Certain moments help clarify our identities. In today’s reflection, we are reminded that if we approach Scripture with reverence and joy, we can recognize our identity as unconditionally beloved children of God.

January 26, 2025: Third Sunday in Ordinary Time
Nehemiah 8:2–4a, 5–6, 8–10
Psalm 19:8, 9, 10, 15
1 Corinthians 12:12–30
Luke 1:1–4; 4:14–21

Precious Wisdom: Recognizing the Good News

A reflection by Richard P. Young

I recall a particularly memorable concert by our local philharmonic orchestra many years ago. It featured a guest soloist, a cellist who had become a “rising star” in the classical music world, having performed internationally with many prestigious symphony orchestras. He had a fascinating background. He had arrived at his love for the classics at a later age than most other such artists. When some boys were reluctantly honing their piano or violin skills at their parents' insistence, he was earning a reputation as a somewhat “wild kid,” tough and street-wise. One night, the story goes, he was somehow persuaded to go with his father to listen to a cello concerto, the soloist for which was one of the world’s greatest.  It turned out to be a mystical event for this borderline delinquent. Hearing magnificent sounds from that stubby little instrument changed him permanently. He knew then that the cello was for him. It called forth music from his soul, and it was his destiny to play it.

Many of us can point to dramatic moments in our lives that changed us, clarified our vocations, and helped us understand who we truly were and where we were meant to go. A book, a play, a movie, a song, a speech, a social encounter, a loss to grieve, a mistake to correct, an abuse to endure, a personal victory to savor, a long-overdue reconciliation, or a simple and well-timed piece of advice – those can be sources of precious wisdom, which I like to call “testamental.” These defining moments testify to profound and holy truths that one must not – indeed, cannot forget. Such moments have a permanent place in the very core of one’s being. In the cellist’s testament, there was that magical night at the concert hall, after which he would never be the same again.

My own life testament would have to include a few words I heard when I was a seminarian in 1975. Those words came from an intense and serious African-American woman, a veteran of many battles against racism and other evils. I met her at a kind of civil rights rally in Chicago. I was somewhat self-conscious and unsure of myself and my vocation in those days, and it wasn’t hard for her to see that uneasiness in me. So, she looked me square in the eye and said, “You’ve got to have courage. If you don’t have any courage, the Lord can’t use you.” Now, it didn’t matter how good or bad the implied theology was behind that remark. In a sense, it was the best sermon I had ever heard. It told me that if I did not see social justice as an essential element in my ministry, if I didn’t take risks to challenge the selfish and the powerful, to reform a corrupt and bigoted society and church, then I had no business becoming a priest.

The first reading and the Gospel for this Sunday are about how God’s people recognize testamental matters when they hear them. Like a “wild kid” at a concert or a scared seminarian at a civil rights rally, biblical folks also looked for clues to their identities.

In the reading from Nehemiah, Jerusalem’s exiles had returned from those horrible years in Babylon depressed and overwhelmed and, no doubt, asking, “What now?” Their city and precious temple were in ruins, and they needed a good pep talk, a strong reminder of what their God expected of them if they were to have any chance to rebuild. Ezra, the priest, read from the Law of Moses, and the people wept.

They wept, I believe, for at least two reasons. One, they were ashamed of the contrast between the holiness of Divine Law and their own mistakes, their own unrighteousness. They realized they just didn’t measure up to the ideals expressed in the Law. And, two, they wept, because they realized how precious they were to their God. Why else would this God have Ezra read to them “from early morning until noon,” reminding them once again of all the wisdom their ancestors received from Moses? Why would YHWH have bothered to do this if YHWH didn’t care? Is it possible that tears of joy accounted for much of their crying, as the Law revealed limitless divine love?

But I think there is a third, more fundamental reason for the weeping in Ezra’s audience: Divine Law was happily received among the people because it had been there before. These were tears of profound recognition. God’s people instinctively knew these commands. They told them who they were, where they were going, and what they were called to be. Hearing the words of Divine Law, a Law which already existed in their hearts, was like coming home. It represented a more complete end to their bitter exile. The Law was testamental, not just because it came from their God, but also because it resonated the way beautiful music or faith-filled words can vibrate in the souls of the young and spark their imaginations.

The basic commands – don’t kill, don’t steal, don’t bear false witness, and so on – have always been part of the “hard wiring” the Creator has done for anyone with a conscience. Ezra’s reading of those amazingly wise and holy words essentially said to the people, “This is your authentic identity, people of God. Don’t you recognize it? You are divine children. Underneath your moral weakness, despite the mess you may have made of your life, you have the dignity of belonging to your Maker. And nothing, absolutely nothing, could ever take that away.”

This was Good News of the highest order. No wonder they wept. It was an extremely emotional encounter with the Holy One that must have included tears, first of sadness and regret, then of joy over the astounding Love and generosity of the Almighty. The story says that Ezra and the Levites wanted them to focus on the latter. They exhorted the people not to be sad, because “today is holy to YHWH, your God. Do not be sad, and do not weep,” they told them, “...for rejoicing in YHWH must be your strength.”

Centuries later, Jesus entered the synagogue in Nazareth and read from the Prophet Isaiah something that affirmed his vocation and ratified his identity. It was the same powerful dynamic of recognition that happened when Ezra read from the Law. After all, Jesus – who was fully human like us – needed to grow in awareness of the path he was walking with God. So he turned to the eminently testamental, the Sacred Scriptures, to learn the basics of his mission. “The Spirit of YHWH is on me, because [God] has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. [God] has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free, to proclaim the year of YHWH’s favor” – a job description for a Messiah. That sealed the deal for Jesus. It told him who he was and how God wanted him to serve. The Gospel does not say whether Jesus wept when he read this, but I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he did. This was Good News and truly worthy of joyful tears.

Paul, in our second reading, reminds us of yet another essential part of our identity. He tells us that we are to be the Body of Jesus, the Body of this one we call the Christ, anointed to take on the same vocation he had and bring Good News.

The dramatic milestones of our lives can, indeed, confirm our genuine identity. How well we know this as sexual and gender minorities! These milestones are priceless and testamental lessons. If I want to hear such lessons in our Scriptures, if I want them to touch my heart and enable me to grow in wisdom, I must hear them as Ezra’s audience did, and I must read them as Jesus did: with reverence and joy.

Rev. Richard P. Young is a retired Catholic priest and mental health counselor. He chairs the Liturgy Committee of Dignity/Dayton’s Living Beatitudes Community and has worked with several Dignity Chapters since the late 70s. He once served for a term on the national board of DignityUSA and has attended all the national conventions/conferences since 1981. He is married to former DignityUSA national secretary, Bob Butts. Richard was honored with a President’s Award at the 2022 Dignity National Conference in San Diego.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        

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