A Homily for the Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

​+ It seems that the world in which Our Lord lived and taught was obsessed with social status and position. In the Holy Gospel of this Mass we find the Pharisees busily ensuring the best seats for themselves at the feast. In the Gospel of St Matthew even St James and St John requested to sit at the right and the left of Our Lord in His glory—only to be refused and ‘consoled’ with the promise a baptism of suffering in its place. (cf. Mt 20:35-40) In response to St Peter’s demand to know the apostles’ future recompense, Our Lord assures him that “you who have followed me will also sit on twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel.” (Mt 19:28) And of course in Psalm 109, which is on our lips every Sunday and greater feast, we sing of the Lord, in His victorious power, inviting us to sit at His right hand whilst making our enemies a footstool under our feet.
 
This concept of having one’s seat, of sitting in one’s proper place of honour, is an ancient one involving status and power and, in Sacred Scripture, involving the triumph of justice—particularly that eschatological justice that shall see all things set right at the end of time.
 
In Christian liturgy the seat (the cathedra or throne) of the bishop is of primary importance—not because of the personality or qualities of any given bishop, but because of the apostolic authority and teaching in which those who sit in it participate and have the duty faithfully to hand on intact. The man who happens to be the bishop is subsumed by his office, the dignity of which is richly represented by the ceremonial centerd on the cathedra that has developed over the centuries—a ceremonial which does not exult the person, but which humbles him by constantly reminding him of the dignity and responsibility he has been given. Mutatis mutandis, this principle applies to the liturgical reverence given to any sacred minister or monastic official.
 
Anxiety about one’s proper place according to social status seems to have been present in monasteries. St Benedict finds it necessary to dedicate a chapter of his Rule to this question (ch. 63) laying down the principle that all “shall take their order according to the time of their entry. Let him, for instance, who came to the monastery at the second hour of the day, (whatever be his age or dignity) know that he is junior to him who came at the first hour.”
 
In the contemporary world we are, seemingly, a little more self-effacing. We often prefer the incongruous seats to the rear or are somewhat embarrassed if a place of honour has been prepared for us at a feast. There are those, occasionally, who strut to the front row for all to see, but this only shows them up for what they are—and thankfully this is normally quite repugnant. Indeed, we are probably much closer the teaching of Our Lord in this morning that we must first seek the lowest place than other ages and societies.
 
But the humility that Our Lord teaches is not a quietist inertia, one of hiding in the back row so as to opt out of any action or responsibility. No. Rather, it is a teaching that instructs us to rid ourselves of pride, of self-will and self-importance so that we can clearly hear and fruitfully accept the call, the Amice, ascende superius--"Friend, move up to a higher place” when it comes.
 
For the Lord does call us to take our proper place in His service in this life. And He does give us responsibilities and duties that shall in His Providence give Him glory, contribute to the salvation of our souls and thereby to the salvation of others. A response that says, “No thanks, I’d rather stay here in the back row,” is not acceptable. The Christian vocation is one of loving, self-sacrificial mission, be that in the home, the place of work or education, in the monastery or on mission. The Lord’s call is just that—it is His will for us. Even if we think we are unequal to the task it is our duty, as St Benedict insists, to “obey out of love, trusting in the assistance of God.” (Rule ch. 56)
 
Sometimes His call does involve accepting the dignity of certain offices, but as we have seen only too often in the history of the Church, it makes all the difference (in this world, and the next) if the one called has been sitting in the back, ‘playing the game’ as it were in ensuring that he is noticed by authorities and waiting ever more impatiently for the call that he believes is merely his due, or whether he is truly surprised to be called, and by that to which he is called. The former is of man and of the world and of the devil and leads to perdition. The latter is of God and leads to salvation—often in ways and along paths we ourselves could never have imagined.
 
Nowhere is this more clearly exemplified than in the life of the humble Virgin of Nazareth, called to become “the highest honour of our race.” (cf. Judith 13:18) Her willing fiat, her readiness to allow Almighty God to work in and through her according to His Will—in ways she found utterly incomprehensible—opened the doors of grace and salvation for the whole of humanity. Let us imitate her humility in being ready to respond generously and with faith when the Lord calls us. For our response to His words, Amice, ascende superius, will either open or close doors to His grace—for ourselves and for others. May the Blessed Virgin of Nazareth assist us that we, too, in our turn, through our ready and willing fiat shall open wider the doors of grace for ourselves and for others. +