Today’s question, again, is a very personal one, so you don’t need to answer it out loud. My question is: how many of you today are wearing chains? I don’t mean a gold or silver chain around your neck, but rather those invisible chains which bind you to the past. Chains forged from actions we call “traditions” and “habits.” Those chains which are the yokes of slavery that Saint Paul speaks about in his letter to the Galatians we heard a few minutes ago.
In our first reading from the Hebrew Testament, we also heard about yokes, about twelve yoke of oxen. In that story, the prophet Elijah, spelled with a “j”, chose his successor, the prophet Elisha, spelled with an “s”. One morning the young Elisha was out plowing with his twelve yoke of oxen, a significant number of animals, indicating he was from a very wealthy family. When the older Elijah saw the young man and knew that this was to be his successor, what did he do?
According to the story, he didn’t go up to Elisha and say, “I’ve got a new job for you, you’re to get ready to be my replacement.” No, Elijah was more subtle than that. The old prophet took the hair shirt he was wearing, which was almost like a badge of office, every prophet had a very distinctive hair shirt, and put it over the young man’s shoulders. The meaning was very clear to young Elisha. He was called to become a prophet. But first he wanted to say good-bye to his parents.
Now I personally don’t think that’s too much of a request to have made. If one of my sons were chosen for a major, new job in someplace like New York City, I’d like for him to say good-bye before he took off. But that’s not how things are done when it comes to doing God’s work. When Elisha wanted to go home and tell his parents, the elder prophet said something to the effect: “Hey, no problem. I’m not forcing you to do anything against your will. If you don’t want this opportunity, that’s up to you.”
But Elisha did want that opportunity. So much so that he immediately broke all ties with his past. He slaughtered the oxen, tore up the wooden plow and used it for kindling to cook the cattle. Now that’s breaking with the past in a big-time way. After all, the oxen and the plow probably belonged to his father. It’s unlikely his old man would want him around the house after that. With that kind of statement, Elisha destroyed the ties which bound him to his past. He had nowhere to go but where the prophet Elijah and their God would lead them.
Which brings us to the story of another man who went where God would lead him. The gospel story from Luke we heard today begins a new chapter in the life of Jesus. His journey to Jerusalem. From now until the end of the liturgical year our gospel readings will be Luke’s account of Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem, the place where he will suffer, die, and be raised from the dead.
Today’s readings begin with the lines: “as the time approached when Jesus was to be taken from this world, he firmly resolved to proceed toward Jerusalem …” some of the older translations are closer to the original wording which says, “he set his face towards Jerusalem.” No matter how it is said, the results are the same: Jesus knew he must proceed to Jerusalem even though his actions would cause the authorities to try to stop him. He had to go to Jerusalem even if the journey would cost him his life.
Jerusalem, the holy place of God. Jerusalem with the temple of God, the only place where according to Judaic tradition, God could be properly worshiped. The Samaritans, however, thought otherwise. According to their tradition, God must be worshiped on mount Gerizim, which was why the Samaritans would not welcome anyone who was on a journey to Jerusalem.
Jerusalem. Many of you are probably aware that Father Paul, three weeks ago, took about fifty people, most of whom are from CGS, on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Over the coming weeks I’m sure you’ll hear more about the Holy Land from your friends and from Deacon Al, Father Paul and me, than you will want to hear. But there are two stories I’d like to tell about our trip. Stories about traditions.
The first one is about coffee. Or rather about coffee cups. Many Americans after a good dinner, or even a mediocre one, enjoy having a cup of coffee. Well, don’t expect to get one in Israel! According to Jewish dietary laws, all foods are classified as either meat or dairy. The two can never be served together. The typical Israeli breakfast is a feast of cheeses, cereals, fruits, eggs and pickled or creamed fish. You can also have great coffee with cream.
Come dinner time, meat is served. However, when there is meat, there can be no dairy products such as cheese, butter or milk. In fact, two sets of dishes are used; one for the dairy breakfast and another for the meat dinner. These dishes must remain separate in every kosher home or restaurant in Israel. This means that coffee, which is usually served with cream or milk, can not be served following a meat meal, even if you don’t take cream in your coffee.
The coffee cup is still not kosher and can not be used in the same place where there are dishes used for meat. One member of our group wondered why there could not be special kosher coffee cups. But that is simply part of the tradition. To see a coffee cup at a dinner where meat had been served would be very scandalous for an Israeli.
Now least you think that only Jewish tradition is strange in Israel, here is a second story for you. The story of the chasuble. Do you know what a chasuble is? It’s the outer robe that a priest wears. Deacons, like me, wear dalmatics. They have sleeves. Chasubles don’t have sleeves. Which is one way to tell the difference between a priest and a deacon. Now for the story.
One of the highlights of our journey to Jerusalem was the celebration of the mass in a Franciscan chapel next to the Holy Sepulcher, the place where Christ was buried. Father Paul had finally managed to get a time slot to use the chapel, with the help of an Arab merchant, believe it or not – but that’s another story.
Anyway, the time for the liturgy had arrived and the chapel was filled with the fifty of us and a handful of other tourist-pilgrims. Father Paul entered the chapel wearing a very attractive chasuble. But the room was very warm and he wanted to be more at home, so he took off the chasuble and put it on a chair. He was prepared to celebrate the liturgy wearing an alb and stole, like we often do at daily mass. He jokingly asked us to remind him to put it back on before he left the chapel, because the little, old Franciscan who let us use the chapel insisted that Paul wear it.
Well, just as Fr. Paul stepped forward to greet us and begin the mass, the huge doors to the chapel opened and in walked the little, old Franciscan priest. He saw the chasuble on the chair and picked it up and elaborately spread it on the altar. There was no way that Fr. Paul could celebrate mass without putting on the chasuble. Which he did. Then the Franciscan priest went to the back of the chapel and up into a darkened choir loft where he stayed for the rest of the liturgy. I’m sure he was taking notes on all of us for the whole service and thought we were a group of heretics, especially at the Sign of Peace where we hugged and cried and rejoiced.
Again: tradition. According to that particular Franciscan’s tradition, the only way a priest could say mass was wearing a chasuble. For us, the only way to participate fully in the joy of the Eucharist is to have a meaningful exchange during the Sign of Peace.
Traditions are those actions which link a culture to its past. Now don’t get me wrong. Traditions in and of themselves are needed in order to preserve a culture. But what about traditions which need to be changed? And the same for habits, those individual actions which link each one of us to our past. Again, there are, of course, good habits. But what about the bad ones?
Traditions and habits can be the foundation upon which a solid life as a society, or as individuals, can be built. Yet, traditions and habits can also be chains which shackle us to the past.
When we are asked to work for social justice, what excuse is given? Do we ever say:
● I can’t do that, it’s not me.
● I can’t serve in a soup kitchen, I’ve never done anything like that before; it’s not me.
● I can’t take in a foster child; that’s not my thing.
● I can’t be part of a pro-life march, that’s not where I am. It’s not me.
When we are trapped by our behavior, what excuse is given? Do we ever say: I can’t change, that’s just the way I am. I can’t give up drinking; that’s just the way I am. I can’t stop having an extramarital affair; that’s just the way I am. I can’t control my homosexual behavior; that’s just the way I am.
When we are asked to do something different for the benefit of others, do we fall back on our old societal traditions and our personal habits and say, I can’t change, that’s not me. When we know that we must change for our own moral and spiritual benefit, do we pull our chains around us tighter and say: I can’t do that, it’s too difficult, it’s not me.
Some two thousand years ago, on a journey to the place where he would suffer, die and be raised for us, the Son of God urged those who would follow him to put aside the past, to allow the dead to bury the dead. He said that those who look to the past for encouragement and comfort are not ready to walk with him into the present and future Reign of God.
The question we need to answer is this: do we use our traditions and habits as foundations upon which to grow; or as excuses not to change what needs to be changed? The choice is ours. What chains do we wear today?
Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time; June 28,1992
1 Kgs 19:16, 19-21; Gal 5:1, 13-18; Lk 9:51-62