There is an anecdote told about President Franklin D. Roosevelt.  It is said that FDR, known for his infectious smile and dynamic personality, grew weary of the predictable small talk he would experience during White House gatherings.  Curious if anyone was truly paying attention, he decided to conduct an experiment.  As guests approached to greet him on the receiving line this particular evening, he flashed his trademark grin and said somewhat matter-of-factly, “I murdered my grandmother this morning.”

Thanks so much for stopping by to read this homily for the 29th Sunday in Ordinary Time – October 20, 2024.  I appreciate your sharing this on your social media posts and your feedback and comments…  I’m also grateful for all those who’ve asked for the audio version and share them as well at SOUNDCLOUD click HERE or from ITUNES as a podcast HERE.  May the Lord be glorified in your reading and sharing- Father Jim

Most guests, proving his point, responded with phrases like, “How lovely!” or “Keep up the great work!” utterly oblivious to the shocking statement.  It took this one foreign diplomat to break the mold, finally responding thoughtfully, “I’m sure she had it coming.” This story highlights a common human flaw: selective listening.

Scientists have explored selective listening for decades, ever since loved ones started to insist that their spouse, parent, or child must have hearing difficulties, only to come back with a clear bill of auditory health.  Theories run all over the place as to why this is a legitimate issue:  a person is preoccupied with their own feelings (they’re hungry or tired); they’re multi-tasking or listening to multiple conversations; previous experience makes someone believe they already know what the person is going to say.  One reason that is the hardest to confront or admit to is that sometimes, we only pay attention to what we think is most important… what we want to hear.

This notion of selective listening might explain James and John’s behavior in today’s Gospel.  Because moments before this episode, Jesus had told them we are going to Jerusalem.  I’m going to be betrayed, condemned to death by the chief priests; the gentiles are going to mock, spit, and have me scourged… I will be killed, and three days after, I will rise.   And the first thing out of their mouths is, “Jesus, we want you to do something for us- make us sit one on your right and one on your left when you enter into glory.”  When reading the scripture straight through, it’s kind of shocking to hear these questions.  They sound so arrogant, entitled, and beyond inappropriate.  How could they have been so thick-headed?

Perhaps the memory of the Transfiguration was fresh in their minds when Jesus was transformed, bathed in light, and Moses and Elijah appeared, and they heard God the Father’s voice saying, “This is my beloved son.” Now, they heard Jesus mentioning something about “rising” in Jerusalem, and they thought, “We better act quickly.” Or perhaps the miracles they had witnessed and experienced ran through their minds, justifying their bold request.

Whatever the case, it’s easy to be taken aback by James and John’s question – to be angry at them… we understand that the other 10 become, as the Gospel describes them, “indignant.”  But just to be sure, Jesus clarifies that the other 10 weren’t angry at the lack of thoughtfulness, concern, or empathy for what Jesus was about to enter into.  They were just as selective in their listening.  They’re angry simply because these two tried to beat the other 10 for the top 2 spots.

The reality is, despite the fact that Jesus has pretty bluntly told all of them what was going to happen to Him several times, none of them seem to be listening to it – or want to hear it.  In a sense, who can blame them?  Who wants to hear about the Cross?  Who wants to hear about pain and loss?  Who wants to hear about suffering?  For us now and for people back then, one of the constants is that we live in a world that fixates on avoiding all of those things and encouraging everyone to do what we can to minimize or eliminate them for ourselves.  We spend a lot of time trying to prevent the loss, a lot of our energy wanting to alleviate pain… We have found multiple ways that we try to numb the suffering.  We work really, really hard not to look at the Cross.  To deny it.

Yet, it still comes. The Cross still comes to every one of us, leaving each of us with different wounds, brokenness, and weaknesses. It’s a reality we cannot escape. Maybe it’s a sin that you feel ashamed about. Maybe it’s an addiction that you continue to struggle with. Maybe it’s an illness or pain that has taken a toll on you. Maybe it’s an emotional wound or personal pain that you haven’t shared with anyone. Maybe it’s a loss you continue to grieve about that you don’t want to admit to.

Because we’re surrounded by a world that wants to be rid of all crosses… Because the world is fixated on glory like James, John, and the other 10… Because of that, that unhealthy pursuit for glory – rivalries, jealousies, envy, gossip, arrogance, moral superiority run amuck in our hearts and souls – we can selectively listen and tune Jesus out ourselves when He speaks of the Cross.

Every one of us has our own wounds, our own brokenness, and our weaknesses. It’s not defeatist to admit that. We are defeated when we deny that; when we deny the Cross. But – when we can see we’re not defined by our wounds, we can begin to experience healing for our brokenness. We can overcome our weaknesses when we listen to what Jesus is saying.

Jesus did not inform the apostles about the events that would unfold – the unjust trial, conviction, and the harsh sentence he would face – in order to prepare them for battle, as he knew they would fail in that regard and abandon him anyway. Instead, he is telling them, and all of us, that he is giving his life freely. He is entering into the darkest aspects of human life to show us the way out of those dark areas, so that we might have life. He is offering his life to save us.

What does that mean? In short, he is teaching us that any real, life-changing love will cost us something. In a world where words like “Like,” “Friend,” or “Love” have been misused, we need to remember that love isn’t just a warm, fuzzy feeling. Love isn’t just about feeling happy about something or doing nice things for people who like us and expecting something in return. St. Anthony of Padua once put it this way: “Nowhere other than looking at himself in the mirror of the Cross can man better understand how much he is worth.” That’s what Jesus is leading the apostles and each of us to understand – that real, life-changing love costs us something.

When you see a person who is lonely, struggling, and you give them your attention, that costs you something, and that is love. When you choose to take care of someone else, whether it’s working at a homeless shelter, volunteering on campus, or reaching out to your elderly grandmother or grandfather and give them your time and presence, that costs you something, and that is love. Stepping into someone else’s brokenness, weakness, or woundedness will cost you something, and that is love.

We do that because Jesus teaches us that this is what love is and that Jesus loves us this way. That’s what the Cross is about. Jesus gives up his glory and power, and allows himself to be made weak, broken, and to feel our fragileness and woundedness. He steps into that, and it costs him something, and that is love.

But He’s willing to make that sacrifice.  To make that attempt, as He himself tells us in the Gospel tonight: “For the son of man did not come to be served but to serve and give his life as a ransom for many.”  He asks us – Are you listening?   Do you truly want to be great?  Do you really want to be on my right or my left?  Watch what I do… and then do the same.