Once upon a time, in a country where the Corpus Christi procession through town was a really big deal, there was a priest who passionately took great care of every fine detail. On the morning of the big day, he would inspect all four outdoor stations where the procession would walk to, and at each, he would shift the flowers or candle sticks an imperceptibly tiny bit. The priest would check the religious banners and their bearers. He would make sure there were enough flower petals for children to throw on the ground for the duration of the procession. The altar servers had to be immaculately dressed up in their albs, cassocks and surplices, their hair brushed, and shoes polished. There were a lot of things that needed checking, and the priest would leave nothing to chance. It was exhausting, but in his mind, Jesus Christ in the Eucharist deserved no less than a perfect setup. Finally, everything was prepared for the procession through the town’s streets, crowded by the faithful, ready to publicly adore Christ in the Blessed Sacrament. Just before the kick-off, the priest got a bit distracted by another fine detail, but having dealt with it quickly, he began the procession. Dressed in the best golden chasuble, he solemnly lifted the golden monstrance high in his arms and slowly walked with it. He was preceded by a string of religious banners held aloft by their bearers, two rows of cute little girls throwing petals at regular intervals, made by reciting a simple biblical rhyme. The altar servers rang small bells and waved the thurible that produced fragrant smoke. Behind the priest, the organist yelled Eucharistic hymns through a mobile PA system. The crowds followed the procession with great devotion. Even the weather was perfect, thought the priest. He briefly caught the sacristan waving at him frantically in his peripheral vision but ignored the elderly man and proceeded solemnly with the procession. Only when it came to its conclusion did the priest realise that the old man had been trying to alarm him to a crucial oversight – he had forgotten to put the Blessed Sacrament into the monstrance. Furious at himself, he angrily muttered under his breath: “Why do I always miss out on some tiny detail?” Well, in fact in that case, the centrepiece of the whole shebang.
“Control freak” isn’t a compliment welcomed by many. It’s most often used to label someone in a negative, even derogatory way. Even control freaks rarely call themselves that; their preferred version is “being a perfectionist”. I know it firsthand – I’m a perfectionist! As Moses seemed to be, too. His story, according to the Bible, was fascinating. Having lived a luxurious life for a long while, he ended up in the wilderness as a fugitive, working as a shepherd for his father-in-law, Jethro, a pagan priest. There, in the middle of nowhere, Moses was called to carry out a mission (in his mind) impossible: to get the Israelites out of Egypt against the Pharaoh’s wishes and lead them to the promised land. Eventually, in his discussion with God by the burning bush, Moses ran out of excuses to turn down the offer and signed on the dotted line. Quickly, he realised that going on God’s mission didn’t guarantee plain sailing. Unsurprisingly, the Pharaoh strongly opposed his plans, but more dishearteningly, his fellow Israelites weren’t too keen either. Yes, they whinged and moaned about their poor economic and social status, but, at the end of the day, “Better a sparrow in hand than a pigeon on the roof.” It took Moses a lot of hard work and miracles to get them moving. But all the way, they kept moaning and complaining and wishing to be back in Egypt, where they had lived impoverished but stable lives. Having heard that so many times, Moses complained to God, too, in his exasperation: “Why have you treated your servant so badly? Why have I not found favour in your sight that you lay the burden of all this people on me? Did I conceive all this people? Did I give birth to them, that you should say to me, ‘Carry them in your bosom, as a nurse carries a sucking child, to the land that you promised on oath to their ancestors’? Where am I to get meat to give to all this people? For they come weeping to me and say, ‘Give us meat to eat!’ I am not able to carry all this people alone, for they are too heavy for me. If this is the way you are going to treat me, put me to death at once – if I have found favour in your sight – and do not let me see my misery.” (Numbers 11:11-15)
That was the context of today’s first reading. In response to Moses’ grievance, God told him to “gather for me seventy of the elders of Israel, […] I will take some of the spirit that is on you and put it on them, and they shall bear the burden of the people along with you so that you will not bear it all by yourself.” (Numbers 11:16-17) It must have been challenging for Moses to accept that his control freakery wasn’t the best style of leadership. I suppose he had instilled the same single-handed, dictatorial attitude in his assistant, Joshua, as he urged Moses to stop a couple of chaps who were reportedly rather freewheeling in the camp. But by now, Moses was a convert to the new, managerial style of leadership: “If only the whole people of the Lord were prophets, and the Lord gave his Spirit to them all!”
His prophetic words have been fulfilled… in us. In the sacrament of baptism, we have received God’s spirit; in the sacrament of confirmation, we have been called to fulfil our specific role in the mission of the Church. We are not a community of users of religious services provided single-handedly by a priest, however great he might be. We are a community of disciples using individual gifts, talents, and skills to build up the living body of the Church and carry its mission into the wide world. Our prophetic mission is to give testimony to Jesus’ transforming power of unconditional and infinite love. Well, at least that’s the idea.
There might be a bit of Moses at various stages in each one of us. Just like him by the burning bush, we might have a lot of reasons not to get involved: I don’t have time, I don’t have the skills or talents, I don’t feel like it, and so on. Or, having got involved, like Moses in Egypt, we might face opposition, not just from the obvious opponents but even from fellow believers. Or, like Moses on the way to the promised land, we might hear a near-permanent stream of complaints, moaning and whining. What if you are on this other side and are never happy with your priest or fellow parishioners or the level of service the parish provides? The answer to all of us is this: Don’t lose heart; get involved, and keep going for the sake of making Jesus present: “Where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.” (Matthew 18:20) His presence must never be a tiny, easily overlooked detail, because – as St Paul proclaimed – “If God is for us, who is against us? Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. [Nothing] will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 8:31-39)
