Worship and Social Responsibility

Worship and Social Responsibility by Joseph E. Mulligan, SJ “The liturgy is made for humankind, not humankind for the liturgy” -- Cardinal Montini (later Pope Paul VI) THE SABBATH AND LOVE OF NEIGHBOR Jesus and his disciples dramatically disobeyed the Law of Moses prohibiting work on the sabbath – at least, they did not conform to the Pharisees’ strict interpretation of the Old Testament Law. Jesus showed his freedom to love on the sabbath on various occasions in the gospels; for instance, in Luke alone, see 6:1-5; 6:6-11; 13:10-17; 14:1-6. Jesus supported his disciples when they were hungry and therefore, even though it was the sabbath (day of rest according to the Law), “plucked some heads of grain, rubbed them in their hands, and ate them.” In their defense Jesus cited what David did when he and his men were hungry: “he entered the house of God and took and ate the bread of the Presence, which it is not lawful for any but the priests to eat, and gave some to his companions.” The hunger felt by David and his companions gave them the right to eat even though they were not priests. Then Jesus asserted: “The Son of Man is lord of the sabbath” (6:1-5). In Mark’s version this verse is preceded by these words of Jesus: “The sabbath was made for humankind, not humankind for the sabbath” (2:27). The sabbath legislation, providing for a day of rest for all workers, had a clear humanitarian purpose based on social justice; it should not be twisted to prevent Jesus’ disciples from having their needed food. God’s compassion for his children does not allow the possibility that any religious law could prevent them from receiving what they truly need. The sabbath can be understood as representing religious institutions, laws, and customs in general; they are meant to serve the well-being of humanity. On Mk 2:27, W. Harrington comments: “Here, ‘sabbath’ is code for ‘religion,’ so the statement runs: ‘Religion is in the service of men and women; men and women are not slaves of religion.’ Wherever religion is burden, wherever it shows lack of respect for human freedom, it has become oppressor, not servant. Authentic religion must foster freedom.” Cardinal Montini (later Pope Paul VI) made a remarkable statement at the beginning of the discussion of the liturgical document at Vatican II: “The liturgy is made for humankind, not humankind for the liturgy.” Diekmann considered this phrase “tremendous in its implications.” He explained: “Surely Christ came on earth for greater glory of the Father but this was to be achieved through the redemption, through the transformation of humankind.” Good liturgy is able “to arouse the faith and devotion of the worshippers…. If the community’s faith is not stirred by the liturgy, if its devotion does not find expression in the liturgical act, how is God glorified?” “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly” (John 10:10), said Jesus, contrasting his purpose with that of some previous religious leaders who, as “thieves and bandits” (v 8), came only to “steal and kill and destroy” (v 10). The episode we are contemplating, and Jesus’ work of healing which immediately follows, consisted of a prophetic nonviolent “action” and the interpretation of this action by Jesus. Did Jesus and the disciples know that the Pharisees were around, watching, when they entered the grainfields? Yes or no, they do not seem to have made any effort to stop or to hide what they were doing when they saw the Pharisees coming. Nonviolent resisters in our era have always performed “actions” in front of the noses of their opponents and then followed up with clear explanations of the meaning of the act. Undeterred by the Pharisees’ challenge to this kind of behavior, Jesus lost no time in performing another act of kindness to a human being in need – this time also in full view of his adversaries. On another sabbath Jesus healed a man with a withered hand as a demonstration of “doing good” and “saving life” (Lk 6:6-11) – an expression of love and a critique of official legalism which filled the scribes and Pharisees with fury and led them to discuss “what they might do to him.” The song, “Lord of the Dance,” captures this well: I danced on the sabbath and I cured the lame, The holy people said it was a shame, They ripped, they stripped, and they hung me high, They left me there on the Cross to die. According to Mark alone, just before the healing, Jesus “looked around at them with anger,” grieved at their hardness of heart (3:5). Thus anger itself is not sinful; in fact, it may be the appropriate and correct reaction to injustice and hard-heartedness. The question is how to use the energy of anger for constructive purposes. St. Paul counseled: “Be angry but do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger” (Ephesians 4:26). Luke’s version alone mentions this detail: “Even though he knew what they were thinking,” he told the man to come to him. The drama is enhanced when Jesus told the man to “come and stand here”; Jesus could have done the healing in private, but he had an important point to make about freedom to love. Jesus asked the man to “stretch out your hand.” But stretching out his hand (either opening the fingers or putting the hand forward by extending his arm) was precisely what the man could not do because of the atrophy (loss of size and muscle) of the hand. Jesus is challenging him: go ahead, try it! The ill person must want to get healed and must make an effort. In doing what Jesus asked, the man is healed. Jesus’ response to the man in need is not just a private act of helping an individual but also a prophetic action challenging the legalistic system which prioritized the letter of the law over human compassion. When the hand was restored, “the scribes and the Pharisees were filled with fury and discussed with one another what they might do to Jesus” (Luke 6:11). Their seemingly extreme reaction shows how radical and disturbing was Jesus’ nonviolent but serious challenge to their doctrinal authority. In these instances, Jesus takes dramatic and risky action and draws out the lesson clearly but without ever threatening violence to his adversaries. Jesus asked: “Is it lawful to do good or to do harm on the sabbath, to save life or to destroy it?” (v 9) Is he suggesting that the Pharisees, even on a sabbath, were plotting to kill him and thus doing work on that day? Indeed, they immediately went out and in their fury discussed what to do to Jesus. His adversaries had already tried to kill him by hurling him from a cliff in Nazareth (4:29). According to the Law, violation of the sabbath rest required the death penalty (Exodus 31:15; Numbers 15:32-36). Many rabbis granted that work on the sabbath was permitted when it was absolutely urgent and necessary to save a life; Jesus is extending the circumstances to include “doing good” on the sabbath even when it is not a question of saving life, for not doing good is tantamount to doing harm. Doing good to one’s neighbor (“love your neighbor as yourself”), as exemplified in Jesus’ story about the Good Samaritan, along with loving God is the path to “eternal life” (Luke 10:25-28). According to Mark, Jesus told a scribe: “There is no other commandment greater than these” (12:31) – i.e., the twofold commandment of love. The Matthean Jesus sums up this teaching: “On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets” (22:40). Thus the prohibition of Sabbath work, which many saw as a way of loving God and which was indeed an expression of loving neighbor by guaranteeing a day of rest for all workers, must never be interpreted in such a legalistic way as to be an obstacle to loving the neighbor. In the Matthean account, Jesus put this case to the Pharisees: “Suppose one of you has only one sheep, and it falls into a pit on the sabbath; will you not lay hold of it and lift it out? How much more valuable is a human being than a sheep!” (vv 11-12). This understatement leads to the conclusion: “So it is lawful to do good on the sabbath.” THE EUCHARIST AND LOVE OF NEIGHBOR “Then he took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them, saying, ‘This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me’ (Luke 22:19). Even in that hour of fear and anxiety, Jesus gave thanks for his life, his mission, and the friends who were sharing it with him. When we celebrate the Eucharist we must take a cue from Jesus, seeing the good as well as the bad in our life and in history, not focusing only or primarily on evil and pain but celebrating the whole picture and having hope that even a frightening present will turn into a new day. “This is my body, which is given for you.” He was giving his body to them, expressing the meaning of the next day’s gift of his body on the cross: that would also be an act of love for them and for all humanity. Jesus was giving his body and blood, his very life, to his Father and to his people, out of faithfulness to his liberating, prophetic mission. That Jesus saw his death as an act of love is clear from his words at the Last Supper according to the Gospel of John: “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (15:13). J.C. Fenton entitles his commentary on this passage: “Jesus interprets his death to his disciples.” Paul underlined the connection between the words Jesus spoke over the elements of the meal and his imminent death: “As often as you eat this break and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes” (1 Cor 11:26). Paul also emphasized the ethical implications of sharing the Lord’s Supper, criticizing the Corinthians for their lack of sharing in the meals associated with the Eucharist: “When you come together, it is not really to eat the Lord’s Supper. For … one goes hungry and another becomes drunk” (1 Cor 11:17-22, 33-34). Diekmann noted: “By eating with Christ we are united with his brothers and sisters, who in holy communion more truly become our brothers and sisters…. Scripture and all tradition emphatically state that if in receiving holy communion we do not deliberately and even painfully recognize Christ in our neighbor in this breaking or sharing of bread, if our sense of social justice is not thereby sharpened, then we eat and drink without discerning the body, we eat and drink judgment upon ourselves.” This essential purpose of communion – to help us to grow in love of others – is brought out nicely in the Prayer after Communion of the 22nd Week in Ordinary Time: “Renewed by this bread from the heavenly table, we beseech you, Lord, that, being the food of charity, it may confirm our hearts and stir us to serve you in our neighbor.” “Do this in remembrance of me.” Do this. Take my gesture and my words of self-offering and make them your own, remembering me as you do this and committing yourselves to put your words into practice in service, solidarity, and prophetic action as I have. Thus we are not only doing what Jesus did but also expressing our own love for others and our willingness to let our bodies be broken and our blood be shed if necessary for the kingdom of justice and peace. Archbishop Oscar Romero of San Salvador gave his body to be broken and shed his blood at the offertory of the Mass he was celebrating in the hospital where he lived. A few moments after he was killed by an assassin’s bullet, he would have pronounced the words of the Lord whom he had been following courageously. In John’s version of the Last Supper, the great act of self-giving by Jesus is his washing of the disciples’ feet. Afterwards he explained: “If I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you” (13:14-15). This goes beyond the ritual washing of the feet which we do on Holy Thursday. We should follow his example by doing acts of humble service like washing feet. Similarly, at the Last Supper, when he said “This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me” (Luke 22:19), he may have been inviting us to give our bodies, our blood, our very selves to the people and to God in faithful struggle for the kingdom of God. Nourishing them with his body, he would live in them. Diekmann brings this down to the nitty-gritty, suggesting that in our “thanksgiving” after communion we should “look around at least mentally at our neighbors and admit that they are our brothers and sisters and draw some practical conclusions…. Is it a fair application to ask that if there is no greater Christian courtesy in a car park after Mass, or at the breakfast table, then have we received communion really worthily?” ADDENDUM: Excerpts from Godfrey Diekmann, O.S.B., Personal Prayer and the Liturgy In 1967, when race riots were exploding in many American cities, President Johnson asked that a certain Sunday in early August be observed throughout the country as a day of prayer, a day for divine guidance as to possible ways of meeting this national emergency and also for self-examination (examination of conscience, in other words) as to one’s personal attitude to one’s neighbor. At the Abbey Church at St. John’s, Minnesota, that Sunday, there was a very large congregation of well over a thousand. Fr. Prior gave the homily. It was an excellent sermon, in the course of which he stated: “Do not any of us dare to join in saying ‘Our Father’ unless we are honestly determined to treat every human being as brother. Not one of us should dare to come up to receive holy communion unless he is generously ready to put himself out personally to overcome his own prejudices in principle and practice. Page 54. If the members of the community in this celebration fail to accept generously the command of love of neighbor as well as love of God, their eucharistic action is not true worship of God. Page 56. Our centuries-long record as a Church of the eucharist is one in which, to quote a recent headline, “We have allowed Christ on the altar to obstruct all too largely our practical response to Christ in the world.” There is an overall record of theocentricity to the neglect of a due anthropocentricity. Page 57. We must keep in mind that Christ comes not merely to be adored, so that we may say “Lord, Lord,” to him; he comes for a purpose, a dynamic purpose. He comes to fill us with his life and love, that we may be living Christs to others. He comes for our personal consolation too, but if we content ourselves with that we shall be like the three disciples on Mount Tabor. Peter, in the name of James and John, said, “Lord, it is good for us to be here; let us build three tabernacles….” Page 58. Christ’s body and blood are not a spiritual tranquilizer; they are a desperately needed food for work, for the hardest work in the world, for self-identification with Christ who gave himself for people, for the world. We grieve over the scandal of indifferent Catholics and by that we mean those who fail to fulfill their Sunday Mass obligation. Is it not, however, a far greater scandal, over which God and the angels grieve even more, that so many of those who do go regularly to Sunday Mass are Catholics who are indifferent about the fate of the family next door, about the problems of decent housing, racial justice, honest government, and so on? The eucharist is dynamite, and so far we have largely failed even to find the fuse. The simple fact is that we Catholics, who boast about having a true priesthood and valid eucharist, are not head and shoulders above all others in passionate concern for justice, peace and love of neighbor. Crist said, “By this shall all people know that you are my disciples, that you have love for one another.” This means that we have failed the eucharist, failed Christ; all our singing and praying together, moving the altar about and all the rest that is associated with liturgical renewal is so much tinkling brass, is a waste of time, is objectively hypocrisy if it does not add progressively to a greater charity of neighbor, to an openness to the needs of the world. Page 59. We worry about our young people who are willing to join the Peace Corps but are bored by Sunday Mass. We ourselves have been accustomed to associate God with church buildings, with candles and incense, with chrism and water, with crucifixes and images, and nobody would criticize this, of course. But is it really less Christian on the part of many of our young people that they rather recognize God in their black brother, in the poor and suffering, in the destitute of India? Perhaps God himself is, as it were, stepping out of the images and is again revealing himself to us in the traveller fallen by the wayside. Perhaps he is again saying “Here I am, whatever you do to the least of these, you do to me.” Page 60. As a recent author has stated, “If prayer does not affect our relations to others, it is not true prayer, but simply preoccupation with a God of one’s own making.” When we very legitimately seek a quiet corner or go to the church to visit the blessed sacrament or for quiet prayer in order to be intimately alone with God, we should also be aware that this is the lesser side of our prayer obligation, for we are withdrawing then into a world apart, whereas the real world in which God has placed us is the world of our family, of our neighborhood, our business activities, of our country with its problems of human misery, of the entire world with its hopes and fears and pains and joys. This is the world with which Christ wishes to put us into conscious and loving contact when he allows us to be united to him in that sacrificial act of love we call the Mass. “Not everyone who says to me ‘Lord, Lord,’ shall enter into the kingdom of heaven, but he who does the will of my Father who is in heaven,” and that will of the Father is that all people be saved, that “Thy kingdom come.” Of course, the temporary withdrawal too is not only legitimate but necessary, something which makes it more readily possible for us to face the challenging prayer-demands of the Mass. Even Christ withdrew to a mountain top where he spent the whole night in prayer before choosing his apostles. This quiet personal prayer, this communing with God, clears our vision, helps us to see more clearly what is the will of God in regard to ourselves but also, necessarily, our neighbor and the world. In sum, the Mass is of its very nature mission. I think it would be an excellent and very desirable reform if the final dismissal after Mass were to exhort us explicitly to go and bring Christ into daily life – “Go and recognize Christ in your daily work and personal encounters; go and grow in love.” Pages 61-62. One of the most felicitous and inspiring recent messages of Pope Paul VI was when he set the record straight in regard to an axiom which had long been applied in a dichotomous sense as a cloak for escapism. He reminded us that the Church is in the world, and although she is not of the world -- and this is where he adds the wonderful phrase -- she is for the world, and this means first of all for people. Pages 62-63.