Homily for 14th Sunday (B), July 8, 2012. Fr Joseph T. Nolan.
A single phrase in all the reading today is fascinating -- four words uttered
by the prophet Ezekiel who says, “Spirit entered into me.” He adds, “It set
me on my feet.” That’s a position of readiness. It signifies: “You’re up—
get going!” Then the prophet adds, “I heard the one who was speaking.”
And yes, it refers to God because then he addresses the people using the
traditional formula of prophets, “Thus says the Lord God.” Jesus never uses
the phrase even though he was the last and greatest of the prophets. He was
very direct in his speech, saying things like, “Of old it was said to you but I
say to you now.” No wonder they didn’t know what to make of him.
“Spirit entered into him.” Is this the Holy Spirit? Yes. Is it another name
for God? It is used that way now but in the beginning spirit was the way the
sacred writer tried to describe the actions of God. They chose the word for
breath—ruah in Hebrew, spiritus in Latin—to describe the spirit at work. It
suggests the gift of life from God that each of us possesses. It is a good
metaphor; if we did not breathe for very long, we do not live. And if God,
the divine presence, the reassurance of being loved and forgiven, trusted and
called to work in the kingdom—if these are not present, we do not live very
well as Christians.
They also used wind as another metaphor for spirit because it is a figure of
power, great power. We are not thinking so much of the whirlwind or the
hurricane but of the wind moving the clouds and bringing the rain that brings
forth life on earth. Thus we are told in Genesis that “the spirit of God
moved over the waters and brought forth the dry land, the earth.”
“Spirit entered into me.” Does the outpouring of genius in some fellow
humans represent the Creator Spirit at work in them? They contribute so
much to the world, the world of art or science or in any field---are we right
in seeing the hand of God in all this? Is it more than genes and teachers and
hard work? Take, for an astonishing example, the achievements of a man
whose middle name means “lover of God.” Or, “Beloved of God.”
Amadeus. Yes, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. The encyclopedia says of him,
“He had an unsuccessful career and died young but ranks as one of the great
geniuses of Western civilization.” Just a brief summary: at the age of six he
wrote five piano pieces that are still very popular. At the age of eight he
wrote a symphony. At ten, an oratorio. At fourteen he composed a serious
opera and directed it in person when it was produced in Milan, Italy. (At
this point we are tempted to ask ourselves what we were doing at the age of
fourteen!) Before he died at age thirty-five he had written more than six
hundred works of music. It was easier for him, of course, because he had
perfect recall; he composed a melody in his head and retained it after
writing it down. He rarely did anything like a rough draft.
As perhaps you know, from seeing the film Amadeus. Mozart’s final years
were struggles with poverty and illness. He never got to direct his three
greatest symphonies, and he died of typhoid fever at the age of 36 while
writing the great Requiem Mass. Even the site of his grave is unknown.
I need not tell you that he lives on gloriously in his music. Mozart’s
gigantic contribution might remind us of Jesus, who died even younger.
One lives in his music; the other—Jesus—lives. He lives as the Risen One,
present to us in grace, power, and love, a real presence. In his lifetime Jesus
did not write music, he told stories called parables; and they have become
the most repeated stories in the world. What we know of him we know
from the gospels, and people who are not believers are amazed at the power
of these slender documents and the extraordinary person they reveal. We
think we know the answer to the genius of Jesus Christ; he was the Word
become flesh and dwelling among us. In him, God has visited his people
(and has never left us). In him, divine love became visible. In Mozart’s
case, it was the Creator Spirit at work in his flesh, in his person, prompting
those great works of beauty and truth he left with us. Just listen to a great
voice sing Mozart’s Ave Maria. Or the slow tide of sound that begins the
Kyrie of the Requiem Mass. Or the notes that fall like tumbling water in the
piano concertos. Or the sheer delight of many of his compositions. Of
Mozart, and perhaps of any great person, the crowd will ask those words in
the gospel, “Where does he get all this?” And the answer? “Spirit entered
into me!”
And where did Jesus get all this? It is the same answer: he got it from God.
The gospel tells of him as a young man about to begin his mission, declaring
in the Temple, “The spirit of the Lord is upon me.” We can make that claim;
we too are temples of the Holy Spirit. And each of us in our own lives,
which are usually a lot longer than thirty-some years, can ask ourselves: how
can I be creative? In many ways. A child, for instance, is a great creation—
the greatest of all. So is a home, a family. The classroom is a creative place,
where truth and wisdom are pursued. It has been rightly said that no one
knows how far, even into eternity, the work of a great teacher goes. I once
quoted that in tribute to Krister Stendahl, when I was privileged to drive him
home from meetings at B.C. When Stendahl gave a major address we used
to wait for the great epigrammatic line that would be quoted and expanded
from then on. Two of them I have used in every theology course I taught.
Even sitting so many hours before “the black box” (and combining 1 and 0
all over the place!) can be a response to the gift which the prophet describes:
“Spirit entered into me.” All good work is how God is glorified, and
creation goes on.