some aspect of our life, we all likely have a question we’re afraid to ask the Lord. Can we, like my friend, just begin to pull on the rope and see where it leads. Because we might not like the initial answer, but when we look at the paradox of the cross, we find that God’s answer is so much richer than our assumptions.
- Spencer Hargadon