Mk 9:30-37
Often, being famous doesn’t seem all that it’s cracked up to be.
I speak, of course, from observation and not experience. For example, the rich and famous are frequently plagued by paparazzi or crowds, and security and privacy are perpetual issues. With fame, living a normal life — let alone a purposeful and dedicated life — gets tough.
Our Lord certainly knew this well in our Gospel today, as we hear he sets off to Galilee but doesn’t want anyone to know about it. Why the stealth mission? Fame. After Jesus has performed a cycle of miracles and authoritative preaching, there is now talk of making him king, or at least a prophetic miracle dispenser. Yet Jesus came to be neither a political figure nor a performer, even of healing wonders. He came to bring God, freedom from sin and death, and divine life for our souls.
Thus Jesus sets off in secret. The crowds, paradoxically, distract from his mission in their hunger for temporary blessings rather than eternal goods. As an aside, it’s useful to note that there’s always a difference between “crowds” and “disciples” in the Gospels. Only disciples will inherit the kingdom. Jesus doesn’t want an audience, he wants friends.
Along the way, it must have become clear to Jesus that his disciples had been infected by the views of the crowds, too. He levels with them: “Look, guys. I’m not going to be a king or famous performer. They’re going to kill me. I’ll be dead for three days, and I’m going to rise again. That’s the mission.” Even when Jesus is direct, they still are confused. What could “killed,” “dead” and “rise” possibly mean? We laugh, but 2000 years later, Christian believers still argue about similar things. What could Jesus mean by “this is my body,” for instance?
Rather than ask for clarity, they continue to argue about who is greatest. Jesus sets them straight a second time. He who wants to be greatest must become least. Notice: just as the Lord breaks and inverts the conventions of worldly power and influence, so too is it with his disciples. What makes us great Christians is not posturing or bravado, trophies nor treasure. In fact, by itself, all our human striving cannot make God love us more or earn a greater piece of salvation. Rather, to be great in the kingdom of heaven is to be humble in the sight of the world, to receive others as children of God and to be received as such in turn. Even kings and emperors effect no change in heaven without the help of God. The meek and poor in spirit gain an inheritance. Behind it all is a truth: only the way of the cross is the key to heaven.
A favorite vivid example of this comes from the funeral ritual of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. It was last seen with the passing of now-Servant of God Empress Zita of Bourbon-Parma in 1989. After the funeral Mass, her procession wound through the city of Vienna, passing thousands of mourners, to the Capuchin Church, which contains the Imperial Crypt of the Hapsburgs.
Shockingly, when the procession arrives at the church, the door is shut and barred. A family member pounds on the door, to which a Capuchin friar on the other side responds: “Who goes there?”
“Zita, Queen of Bohemia, Dalmatia, Croatia, Slavonia, Galicia. Queen of Jerusalem. Grand Duchess of Tuscany and Cracow … ” An impressive list of titles as long as your arm.
The response comes back: “I do not know her.” Pounding once more and once more: “Who goes there?” This time: “Empress Zita, Empress of Austria and Queen of Hungary.” The quiet response from the other side of the door: “I do not know her.”
A last knock brings the same question: “Who goes there?” This time the answer is meek and simple: “Zita, a poor sinner.” With that, the doors are unbarred and swing wide: “Welcome, enter.” Thus she entered into rest in Christ. Like Zita, when we bow low, God raises us high. The kingdom belongs to just such as these: redeemed sinners and not worldly successes, disciples and not crowds, those willing to receive blessings with childlike wonder and gratitude and thus be called children of the most high God.
Fr. Miserendino is chaplain at the University of Mary Washington in Fredericksburg.
The greatest
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Religious Christian girl with her mother holding rosary beads at
Mk 9:30-37
Often, being famous doesn’t seem all that it’s cracked up to be.
I speak, of course, from observation and not experience. For example, the rich and famous are frequently plagued by paparazzi or crowds, and security and privacy are perpetual issues. With fame, living a normal life — let alone a purposeful and dedicated life — gets tough.
Our Lord certainly knew this well in our Gospel today, as we hear he sets off to Galilee but doesn’t want anyone to know about it. Why the stealth mission? Fame. After Jesus has performed a cycle of miracles and authoritative preaching, there is now talk of making him king, or at least a prophetic miracle dispenser. Yet Jesus came to be neither a political figure nor a performer, even of healing wonders. He came to bring God, freedom from sin and death, and divine life for our souls.
Thus Jesus sets off in secret. The crowds, paradoxically, distract from his mission in their hunger for temporary blessings rather than eternal goods. As an aside, it’s useful to note that there’s always a difference between “crowds” and “disciples” in the Gospels. Only disciples will inherit the kingdom. Jesus doesn’t want an audience, he wants friends.
Along the way, it must have become clear to Jesus that his disciples had been infected by the views of the crowds, too. He levels with them: “Look, guys. I’m not going to be a king or famous performer. They’re going to kill me. I’ll be dead for three days, and I’m going to rise again. That’s the mission.” Even when Jesus is direct, they still are confused. What could “killed,” “dead” and “rise” possibly mean? We laugh, but 2000 years later, Christian believers still argue about similar things. What could Jesus mean by “this is my body,” for instance?
Rather than ask for clarity, they continue to argue about who is greatest. Jesus sets them straight a second time. He who wants to be greatest must become least. Notice: just as the Lord breaks and inverts the conventions of worldly power and influence, so too is it with his disciples. What makes us great Christians is not posturing or bravado, trophies nor treasure. In fact, by itself, all our human striving cannot make God love us more or earn a greater piece of salvation. Rather, to be great in the kingdom of heaven is to be humble in the sight of the world, to receive others as children of God and to be received as such in turn. Even kings and emperors effect no change in heaven without the help of God. The meek and poor in spirit gain an inheritance. Behind it all is a truth: only the way of the cross is the key to heaven.
A favorite vivid example of this comes from the funeral ritual of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. It was last seen with the passing of now-Servant of God Empress Zita of Bourbon-Parma in 1989. After the funeral Mass, her procession wound through the city of Vienna, passing thousands of mourners, to the Capuchin Church, which contains the Imperial Crypt of the Hapsburgs.
Shockingly, when the procession arrives at the church, the door is shut and barred. A family member pounds on the door, to which a Capuchin friar on the other side responds: “Who goes there?”
“Zita, Queen of Bohemia, Dalmatia, Croatia, Slavonia, Galicia. Queen of Jerusalem. Grand Duchess of Tuscany and Cracow … ” An impressive list of titles as long as your arm.
The response comes back: “I do not know her.” Pounding once more and once more: “Who goes there?” This time: “Empress Zita, Empress of Austria and Queen of Hungary.” The quiet response from the other side of the door: “I do not know her.”
A last knock brings the same question: “Who goes there?” This time the answer is meek and simple: “Zita, a poor sinner.” With that, the doors are unbarred and swing wide: “Welcome, enter.” Thus she entered into rest in Christ. Like Zita, when we bow low, God raises us high. The kingdom belongs to just such as these: redeemed sinners and not worldly successes, disciples and not crowds, those willing to receive blessings with childlike wonder and gratitude and thus be called children of the most high God.
Fr. Miserendino is chaplain at the University of Mary Washington in Fredericksburg.
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