Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

I sat in the very early morning light this Sunday morning, trying to figure out what to say to you good folks today. It was a serene, lovely moment. Today’s scriptures before me. A cup of coffee steaming. God’s in his heaven, all’s right in the world. I actually woke up with a decent idea how to unpack the readings. A deep breath. A little prayer.  Then the noise began:

I wonder if I can get through the Pride Parade route to Christ our Hope this morning.

I wonder if anyone will show up at all this morning with all the complications of getting to and from 2^nd and Stewart with 200,000 people headed downtown.

I wonder if there will be donuts after mass.

I wonder if it wouldn’t be better to walk.

I wonder I should just wait after mass, and watch the parade, and then go home.

I wonder where I put my sunscreen.

I wonder how hot it’s going to get.

I wonder if anyone would notice, or complain if I wore shorts under the vestments this morning.

I wonder if my trick knee is good for the uphill hike back to Capital Hill.

I wonder when bus service will be back to normal.

I wonder when Seattle bus service will ever get back to normal.

I wonder what time the last double episode of Game of Thrones starts tonight.

So, instead of launching into writing the homily, Firefox and I check out the parade route online, and I get up to find the sunscreen, and come back to the computer to check the forecast and the HBO schedule, and then get some more coffee, and then a quick look at the email to check on my schedule for next week, and then, oh, yes, the homily…

Actually, I think that was the homily.

A saying ascribed to the Buddha captures the experience. He described it as “monkey mind”: a pack of drunken monkeys lives in all our heads, all the time, chattering, bouncing around, throwing bananas. 

And Jesus said, “No one who sets a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

Jesus had fixed his gaze intently on Jerusalem, on his saving, fatal task. Around him his disciples are squabbling about who is greater, about how they want to call down fire on the unfriendly Samaritans, about how faithful they will be, following Jesus wherever he goes. Jesus knows better, of course, but loves them anyway.

The message of the scriptures today is, as usual, simple. “Keep your eye on the prize. Love God, love your neighbor. Live by the Spirit, not by the drunken monkeys.” Simple, but far from easy.

We live looking backwards and forwards.  I’ve never plowed a field, but I read that the reason you don’t look back once you’ve set your hand to the plow is that went you look back, the oxen start wandering off the straight line, and the furrows get crooked. Or in these modern times, the tractor runs into a ditch. We’ve all had that experience. We may not have dealt with wandering oxen, but sooner or later, we all run the tractor into a ditch.

Or we start daydreaming about what’s to come, how nice it will be to get away to the mountains for a few days in August, how good it will feel to get through this week, or task, or trouble, or phase of my life. We stare unfocused into that in-between space, between here and the horizon, a space that is no place, and miss the moment, this moment; the moment of life right now, where God is present here, now, inviting me to love and be loved. 

The scripture tells us to focus on the journey, not its beginnings nor even its end: be present intentionally, here, now, or at least once in a while, to the saving presence of God who invites me to love and be loved.

That presence, that promise should be enough for us; maybe not for the drunken monkeys, but it should be enough to give us hope: the hope we have in Christ our hope. We hope that following him, we will find our way home.

And in case you’re wondering right now, yes, there will be donuts after mass today.  

Rev. Tom Lucas, SJ