Homily 23OT-A -- The Thirst for Souls

   I never much liked reading Thérèse of Lisieux back when I was in seminary.  Yeah, there were classic passages that came out of her Autobiography which were included in the Office of Readings and a number of other references that would appear in the works of others that were tantalizing enough to dig out her original texts and read specific passages for context and flavor.  But that being said, I really didn’t care for a steady diet of her stuff… I found it saccharine sweet, and moody, and, in places, even a bit self-absorbed.  This is kind of a scary confession to make in reference to a Doctor of the Church, but I’ll chalk it up to the general dislike I have for ‘kitschy’ or ‘frilly’ things (as you might imagine in the writings of a French teenager of the late 19^th century who grew up with a silver spoon in her mouth and who really didn’t see or know the world) and my own spiritual prejudices.

   In recent years, though, I have been introduced to her work through even more collateral sources, which are making me look at her more deeply, and consider the immense stature of the small French girl who simply wrote from her heart as it matured in the life and love of her Savior.  One story that comes from her autobiography is that of her intense prayer for a convicted murderer facing execution.  Young Therese, awaiting admission to the convent at the time, was in prayer before an image of the crucified Christ, considering how the blood spilling from the wounds of his hands fell helplessly to the earth without people rushing to catch it and receive it.  She heard in her heart the cry from the cross, “I am thirsty!” and it inspired in her a great longing that would be with her for the rest of her life: a longing for union with Christ and a union with Christ’s own thirst for the souls of sinners.

   In the newspapers was a story of a notorious murder about to be executed for his crimes—a real bad guy who had been made out to be as vicious and unlovable of a soul as one could imagine… a monster who had been found guilty of inhuman crimes.  She was moved to fear in the consideration that that he might die without repenting—a state that would expose him to the fires of hell for all eternity.  “I believe that You will forgive this wretched Pranzini,” she said of the condemned, “I shall believe You have done so even if he does not confess or give any other sign of penance, for I have complete faith in the infinite mercy of Jesus.”  She knew that of herself, her prayer meant nothing, but that her faithful desire to offer the infinite merits of the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass and the spiritual treasury of the Church would bear fruit.  “… I ask You for just one sign of his repentance to encourage me.”

   And so, the day of execution came and went, and upon opening the newspaper the next morning, she tearfully read the account of Pranzini’s last moments.  He mounted the scaffold with a hard face and unrepentant scowl, and as he was bound and ready to be fed to la guillotine, he suddenly turned and seized the crucifix offered by the priest who was present.  Kissing the Sacred Wounds, he appeared to make peace with God, before whom he would stand in just seconds as the blade fell.   Therese realized “I had been given my sign, and it was typical of the graces Jesus has given me to make me eager to pray for sinners.  It was the sight of the Precious Blood flowing from the Wounds of Jesus that my thirst for souls had been born.”

   Fast-forward almost sixty years to September 10, 1946 when another Therese, a Sister Theresa of the Loreto Sisters was on a train heading home to the convent from the mission fields in India.  Sr. Theresa had taken her name in honor of the young St. Therese in France who died in 1897 at the tender age of 24 and was canonized in 1925.  Sr. Teresa had been teaching school for more than a decade, and she, herself, was comfortable and well-established in the spiritual life of her community as God invited her to consider something completely new and different.  She heard the call, “I thirst,” and in the weeks that followed, she was flooded with revelations and inspirations to leave the relative comfort of teaching at the boarding school, and head out into the streets to care for the “poor of the poor”.  We, of course, know her as Mother Theresa of Calcutta, founder of the Missionaries of Charity (MC), and now a “Blessed” of the Church.  The rest of her story is now part of history, thanks in large part to the BBC journalist, Malcolm Muggeridge, who ‘discovered’ her in the 1960’s.

   But one thing you will notice when you walk into a mission or convent of the Missionaries of Charity is, a usually-graphic depiction of the crucified Christ, with a plaque off to one side or the other proclaiming the famous words, “I thirst”.  Mother Theresa taught her sisters to keep the thirst of Christ before them always, for his thirst for souls—especially the poor, the dying, the outcast, the sinner—was to be their own unquenchable desire.

   The “thirst for souls” is a strange, but exciting spiritual challenge for me to get my head around.  First, to consider the Lord’s thirst for me.  Thirst is not simply a physiological compulsion—when one is thirsty—really thirsty, as on a hot day—the psychological impact is intense.  The thoughts of water and the anxiety caused in the mind of a thirsty traveler can be nothing short of debilitating.  All other thoughts and concerns are laid aside until the thirst is quenched.  Is this how Jesus looks upon his people?  With an all-consuming love that occupies every aspect of his being, until it is satisfied?  What does it really mean for God to be thirsty, and how intense would that thirst be?  He thirsts for me!  He thirsts for you!  We thirst for him!  Like the Woman at the Well (John 4), he first asks us for a drink and then turns around and offers us living water that we might never thirst again.

   But what does it mean to “thirst for souls”?  Let’s look at our readings for this weekend.  Paul (Rom 13: 8-10) tells us that the fulfillment of the Commandments is the law of love: “Love your neighbor as yourself”.  Such love is not abstract—it takes form and substance in the very people you meet and encounter this day-- family, friends, co-workers, those who serve you and those you serve.  Jesus praised the Good Samaritan who loved his neighbor who fell into evil along the side of the road (Luke 10).  This connects us to the prophecy from Ezekiel (33: 7-9):  “If I tell the wicked one, ‘O wicked one, you shall surely die,’ and you do not speak out to dissuade the wicked from his way, the wicked shall die for is guilt, but I will hold you responsible for his death.”  Wow.  I have a responsibility for my brother who has fallen into sin!  I must have enough love, even for a brother or sister who may not be worthy of my love--even for a brother or sister who might have betrayed my love--to lead him away from sin and into righteousness, as if my own salvation depends upon it… because it does!  We have a vested interest in the salvation of our neighbors… we must stick our necks out for them… we must thirst for their salvation!  And so we are commanded to try, and if through our best efforts they do not come around, only then can we be at peace.

   The Gospel builds on the prophetic tradition.  If a brother sins against you, correct him.  If he refuses your correction, take him before witnesses, then the Church.  If he continues to refuse, then treat him as you would a Gentile or tax collector.  A few chapters before we were told that Jesus gave to Peter (and through him, his successors in the leadership of the Church) the power to “bind and loose”… to hold sinners accountable for their actions and to set them free in the Lord’s name.  Now we hear that all the disciples have been told that they are to bind and loose.  We do not necessarily associate this command with the practice of sacramental reconciliation, but with a much more fundamental grace that comes as a follower of Christ: we can (and must) forgive the transgressions of our brothers and sisters, and we have the power to forgive, and in doing so, to change the destiny of our relationships.  When one has sinned against another, in justice the sinner owes a debt to the victim.  In the event of a simple sin, simple restitution can go a long way to healing the damage that sin causes.  (For example, if I steal your turkey sandwich out of the staff refrigerator at work, once I have made good on that loss and perhaps a little extra for the inconvenience, then we can be at peace with one another.)  But for much more complex sins, such as gossip damaging the good name of another, theft of an item that cannot be repaid, bodily harm or murder, there is no easy (or perhaps possible) restitution in this world.  Only by the free act of the will of the victim can the sinner be released from the debt of his or her sin… an incredible power that we pray for each time we recite the Lord’s prayer, “forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.” 

   To be reconciled with our neighbor and to refuse to subjugate him to the full debt of his sin is to not only rescue the sinner and restore the relationship, but it also frees the victim from a certain kind of slavery to the sinful act perpetrated against him.  That sin is always before the victim, binding the victim to that sin and to the debt as long as the sinner is unable to ‘pay back’ that debt.  To hold a grudge or resentment against one who sins against us is to volunteer ourselves for the same kind of slavery we impose on our neighbor.  Can our neighbor be truly free upon leaving this world to enjoy the freedom of heaven with unforgiven sin on his or her soul?  Answer that question very carefully, because if we were to wish damnation upon all those who have harmed us, we might very well be sharing the same eternal destiny with all the same people we wish encumbered by sin.

   After all, if a recalcitrant sinner is not swayed by witnesses or the Church, what are we to do with them.  Treat them like a Gentile or tax collector, which ironically, is pretty good treatment in the world of Jesus.  He ate with tax collectors, and urgently sought their reconciliation as well!

   And so, at its deepest level, ‘to thirst for souls’, I think speaks something of the dynamic we are being taught about this weekend in our scriptures.  The fulfillment of Law… the economy of relationships… is love.  If we truly love our neighbor, we will not only go out of our way to be at peace with them, but to be truly reconciled with them. Indeed, we will preemptively seek reconciliation with those who have sinned against us! We must work to unburden souls from the guilt and price of sin, in whatever form it takes.  We must hope for our neighbor’s ultimate salvation and redemption.  We must dare to hope to see them--even the most undeserving we might encounter… even those who have sinned most grievously against us--dancing before the heavenly throne for all eternity, in honor and worship of God.  Surely this will bend and stretch our ability to love… but that is probably good.  Love always requires sacrifice.  Love always stretches our souls.  Love leads us to the clearest perception of God as he really is.  If God wants salvation for all his children, how can we desire anything less?