Twenty-Second Sunday in Ordinary Time

          “You duped me, O Lord [you tricked me], and you let myself be [tricked].”

I have always loved this reading from the prophet Jeremiah that we had as our first reading this morning because of its candor.  It is just so honest.  I don’t believe that Jeremiah is any way blasphemous or that he means any disrespect as he pours out his heart to God in prayer.  Jeremiah, like all of the prophets, had a rough go of it.  The task of calling Israel back to faithfulness to the Lord is a difficult one.  To be a prophet of the Lord is actually less about “telling the future” and more about pointing out what is wrong in the present and calling people to reform, and this is never easy or popular.  As Jeremiah puts it, “The word of the Lord has brought be derision and reproach all the day.”  This could be said by any of the prophets.

But what I think is so unique about Jeremiah is that, more than any of the other prophets, he lets us into his own internal struggle.  On the one hand, he knows who he is; he knows his calling to be a prophet (even though when this was first revealed to him by the Lord, he tried to turn it down because of his youth).  On the other hand, he’s tired.  He’s done what God has asked to him to do and said what God has asked him to say, and it seems to have had little effect.  More than this, he has suffered for his mission; he has suffered for the sake of justice.  And now, he seems to reach the point of despair, as he cries out, “I say to myself, I will not mention him [I will not mention God], I will speak in his name no more.”

          So, there’s this great tension.  Jeremiah knows his calling and yet there is a very real part of him that would just rather let it go.  I’m guessing there was at least a bit of this feeling in Bishop Zinkula when his retreat several months ago was so rudely interrupted by a phone call from the Apostolic Nuncio asking him to be the next bishop of Davenport.  He was undoubtedly happy where he was, and yet he knew what his “yes” meant (or what it could mean), and so he graciously accepted.  And we are blessed for it.  I imagine this is how all of the popes (at least the good ones) felt upon their election.  I’m sure they never imagined this for themselves and that they would much rather let somebody else do this job.  There’s a reason that the little room where a newly elected pope is led immediately after his election is called “the room of tears.”  I’m guessing Fr. Chuck felt a little bit this way when after twenty-one years of ministry here at St. Ambrose, he was asked by the Bishop to take on a new assignment.  And I’ll be honest, I felt a little this way, not that I didn’t want to be here.  In fact, as I said last week, I’m very excited to be here and I trust in the Holy Spirit that I’m supposed to be here, but with any new endeavor in life or in ministry there is a little bit of this tension between call and comfort.

          Undoubtedly, all of you have felt this at some point in your life, where, on the one hand, you felt called to a new challenge, inspired even, but on the other hand, you would rather just have stayed put, cozy in your “comfort zone.”  I think here especially of our new students.  Or maybe there was a situation that you faced, where you knew you had a duty to do the right thing in the face of great opposition or social pressure and you would rather have taken the “easier path” of just letting it go, but something stirred in you in such a way that you knew that wasn’t an option.

          And so, let’s get back to Jeremiah and see how he handles this tension, this struggle within himself.  Just after this statement, “I say to myself, I will not mention him, I will speak in his name no more,” Jeremiah says this, “But then it becomes like a fire burning in my heart, imprisoned in my bones; I grow weary holding it in, [and] I cannot endure it.”  Wow!  This is not slavery to the emotions or some disordered desire to placate a “task master” God.  It’s certainly not a bending to social pressure.  What Jeremiah is describing here is that rare kind of interior compulsion that is so powerful that, in a way, he can’t not do this; he can’t not be a prophet and preach the word of the Lord.  And even though it is difficult, there is a sense of freedom and joy in responding to the call.

          This kind of this “interior compulsion” is a good thing to pay attention to, by the way.  In my work over the past six years as vocation director, this is one of the signs I look for of an authentic vocation.  I think of my sister, Mary Jo, who is a 4^th grade teacher in a public school in my home town.  She eats, breaths, sleeps, lives teaching.  Teaching is like a “fire burning in her heart.”  It’s in her bones.  She does just do teaching; she is a teacher.  I believe it is truly something she can’t not do.  And despite the difficulties that inevitably come her way in this beautiful profession, there is a deep sense of freedom and joy in the mission.  This is the difference between a “job” or “occupation” and a vocation, a calling.

          So, it is good for us to be able to identify in ourselves those things we feel we can’t not do – not because of a slavery to the senses, or family pressure, or peer pressure, or social expectation, but because, as Jeremiah would say, “it’s in our bones.”

          Perhaps as a “counter example” to this we can turn to the Gospel for a moment.  Now, let’s remember that just last week we saw Peter win Final Jeopardy by answer correctly the question posed by Jesus, “Who do you say that I am?”  In a moment of inspired brilliance Peter says, “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God!”  Bravo, Peter!  But, now, but a moment later he’s putting his foot in his mouth. 

Jesus is predicting His passion; explaining the mission that is before Him, what He must do, what He can’t not do, even though it will be difficult and there is no small part of this human will that would rather that this “cup” pass him by.  Still, Jesus knows who He is and why He has come.  But Peter, perhaps still patting himself on the back for his correct answer, seeks to stand in the way of this: “God forbid, Lord,” he says, “No such thing shall ever happen to you.”  Now listen carefully to Lord’s rebuke of Peter, “Get behind me, Satan.  You are an obstacle to me.”  Peter’s error was in trying to put himself in front of Jesus, to take the lead.  And so, Jesus says, “Get behind me.”  In other words, “Follow me; be my disciple again instead of trying to tell me how I should run this show.”  When we put ourselves in front of God, in front of Christ, we get in the way.  We become obstacles to God.  We are thinking “not as God does, but has human beings do.”  But when we allow God to lead, we become instruments of God; conduits of God’s grace.

So, Jeremiah wrestles with himself about what he might rather do and what he knows God is calling him to do; he pays attention to that interior sense of mission and he lets God lead the way.  Peter, on the other hand (at least in this instance), seeks to force his own ideas about how the Lord should carry out His mission and is rebuked.  Of course, Peter does eventually get it, as in time he will follow the Spirit’s lead, even to the cross.

I would like to conclude with this.  It’s okay for us to feel this tension between what we might choose for ourselves and what God might have in mind for us, between comfort and calling.  In fact, it’s a very normal and human thing to always have a little bit of this interior wresting match going on in our hearts.  But in the end, we need to take the time to really listen to that interior voice of conscience and to cultivate a readiness to respond to whatever it is God is calling us.  If we do this, if we really allow the Lord to take the lead, then we need not fear.  And more than this, we will find both freedom and joy in the mission – in the vocation – to which God has called us.  “It becomes like fire burning in [our hearts], imprisoned in our bones; [and we] grow weary holding it in.”