ELEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY
Readings:
Key Verses (using the World English Bible):
1 Cor: 15:8-10a: “Last of all, as to the child born at the wrong time, [Christ] appeared to me also. For I am the least of the apostles, who is not worthy to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the assembly of God. But by the grace of God I am what I am.”
Luke 18:14: Jesus said, “For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but he who humbles himself will be exalted.”
Reflection
Yesterday, Catholic and Orthodox Christians, celebrated the Assumption (or, Dormition) of Mary, Mother of God. What becomes of Mary after the first Pentecost Day is not found in Scripture. The Church came to believe that Mary was bodily taken up into heaven, but disagreed as to what exactly happened on her final day. Catholics claim that God’s grace shielded the sinless Mary from death (cf. Rom. 6:23). The Orthodox argue that the Mother is not superior to her Son, so she died like any human. I prefer the Anglican “middle road.” Our prayer for the day begins simply, “O God, you have taken to yourself the blessed Virgin Mary…”, leaving the details open to the individual worshiper. At its core, I would say, this day invites us to consider that Jesus, whom Mary humbly received into her body, did not leave his mother behind.
God does not leave any of his children behind. Indeed, that’s exactly the point of today’s excerpt from Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians. Paul delves into a litany of people to whom Christ appeared after death. Some, like Cephas (Peter) and James, we recognize; others, like the mysterious five hundred and their mass vision, we wish we knew more about. But Paul’s point is to showcase the chain of witnesses from whom he received his faith, culminating with himself—but not to set himself above the rest. I hear regret and sadness in his voice when he writes that he’s “not worthy to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the assembly of God.” But even a persecutor, last in line, had a job to do in God’s plan. Paul may have thought he was above these breakaway Jewish believers in Jesus. But God humbled him in a vision, and lifted him up by his grace to do God’s work.
This same cycle of being on top, hitting rock bottom, only to be lifted back up surfaces again in the Gospel reading. In this familiar story, we meet two men, two pray-ers, technically. The first, a Pharisee, an expert in religious law, ritual, and commentary, thanks God for putting him on top of everyone else, for instilling in him a spirituality that makes him better than others. Then there’s the tax collector, a fellow Jew outcast by his own people, for he did Rome’s dirty work, collecting money for Judea’s oppressors. He couldn’t even ‘lift’—there’s that word again—his eyes to heaven to ask for forgiveness. Jesus, despite some ambiguous Greek, seems to say that the tax collector went home forgiven instead of (in spite of?) the Pharisee. He humbled himself before God, and God lifted him up.
Together, the overarching sense of these stories is that God is especially with us at our lowest points, when we’re most lost. It’s a very comforting message, and I believe it’s a true message. But the theme of this Sunday in our “deadly sins” series is the illumination of vainglory. We defined vainglory seven weeks ago as an “excessive elation or pride over one’s own achievements, abilities, etc.” At this stage of our idealized inner journey, we’ve successfully purged ourselves of this passion, and the Spirit is planting his fruits within us. As such then, the Spirit’s lesson is not of comfort, but of warning.
So let us be warned: even as God lifts us up, we must neither cling to our spiritual progress, nor think ourselves above those who are still learning. We’re called to ask ourselves: How are we like the Pharisee, grateful that we’re finally rising above others, that we know and do more of God’s work? Even Paul caught himself there: “I worked more than all of [the apostles]; yet not I, but the grace of God which was with me.” Just as Paul didn’t forget where he came from, we too can’t forget what we were like at the start of our spiritual journey. Our challenge is to use our spiritual maturity to build up those who are just starting on their way—being present with them, guiding them, praying for them. Even Mary, exalted in heaven according to tradition, still prays for us sinners. And it works both ways: if we feel we’re not quite there yet, we have to open our hearts to others who may be, and learn from them—knowing that God will leave none of us behind.
Prayer of the Day
O God,
you declare your almighty power most chiefly
in showing mercy and pity.
Mercifully grant us such a measure of your grace,
so that we, running the way of your commandments,
may obtain your gracious promises,
and be made partakers of your heavenly treasure;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen.
—Collect #1 from the 5th-century Gelasian Sacramentary, used in the Book of Common Prayer, both 1662 and 1979 (“Proper 21”) versions
O God,
you have to taken to yourself the blessed Virgin Mary,
Mother of your incarnate Son.
Grant that we, who have been redeemed by his blood,
may share with her
the glory of your eternal kingdom;
through Jesus Christ our Lord,
who lives and reigns with you,
in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
one God, now and for ever.
Amen.
—Collect for “Saint Mary the Virgin (August 15th)”, Book of Common Prayer, 1979
Hymn: “Come down, O Love divine”
(Words: “Discendi, Amor santo” by Bianco da Siena, 15th century; translated to English by Richard Frederick Littledale, 1833-1890; adapted by Joseph A. Soltero, 2015
Tune: ‘Down Ampney’, by Ralph Vaughan Williams, 1872-1958)
Come down, O Love divine,
And seek this soul of mine,
And visit it with your own ardor glowing.
O Comforter, draw near;
Within my heart appear,
And kindle it, your holy flame bestowing.
O let it freely burn
Till earthly passions turn
To dust and ashes in its heat consuming.
And let your glorious light
Shine ever on my sight,
And clothe me round, the while my path illuming.
Let holy charity
My outward vesture be,
And lowliness become my inner clothing.
True lowliness of heart,
Which takes the humbler part,
And o’er its own shortcomings weeps with loathing.
And so the yearning strong,
With which the soul will long,
Shall far out-pass the pow’r of human telling,
For none can guess its grace,
Till Love becomes the place
Wherein the Holy Spirit makes a dwelling.
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