A
man fell victim to robbers as he went down from Jerusalem to Jericho. They stripped and beat him and went off
leaving him half dead.
A
decade ago I found myself at the funeral of my friend’s 13 year old brother who
had died a tragic death. I walked up to
view the body in the casket. He laid
there looking so young and innocent. I
touched his hand. The cold, damp and
lifeless skin was a painful reminder of the reality of his death; a reminder of
death in general.
I
walked outside of the funeral home to get some fresh air. Here I encountered another friend who came to
express his sympathy. I had not seen
this guy in a few years and heard that he had come on tough times: alcohol,
drugs, wondering and floundering. He
didn’t look well. I reached out to give
him a hug. When my arms embraced him I
experienced something more frightening than the body of a lifeless 13 year old
lying in a casket. My friend’s body,
though still clearly alive, was lifeless, cold, empty and seemingly without
spirit. This exchange reminded me that
day of something significant: there is more than one way the human person can
die.
Most
of us live our lives somewhat fearful and conscious of physical death. Once we pass the teenage years where we think
we are invincible to almost everything, we come to see the fragility of
life. Either we lose someone close to
us, or we ourselves experience sickness that brings us uncomfortably close to
death. But perhaps it is not physical death that we should be the most worried
about. Perhaps there is something more
that should be our concern. A spiritual
death, much like I experienced with my friend at the funeral. Much like what seems to be indicated in today’s
Gospel.
A
quick read of today’s Gospel may seem to indicate that Jesus wants us to act
like the Samaritan, helping those in need.
But it we look closer, I think there is something more: We are like the ones
in the ditch. We are the one’s traveling
down the road in today’s Gospel, the roads of Indianapolis, the highways of
Indiana, and the Interstates of America.
We have found ourselves falling victims to robbers: cultural bandits and
philosophical thieves. They have left us
lying in the road, stripped, beaten and half-dead: spiritually dead. Who can argue that our present circumstance
is not one of spiritual death? From the
disintegration of the family, to the loss of innocence in our young people, to
the attacks on life and religious freedom, to the hateful political rhetoric
that fills our televisions. There is a
spiritual death that seems to pervade our culture that leaves each of us
clinging for life, hoping for a Samaritan man to walk by.
It
was my senior year of college. I was
doing my student teaching in a public high school. In my class there was a young girl named Kayla.
All through my lecture Kayla wasn’t paying attention. Of course, I got used to students not paying
attention to me. But she was
different. She kept writing in what
looked to be a journal. After class I
asked her to stay behind. I mentioned to
her that I noticed she had been writing in a notebook the entire class. She opened it up and showed me the
contents: page after page of poetry
indicating how sad she was, how lonely she felt, how awful her family life was,
and that she didn’t see any reason to live.
As a public school teacher, sadly, there was not much I could do for
her. I set up an appointment for her
with the counselor. I notified the right people. But I knew deep inside what it
was that Kayla was experiencing: it was a spiritual death. She was the one lying in the ditch waiting
for someone to come by and save her. At
that moment I knew the only thing that could save her. The only thing that can save us all.
The
spiritual death we experience in our present age is not like a disease to which
there is no cure. God gave us a
cure. He chose to come down from Heaven
to be with us. To walk with us. To live for us. To die for us. To be our Samaritan. And ultimately to give
himself to us vulnerably and exposed in his body and blood. To be the cure. And the cure is right here with us. But sometimes, before we can receive the help
of the Samaritan, we all have to come to realize that we are the ones lying in
the ditch. We are the ones experiencing
the spiritual death. We are the ones who
need to be saved. We are the ones who
need the Samaritan. Only then, can we
receive the life that awaits:
We
can have oil poured over the sins of our past
We
can have wine of salvation flowing through our bodies
We
can have the bandages of mercy covering our wounds
We
can have the bed at the Heavenly Inn that has been prepared for us
The
spiritual death of our age is prevalent.
But we can trust that the Good Samaritan will never walk us by.
I
belong to a religious missionary community called the Glenmary Home
Missioners. Back in the 1930s, our
founder looked upon the state of the Catholic Church throughout the world. He saw that countless missionaries were being
sent to places like China, Japan, and the continent of Africa. Yet he looked upon our own country and saw
that vast areas here in the United States were experiencing a spiritual
death. In places in the South, the Southeast
and in Appalachia, hundreds of thousands of people were without the gifts of
the Catholic Church. People in countless counties had no access to the
sacraments, to the Mass, and the Eucharist. Today, as then, hundreds of
counties existed in which the Catholic population was less than ½ of 1
percent. Imagine; 99.5 percent of all
the people living in these areas have never consumed the Eucharist. Many have never heard of the Good Samaritan, Jesus,
the one who can save them from their spiritual death. Therefore, it has been the work of Glenmary
for the past 75 years to bring the gifts of the Catholic Church to these
neglected, forgotten, impoverished and struggling areas. To show them to the Good Samaritan.
Some
people claim that the missionary spirit of the Church has left her. Well I will be one to stand in front of you
all today and disagree with them. In
just two weeks I am going to start my first assignment in Eastern
Tennessee. This is Glenmary’s newest
mission area. And imagine, in just 8
short months, this mission area has gone from a Glenmary priest celebrating
mass with a handful of Catholic in one of their homes, because they do not have
a church, to hundreds of Catholics receiving the bread of life, the Eucharist,
every single weekend as this growing Catholic population gathers in a store
front. There is now talk that soon this
once small community will have to build a church. And hopefully one day Glenmary will be able
to hand this community over to the care of the diocese, and move on to yet
another area where the people are longing for Jesus, the Good Samaritan.
We
all struggle to escape the spiritual death of our age. Yet we are privileged to have heard of the
Good Samaritan who will never pass us by. And for this we can receive life:
fullness of the life here on Earth and the chance for life eternal. So I humbly ask you to please help support
the mission of Glenmary to bring the news of the Good Samaritan to the mission
areas here in the United States. Please
pray for us. Consider a vocation to
serve in the home missions. And if you
are able, please consider helping us financially.
Thank
you. Peace.
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