Homily — Twelfth Sunday of the Year: A
I’m remembering the English language cinema in Rome, where we American students would go, when wearied by our struggles with Italian; it was called Cinema Pasquino. Now, the amazing thing about this Cinema Pasquino was that at intermission the ceiling would open with some odd contraption. You’d hear a cranking noise, and then suddenly you could see the night sky, stars, a bit of breeze and then those viewers who wished were now allowed to smoke. You’ll excuse the analogy, but I think that when we enter this church for Eucharist, or to chant the Office, or even whenever we do lectio divina, wherever we are, something very similar happens. There’s no ceiling, only an easy interchange between heaven and earth. The Lord is near, very near.
This open traffic between heaven and earth began at Bethlehem of course when the heavens were opened, and angels filled the skies, announcing Jesus’ birth to shepherds. “Fear not,” they said. “We have tidings of great joy.” Heaven has been wedded to earth in Christ Jesus born of Mary. All disconnect is over, for in Christ Jesus, God Most High has become God Most Low. The cry of the prophet has been fulfilled: “The King of Israel, the Lord, is in your midst, you have no further misfortune to fear… God is in your midst, a mighty savior, who will rejoice over you with gladness.”
So it is that Jesus speaks to us this morning, echoing prophets of old as well as holy angels, "Do not be afraid.” And then to illustrate his message, of all things, he will speak of little sparrows. “Are not two sparrows sold for a small coin? Yet not one of them falls to the ground without your Father's knowledge. Even all the hairs of your head are counted. Do not be afraid you are worth more than many sparrows.” Thus we are invited to believe that we have infinite value to God, in short we are like Jesus most beloved.
Little sparrows, so small and seemingly insignificant, they’re flying and twittering all over our property, just as they were in Galilee. But in Jesus day these little birds were food for the poor, bred and then sold in the markets for a pittance. The smallest copper coin could purchase two, and a double coin would get you five. The trivial value of these little birds “sharpens Jesus’ contrast between human estimation and divine regard.” God notices even when little sparrows fall. Imagine that. Falling in this passage refers not to their death, but to their landing on the ground and hopping about. Nothing escapes the extravagance of his kind regard. This is a God who also enjoys counting the hairs on your head, never too busy to notice. Nothing in creation, however slight or small escapes his gaze. God notices, with everlasting benign regard. He gets what we go through. He’s with us. Always. My sisters and brothers, this is after all the message of the Incarnation.
In the foolish extravagance of his love, God wants to gaze on you. “Let me see your face, let me hear your voice, for your voice is sweet, and your face is lovely.” Contemplation is, in the first place, knowing that we are gazed upon by One who delights in us more than we can imagine, relishing it and somehow having the audacity to gaze back in love. Indeed, as Pope Leo has reminded us in his encyclical, we are invited “to contemplate, in the face of the Son of God, the grandeur of humanity…this human face that asks to be gazed upon remains the center of our history. This human face is the fullness toward which history is moving.” For Christ Jesus is “the One, who gathers every fragment of life, every tear … rescuing them from nothingness.”
God loves what is small and ordinary. “The divine Word belittled himself and he has remained pledged to smallness…he loves smallness…Jesus seeks smallness, because he knows very well that there is nothing so truly great upon earth as that which is insignificant.” God is never too busy, but always watching and most attentive even to the small stuff that bothers us and frightens us. We can afford to be bold and bask in our belovedness, for Jesus reminds us- we are seen, we are noticed, we are understood. God is with us, always and everywhere with us; ceaselessly mindful of us.
Our work is to notice God noticing us. Notice God, noticing us. And then to go and do likewise – to be compassionate noticers, who reach out in deed and in prayer. Transformed and confident in our belovedness, we are empowered to go and perform small acts of love over and over without thinking twice. It will be like cupping our hands and passing little sparrows to one another endlessly.
Our earth is wonderful, indeed, for Jesus has come to stay with us. Eternity is always interrupting. There’s no ceiling. The “horizon of the reign of God is immeasurable…and begins here, on this earth, and it is about this world because from the very beginning God's intent was nothing other than the world,” a world that he longs to heal and sanctify and gaze upon more and more.