Homily for July 12-13, 2008

Father Tom’s Homily
15th Sunday
July 13, 2008

Thirty-seven years ago I was assigned to be the chaplain at Mercy Hospital (across the street from St. Mary). I remember that first week walking into one area of the hospital and hearing a dying man shouting out in confusion and pain. You could hear his outcries down the hallway of that part of the hospital.
Actually I was relieved that he was not on my list of patients to visit (he was not a Catholic). I was reluctant to get too near to such suffering. And besides what was I to say or do when dealing with one so wounded by sickness and despair.
I think that since then I have learned a few lessons about responding to those who suffer.

Last January while visiting our friends in El Salvador, we heard Lolo Guardado tell his story of growing up during the horrors of the violence of the 1980s in that country.
As a young boy of about 8 or 9, he and his family had to run into the hills to escape the army approaching their small village. He hid with his dad and mom and a couple of sisters in a ravine. They stayed in hiding for several days.
There was good reason for the people to fear these military sweeps in rural El Salvador, because typically the soldiers killed everyone, even the children and the elderly and burned homes everywhere.

Finally, after several days, hunger and cold drove Lolo’s family to return to their home to find some food and clothes. When they entered their little village, they saw nothing but destruction.
Lolo said that when he saw one of his best friends, a neighbor boy his age, lying dead on the ground with gaping wounds, he began to run away screaming and weeping. His father had to catch him and try to console him. But the memory of that day still troubles Lolo today.

In 1956 when my mother got the news that her 22-year-old son, my brother Jim, had been killed in an auto accident, she ran out into our back yard screaming her grief so loudly that all the neighbors could hear her.

The cursing of the dying man at Mercy and young Lolo shrieking in terror and my mom screaming in grief are only a few examples of the outcries from pain and suffering that rise up from the earth at every moment.
Does God hear our sobs and shouts of grief and pain and loneliness and despair? Does God care? What kind of a world has God created that has so much pain and tears?
Suffering is everywhere, and sometimes we ourselves are caught up in it. And we may wonder, why is this happening to me and what does it mean.

In today’s second reading, St. Paul puts suffering and life’s trials into a larger context. He acknowledges the burden of suffering with these words: “…all creation is groaning in labor pains…and we also groan within ourselves…”
Suffering is not caused by God. Rather it is caused by imperfection and evil in the world.
And God is calling this imperfect world to redemption. This is the great hope given by his Son Jesus who has come to save the world.
It is the “hope that creation itself will be set free from slavery to sin and share in the glorious freedom of the children of God.” This is the meaning of Christian hope. It envisions salvation for all creation by Jesus Christ.
While this movement toward perfection is gradually taking place, Paul acknowledges that “we groan within ourselves as we wait for the redemption of our bodies.”
In today’s 2nd reading, Paul acknowledges human suffering and natural catastrophes in this life, but he presents the Christian hope that harmony and healing will prevail when creation is fully perfected.
Bringing about this perfection is God’s work, but we are called to assist in this work. It is called building the Kingdom of God.

I have had four months of misery and pain and uncertainty about losing sight in my right eye. Would Paul’s lesson in today’s reading have solved my problems? I don’t think so, but I shall get to what I think has made a huge difference to me.
Paul’s words, however, give a context to our misery. They tell us that God has a plan, and yes, God is still in control. Christian hope tells us that one day all will be well. Suffering occurs in the world that is still evolving toward perfection.

And while this is going on, God our Mother reads our hearts, and feels empathy with our pain and loneliness, and loves us with great tenderness.
The story of Jesus, the Son of God, speaks to our hurts and tears. He came to heal us. Everywhere he went, he laid his hands on the sick and the sad and healed them.
And most importantly, he entered into our wounds and suffering. It is the wounded Christ who heals us. “By his wounds we are healed.” This is the mystery of a crucified Saviour.

Sister Diane Ortiz, was taken by the Guatemalan death squad, tortured and barely escaped death. Afterward, she remained gravely ill and shattered by her experience for many years.
Her tortured memory left her frail and broken. In her book about recovering her health, she tells about sitting in despair in a small chapel trying to pray.
When she looked up to the crucifix, she was deeply moved by what she saw. It was a tortured God nailed to the cross. Who else could possibly understand her misery. Who else could touch her wounds and brokenness and bring healing except a wounded and broken God.
God has chosen to suffer with us to accompany us to the perfection we call the risen life.

Likewise, this is our calling as healers. We are called to be companions to those who struggle in pain and tears. It means listening and mixing our tears with theirs.
It is human companionship that touches our hurts and brings us hope and healing. More than Paul’s words or anything else, the compassion, prayers and concern of my friends have lifted much of my darkness.
I am deeply grateful.