Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Matthew 10: 37-42

 

“Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me”

 

This is a strange gospel to contemplate coming on the heels of Father’s Day.  I just spent yesterday thinking of how blessed I was to have had a father (and mother) who loved me so much; who sacrificed so much for me.  I spent a lot of time, also, feeling blessed to be a father, not counting the sacrifices I (and my wife) have made for our children, and thinking, further, that I wish I could have done more, sacrificed more.  We are commanded, after all, aren’t we, to “Honor thy father and thy mother?”  Exodus 20:12.

 

So the opening line of this gospel strikes a discordant note.  It doesn’t sit well.  It can’t be right.  Rather than making us think of the fifth commandment it makes us think of when God commanded Abraham to sacrifice Isaac, his son. Genesis 22.  Harsh.  Difficult.  Sad.  Where in that story, or in the words of today’s gospel, is the peace that Jesus promised?  Where is the divine joy?  The comfort, the hope. 

 

This reading really asks me to dig deep, search within, consider the words from so many angles.  And, with prayer, meditation and contemplation I begin to understand.  Yes,  God’s love for me, and my loving response, means that God comes before all; that no other love – even that for father or mother, makes any sense unless I fully love God.

 

As I quietly pray and meditate, I think of a moment so long ago involving my father.  I must have been about 9 or 10 years old.  My sister had mentioned that there was a new girl in her class and that she and her mother lived down the block.  My parents invited them to come over, to welcome them to the neighborhood.  I recall sitting there at the kitchen table while coffee and cake were being served.  Friendly conversation. I don’t recall too many specifics, but I do recall that the girl’s mother came across as very nice, but with a little bit of an edge.  She was a single mother, trying to get by.  It seemed that life, perhaps, had not been too kind.  She clearly loved and lived for her daughter.  Emphasizing the point she used the phrase that she would “beg, borrow and steal” to make sure she provided for her daughter.  Such is the love of a parent.   After they left my father took a moment to talk to my sister and me.  He specifically mentioned this phrase and how it clearly showed how much this mother loved her daughter.  He reminded us how he would do anything to take care of us, including begging and borrowing.  “But,” he said, “I would never steal.  That would be wrong.  I would be teaching you that stealing, that taking something that belonged to someone else, was ok, that it could be justified.  And that,” he said, “would be worse than doing without.”   He reminded us that God commanded us not to steal, and that to do so, even for what seemed like a good reason, was wrong.  It was a sin.  It did more harm than good.  He stressed that raising us to always do the right thing and to remain faithful to God’s teaching was the most important thing he, as a father, could give his children.

 

And so this difficult passage finally sits well within my heart.  Not because it makes sense on its face; not because I feel a harsh sense of obligation; not out of a sense of reluctant acquiescence.  It sits well because of the words of a father who, so long ago, taught me that love of God comes first.  That only out of a true sense of love for God could he truly love me.

 

“Call Me Ishmael”