 |
|
|
|
|
|
||
| . |
|
. |
O'Malley's Best Wrestling
With God Some
years ago when I was grading Advanced Placement English exams at Princeton, I
used to offer Mass every day for those who wanted it. Almost every day, Sister Hester from St. Louis, arguably the
best-read person I ever met, would come up at Communion and side-mouth to me,
"Father, the man behind me is a Lutheran minister. He really, really believes in the Real
Presence...." Well, what was I
supposed to do? I couldn't belt him
across the chops. I had the Eucharist
in my hand. And at a celebration of so
many liberations, and having in mind how non-positive both Jesus and St. Paul
had been about rules, and...well, I gave him Communion, okay? Earlier
in my life, when I was a weekend chaplain at a cancer hospital, I met a former
merchant seaman named Bill Fold, whom I've mentioned before, the man with
terminal cancer who'd had a laryngectomy and couldn't communicate except in
writing. When I said to him, "It must get very lonely," he wrote on
his pad, "Yes. But isn't it
wonderful God trusts me enough to give it to me?" I was so in awe of him, I asked if there was
anything at all I could do for him, and he answered he'd loved to be anointed
for death. In those days, what was then
called Extreme Unction could be given only "in extremis," that is
when death was inevitable. I'd asked the
doctors, and they'd said Bill could last for months. But the man was so incandescently good, I tossed caution and
rules to the winds and administered the sacrament first-class. When it was over, tears were puddled in his
eyes, and he wrote, "Is there anything I can do to thank you?" And I said, "Bill, when you get there,
mention my name." And that night
he died. Since
then, of course, the Church caught up to that insubordinate newly ordained
priest. Our canon law prof fiercely
repeated, "Law has nothing whatever to do with common sense!" And so, most likely it shouldn't. But it's nice to know that, at least once in
awhile, the law does manage to catch up with common sense. At least the variety Jesus so often
practiced. The only thing that seemed
to make Jesus really uptight was hypocrisy.
Any crucifix testifies that he was obedient, but there's so much
evidence all through the gospels that Jesus didn't sweat the details. Today's
gospel about that tenacious Canaanite woman is just one of many instances of
what is difficult not to call Jesus "laxity" about rules. She's a Canaanite. You remember they were the ones who gave the good early folk like
Abraham, Isaac, Jacob a more than chill welcome when the hairy Hebrews showed
up on their land with the message that the Hebrew God had given the land to
them. Their inhospitality was
understandable, since the Canaanites were under the impression their gods had
given the land to them. That
misunderstanding went on for quite a number of centuries, resulting in the
slaughter of a great many prophets who could have been put to better use. As a result, though, in Jesus' day,
Canaanites weren't in the habit of calling Jews "Lord" (which equals
God) or "Son of David" (who wasn't popular with them). To add to the improbability, she was, uh,
well, uh, a woman, and in that day people like Gloria Steinham and Betty
Friedan would have intruded on a visiting Jewish teacher only once before she
was summarily sent to look up at the undersides of carrots and onions. And here she is, unashamedly asking for the
leavings from Jesus' table for the daughter she loves. Conversely, a Jewish male like Jesus would
have responded to her as he would to two dogs in heat. Disgusting.
And at first, that's just what he does: ignores her. Palestinians and Israelis are still doing
the same. But
with Jesus, it doesn't play out that way too long. This lady isn't rude, but she is what earlier times might have
called "forward," and from what Jesus says at the end, you can tell
he actually admires her for being spunky with him. She reminds me (and perhaps Jesus, too) of Abraham when Yahweh
was about to blast hell out of Sodom and Gomorrah. "But if we can find even a hundred just people
there...?" Abraham argues, and he keeps going till he's down to ten, and
then even just one. It's the origin,
perhaps, of the uncomplimentary term "Jewing down." But neither Yahweh nor Jesus seemed to mind
that. I think I'm still on solid ground
there. That
gives me a certain, well, call it "lessening of apprehension," when
Sister Hester gives me an "Ahem!" at Communion, or Bill Fold asks for
the sacrament of the sick, or when I'm trying to decide what to do at Communion
during a marriage between a Catholic and an Anglican. Not to mention other conundrums so delicate I needn't broach them
in such a public forum. Far be it
from me to raise mutinous thoughts among the faithful. On the contrary, I'd just like to becalm any
discomfort at the other end of the spectrum when, almost unbidden, a resentment
surges up in them about official Church inflexibility. That uneasiness is in no way schismatic or
secessionist. It's not only
understandable and acceptable, but as this gospel indicates pretty clearly
admirable. Jacob
got the name "Israel" because it means "He Wrestled with
God." A
wonderful novel called The Sparrow says, "The Jewish sages tell us that
God dances when His children defeat Him in argument, when they stand on their
feet and use their minds. To ask
questions is a very fine kind of human behavior. If we keep demanding that God yield up His answers, perhaps some
day we will understand them. And then
we will be more than clever apes, and we shall dance with God."
|
|
Copyright © 2008, McQuaid Jesuit |
|