Fourteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time: A disturbing challenge

The reading from Zechariah recalls and helps us understand a symbolic action Jesus used when he wanted to correct people's misunderstanding of his messiahship. It seems that the main image of a Messiah in the minds of Jesus’ contemporaries was modeled after King David.

Jul 05, 2020

14th Sunday of Ordinary Time
Readings: Zechariah 9:9-10;
Romans 8:9, 11-13; Gospel: Matthew 11:25-30

If there is any part of the Gospel that sounds like a call to withdraw from involvement with the world around us, it is today's selection from Matthew. With its talk of coming as children to the meek and gentle one who will ease our burdens and refresh our spirits, it appeals to our desire to draw back from the fray and allow ourselves to be healed. Indeed, there are times in life when we need to hear those words in just that way.

But when we step back and read the rest of the Gospel of Matthew, looking for ways that spell out the implications of following the meek and gentle master, we hear a disturbing challenge. The first chapter of the Sermon on the Mount (Mt. 5:1ff) calls healed disciples to live a life of forgiveness, of disciplining the impulses of anger and lust, of absolute honesty, of love of enemies, and of responding to violence with creative nonviolence. This helps us see what Jesus means by his burden and his yoke.

The reading from Zechariah recalls and helps us understand a symbolic action Jesus used when he wanted to correct people's misunderstanding of his messiahship. It seems that the main image of a Messiah in the minds of Jesus’ contemporaries was modeled after King David.

The Anointed One of the Age to Come was expected to be a warrior like David of old. Such a “son of David” would enable them  to overthrow the Roman power that was oppressing them. According to the Synoptic writers, Jesus prepared carefully a symbolic action meant to counter such expectations regarding his role. He arranged to have a donkey ready on which to enter Jerusalem. As Matthew takes pains to explain, this gesture was meant to recall Zechariah 9:9, the prophecy about a nonviolent king who would banish the instruments of war from Jerusalem.

Nonviolence is an aspect of Jesus’ teaching  and action that we have too easily neglected over the centuries. At this time of year, when we commemorate our Declaration of Independence and the military activity that implemented that independence, it is a good time to acknowledge that the Lord calls us now to use our freedom to serve the world in ways that honour a consistent ethic of life, and to strive  to find alternatives to abortion, the death penalty, and the use of military force to resolve political problems. --By Dennis Hamm, SJ

Thoughts from the Early Church
                             I am gentle and humble in heart (Matthew 11:29)

Our Master is always the same, gentle and benevolent. In his constant concern for our salvation, he says explicitly in the gospel just read to us: “Come, learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart.”

What great condescension on the part of the Creator! And yet the creature feels no shame! “Come, learn from me.” The Master came to console his fallen servants.

This is how Christ treats us. He shows pity when a sinner deserves punishment. When the race that angers him deserves to be annihilated, he addresses the guilty ones in the kindly words: “Come, learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart.”

God is humble, and we are proud! The judge is gentle; the criminal arrogant! The potter speaks in lowered voice; the clay discourses in the tones of a king! “Come, learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart.” Our master carries a whip not to wound, but to heal us.

Reflect upon his indescribable kindness. Who could fail to love a master who never strikes his servants? Who would not marvel at a judge who beseeches a condemned criminal? Surely the selfabasement of these words must astound you. I am the Creator and I love my work.

I am the sculptor and I care for what I have made.

If I thought of my dignity, I should not rescue fallen humankind. If I failed to treat its incurable sickness with fitting remedies, it would never recover its strength. If I did not console it, it would die. If I did nothing but threaten it, it would perish. This is why I apply the salve of kindness to it where it lies.

Compassionately I bend down very low in order to raise it up. No one standing erect can lift a fallen man without putting a hand down to him. 

“Come, learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart.” I do not make a show of words; I have left you the proof of my deeds. You can see  that I am gentle and humble in heart from what I have become.

Consider my nature, reflect upon my dignity, and marvel at the condescension I have shown you. Think of where I came from, and of where I am as I speak to you.

Heaven is my throne, yet I talk to you standing on the earth! I am glorified on high, but because I am long-suffering. I am not angry with you, “for I am gentle and humble in heart.” — John Chrysostom (c. 347-407)

--Chrysostom became patriarch of Constantinople, where his efforts to reform the court, clergy, and people led to his exile in 404 and finally to his death from the hardships imposed on him. Chrysostom stressed the divinity of Christ against the Arians and his full humanity against the Apollinarians. He was above all a pastor of souls, and was one of the most attractive personalities of the early Church.

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