Lighten Up!

A Reflection on the Gospel for Sunday, November 5th, 2023:
Thirty-First Sunday in Ordinary Time

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Matthew
23.1-12

Then Jesus said to the crowds and to his disciples, “The scribes and the Pharisees sit in Moses’ chair; therefore, do whatever they teach you and follow it; but do not do as they do, for they do not practise what they teach. They tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on the shoulders of others; but they themselves are unwilling to lift a finger to move them. They do all their deeds to be seen by others; for they make their phylacteries broad and their fringes long. They love to have the place of honour at banquets and the best seats in the synagogues, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have people call them rabbi.

“But you are not to be called rabbi, for you have one teacher, and you are all brothers and sisters. And call no one your father on earth, for you have one Father — the one in heaven. Nor are you to be called instructors, for you have one instructor, the Christ. The greatest among you will be your servant. Whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted.”

Pause. Pray. Reflect.

Poor Pharisees. Jesus points out that they are laying heavy burdens on the people  by demanding strict adherence to unreasonable laws, and they are doing nothing to help or support them. It’s not that the Pharisees are lazy (for they too are carrying heavy burdens). It’s that they’re overwhelmed and too weighed down to help the people they are supposed to be teaching. But it’s not laws that overwhelm them; it is pride.

"Pride is the downward drag of all things into an easy solemnity,” says GK Chesterton in Orthodoxy. “For solemnity flows out of men naturally, but laughter is a leap. Satan fell by the force of gravity.” 

The Pharisees need to lighten up spiritually. When you can resist the downward drag of what Chesterton calls “a sort of selfish seriousness” and find some humour in your own struggles and foibles, you’re in good company. “A characteristic of the great saints is their power of levity,” he writes. “[P]ride cannot rise to levity or levitation.”

When you can laugh at yourself, you can love yourself because when you treat yourself lightly and gently, you can see yourself as God sees you: as a beloved son or daughter whose antics are always delightful. When you can laugh and love yourself in that filial security, you can extend that same gentle leniency to your neighbour and love them better, too.

God knows we can’t achieve much without Him. The more we lean into this, the happier we can be. Brother Lawrence, in his spiritual classic “Practice of the Presence of God,” is astoundingly good at embracing this dependence. Whenever he was about to start something, he would say, “My God, I can do this only if you help me. I will never do anything right if you leave me alone; it’s up to you to stop me from falling and to correct what is wrong.” And then, if he was unsuccessful, Brother Lawrence told God — and this is a faithful translation — it was His problem.

How freeing it is to know that humiliations, embarrassments, and well-meant failures draw the Holy Spirit like a magnet! When we call for help because we’ve invariably gotten in over our heads, He loves nothing more than to swoop down, rescue us, and give us a hug for our efforts. It almost makes you look forward to the next time you mess up. Not that you want to hurt God or others, but each opportunity to embrace our fragile humanity is an opportunity to be embraced by His mercy, if we’re willing to accept it. We can laugh because we’re reminded, once again, that we’re totally loved and forgiven. And when our own mess-ups are less burdensome, then we are much freer to help others with theirs.

I have to let Chesterton have the last word: “There was some one thing that was too great for God to show us when he walked upon this earth; and I have sometimes fancied that it was his mirth.”



Kate Mosher

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