Emily LaHood

In one of the classes I have co-taught, I came across a student who was highly grades-motivated. This is not unusual, of course, as many students are driven by this measure of success. This student, however, stood out in his drive to achieve a 4.0.

At the beginning of the course, he made a show of doing everything he was supposed to do. He participated in class, got ahead in the syllabus, attended office hours, the works. The only problem was that his actions were fairly hollow. When he participated in class, he talked over his classmates or interrupted guest speakers. When he turned in papers early, they were on topics we hadn’t covered in class yet. When he received critical feedback in office hours, he began checking out during class. When he earned less than an A on an assignment, he would pull out his phone or put his head on his desk while peers were presenting.

This student was not listening and learning in the way one hopes that college students will do. Rather, he was checking items off a list, shouting out answers he thought we wanted to hear.  While his desire for the end—an A in class—was strong, his motivation and methods were off-kilter.

In the same way, we encounter James and John in our gospel today. They are eager, ambitious, driven. They desire an end—the Kingdom. They wish to sit in glory on the right and left side of Christ, and they believe they are entitled to this simply by asking for it. Unfortunately, they are dreadfully misinformed as to what the Kingdom is or how to attain it.

The Kingdom is not something we sit around waiting for. It’s something we’re called to bring to Earth. It is present in the moments when two people recognize the humanity in one another, when we chose to reconcile rather than begrudge old wounds, when radical, mutual relationship with those on the margins causes the margins to fade.

The Kingdom is already here in moments of perfect, active Love; but, it is not yet fully realized.

Our motivation for the Kingdom cannot be personal glory because the Kingdom is about selflessness and humility. Jesus says to James and John, “whoever wishes to be great among you will be your servant.” Those who enjoy an eternity in peace and justice will be those who lived peace and justice on Earth.

Our means for reaching the Kingdom cannot be asking for it in stagnant prayer. Rather, we build it brick-by-brick with the actions we take and the way we are in relationship with one another. Christ tells the disciples that in order to reach the Kingdom, they must drink of his cup. This was a cup of dreadfully bitter wine, which came to him in retaliation for the social change he demanded in his time.  So must we demand and work for social change in our own times. We must hear the plight of the poor, welcome the stranger in our lands, heal a wounded Earth. Eternal glory is not about seeking glory for ourselves, but rather bringing glory to those whose dignity goes unseen in our world.

When I look back on the student, I can understand where he was coming from. It is easy to check the boxes and find satisfaction in an A grade. It is much harder to approach a class with an open mind that is ready to engage in critical questions, unlearn and deconstruct what we’ve known, and piece it all back together again. In the same way, it is more difficult to follow this week’s gospel call to build the Kingdom than it is to sit and wait for it. And yet, that is what we are asked to do. Love others for the sake of loving. Build the Kingdom here and now without expectation of future reward.

At the beginning of Lent, my husband and I lost a pregnancy. It was the deepest, most rattling grief I have ever felt. I wanted nothing more than to be angry at God, to slam a hymn book against the back of the pew or to scream in guttural mourning into the nave of an empty church. Every time my prayer turned to anger, however, the image of a compassionate healer crept gently into my mind. It was as if God was saying, “You have every right to be angry. Take your time. When you’re ready, it is possible to heal.”

I longed desperately for a woman’s voice to come from the pulpit, a voice that could empathize with the sorrow that only a woman’s body can carry, a voice that, very likely, will not be validated in the Catholic Church during my lifetime.

I have found myself returning to similar emotions over the last few weeks. As the wounds of the clergy abuse scandal continue to come into sharper, more disturbing focus, my anger at the system that perpetuated it boils. It has been hard to find words that truly express the disgust and grief that came from reading only a fraction of the grand jury report.

The temptation for many, including myself, has been to say a loud, resounding enough and walk away. And yet, the weekly readings following the report have challenged me to see a God who is also angry in the face of injustice and who responds to the needs of people in pain. Last week, we encountered Christ dismantling the broken, hypocritical institution of his own faith tradition and calling the Pharisees to accountability. Today, we hear that God, “comes with vindication” to save the suffering from their ailments and “secures justice for the oppressed.” We are reminded in James not to let ourselves become partial to the one in our midst who is dressed in fine cloth, but rather to show equal dignity to each person who crosses our path.

It seems necessary now, more than ever, to have more voices welcomed to the pulpit, voices who are not of the cloth, who do not wear the cassock or the collar. It is time to hear from lay women and men, the non-ordained religious, people who are married, perhaps—if we’re getting radical here—even from children.

This is our ephphatha moment. God invites us to be opened to voices who do not have a platform and to trust the wisdom of God that speaks to and through our restless spirits. For me, this means writing a weekly reflection on the week’s readings, a rogue homily that offers a lay woman’s perspective. For others, the call will look different. I invite you to some time this week to discern how God is calling you to be opened to the possibility of a new Church.  It is only through our willingness to respond to this ephphatha moment that the deaf among us will hear and, hopefully, respond to the signs of our times.