A prominent politician, campaigning in the Brexit referendum in 2016 declared: ‘I think the people of this country have had enough of experts.’ It earned him a certain infamy in some circles and the label of a populist. A couple of years later, when the current pandemic struck, the very same politician insisted – as a member of the British government – that we should all follow the science in order to beat the virus. Quite a turnaround considering that science is produced by a great range of experts in their respective fields. For a while, many commentators and comedians had their field day of hilarity, using the politician’s infamous line as a virtual stick to beat him. Well, I guess that’s part and parcel of being a politician; a thick skin is one of the most essential requirements for that job.
Those memories sprang into my mind when I read today’s gospel. People in Jesus’s hometown heard about His rather extraordinary public activities and invited Him to preach in their synagogue. That would indicate their admiration for Jesus in the same way as modern celebrities are cherished by the locals in their birthplace. However, the congregation quickly turned against Jesus and questioned Him. St Mark didn’t tell us the reason why the congregation changed their attitude towards Jesus. The gospel of St Luke (4:16-30) tells an extended version of the incident and provides more details. Jesus read out a passage from the prophet Isaiah and claimed that the prophecy was being fulfilled at that very moment. The people in the congregation ‘spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth’; then a sudden, unexplained change of mood, very similar to the one described in today’s gospel happened. Next, St Luke reported Jesus’s tirade that infuriated the congregation and nearly ended in his lynching. From local hero to zero. Yet, despite St Luke’s extended description of the incident, we don’t really know what triggered it. However, both St Mark and St Luke agree on the line of the attack; it was based on Jesus’ personal circumstances: ‘Where did the man get all this? […] This is the carpenter, surely, the son of Mary […]’
In all kinds of rows, from domestic to those between neighbours, workmates or acquaintances, this kind of argument – a personal attack – is employed when no valid or substantial counterargument can be produced. Derogative or expletive labels are common ways of expression. It’s much easier and simpler to kill the messenger rather than to address the issue in question. The latter requires thinking, reflection, and quite often the willingness to compromise or even change my views, while the former effectively absolves me from my responsibilities. No arguments are exchanged, only blows. In other words, it’s everyone around me that must adapt to me and my ways. The old-fashioned mob-lynch now has its digital-era equivalent called ‘cancel culture.’
Let’s go back to the gospel reading. As I mentioned, no reason for the congregation’s change of heart was given by St Mark. However, based on the wider context of Jesus’s teachings we can safely assume that it might have been triggered by His call to change their mind or their attitudes, to get out of their irreflective, religious rut and switch to a more reflective, conscious and active response to the word of God. But people don’t really like change. We are creatures of habit; we automatically develop routines that help us to go through life and they often do help. But they can lull us into a dangerously false sense of safety and comfort and self-content. Consequently, we lower our standards while raising the bar for everyone else. Unquestioned and unchallenged, we gradually and imperceptibly turn into a worse version of ourselves.
When we come to church, we do it for a variety of reasons; we seek comfort, or consolation, or support. The list can be quite long. However, it seems that we are increasingly unwilling to be challenged or confronted in our thinking. Some argue that the Church lost its moral authority because of the many scandals of abuse committed by its clerical and lay members. Let’s be absolutely clear; perpetrators should be held accountable for their crimes while their victims should be supported and offered help to cope with their trauma. The seriousness and abhorrence of such crimes must not be diminished or minimised. Yet, the authority of the Church to teach isn’t based on the perfection of her leaders or members, who have always been flawed and imperfect. St Paul was acutely aware of his shameful past and imperfect present, as we heard in today’s second reading: ‘to stop me from getting too proud I was given a thorn in the flesh, an angel of Satan to beat me and stop me from getting too proud!’ Because of that, he declared: ‘we do not proclaim ourselves; we proclaim Jesus Christ as Lord […]. But we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us.’ (2 Corinthians 4:5.7). It’s the echo of Jesus’ words: ‘My teaching is not mine but his who sent me. […] Those who speak on their own seek their own glory.’ (John 7:16.18) It’s the attitude of any even half-self-aware Catholic preacher.
On that front, I must confess that most of the time I strongly feel my own inadequacy and incompetence. I would keep my mouth shut if my preaching were solely justified by the standards of my life. But I remember an old anecdote about a fierce missionary priest who preached in the parish he visited. After Mass, an elderly lady approached him and thanked him for his sermon that had reduced her to tears. Intrigued, he asked the woman which part of his sermon had moved her so deeply. ‘Father’, she replied, ‘when you pulled out your white handkerchief, I thought how filthy my soul was. And then – she continued – when you cleared your nose to the microphone it sounded to me like the trumpets of Judgment Day.’ I can only adopt Jesus’ words: ‘My teaching is not mine but his who sent me.’ Whether you listen to it or not is your choice.