Memorial of the Queenship of the Blessed Virgin Mary
Sometimes, when I read a text like the one today from the Book of Matthew, I have to think again about what it means that our God became human—really and truly human. Amazingly, our God chose to leave the heavenly realm, where all is peace and contentment, in order to enter into a human body, known well for all of its competing desires, needs, goals, fears, intentions, and temptations. Talk about a sacrifice!
Now, on the one hand, that’s great. To think that our loving and gracious God truly knows us is wonderful. We are not alone! On the other hand, that might not always feel reassuring. After all, if God really knows me, then God also knows my greatest weaknesses, basest desires, and biggest failures. And all I can say is, “Yikes!”
In today’s reading, Jesus draws our attention to some of our worst shortcomings, which he, unfortunately, knows all too well from his brief time among us: hypocrisy, conceit, lack of compassion, and presumption. In the passage from Matthew today, however, he seems to save his greatest irritation for our fixation on the whole business of “mastering.”
Mastering can take many forms, of course. Here, Jesus seems to have in mind the mastering that takes either the form of direct domination over others or the form of a derivative domination, whereby one claims (or, worse, presumes) favored status with the master and, thereby, the privilege of knowing the mind and speaking on behalf and in the place of the master.
Another word for all of this is hubris. And Jesus will have none of it! That makes sense, even if we don’t always like it. We worship the Christ who is the Messiah, the Son of God, the one to whom every knee shall bow, the Master.
And we worship the Christ who took human form; supped with tax collectors and prostitutes; allowed himself to be arrested, tried, and convicted; and endured a death designed to maximize pain and humiliation for his “radical” teachings on religion, politics, and economy.
I think it’s fair to say that Jesus understands our conundrum. He knows that we want to follow him. And he knows that we also want the kind of mastery that makes things come out “right”—whether that means insisting that our children grow into a certain sort of adult, or overworking ourselves to ensure that our professional life follows a particular arc, or forcing our imperfect bodies to conform to a cultural ideal, or seeking to beat death by stalling the aging process, or something else.
In response to our conundrum, Jesus always gives us the option to remain as we are—focused on mastery and the misery that typically entails. As one 20th century theologian warned us (I am paraphrasing here): It is precisely when we human beings try to make history come out right that we commit our worst sins.
Of course, the feeling of mastery is a great temptation for good reason. Who doesn’t want to make sure things come out right? Especially these days, when so much seems so wrong!
While that feeling makes sense, it doesn’t bring us closer to Jesus. On the contrary. It is when we put mastery above discipleship, power over compassion, our will in place of God’s unfolding salvation history that we find ourselves furthest afield from our savior.
May we seek to follow Jesus in every way, especially when we are tempted by the desire to master. May we embrace his teaching despite our unease. May we embrace humility not as weakness or impotence, but as the life of a true disciple who easters in the Kingdom of God that is now.
—Susan Trollinger