Fourteenth Sunday After Pentecost (Traditional Latin Mass)
/Dominica XIV Post Pentecosten (Mass of the 1962 Missal)
29 August 2021
IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER, AND OF THE SON, AND OF THE HOLY GHOST. AMEN.
It is a reality of life and a truth proclaimed in God’s Word that man experiences a civil war within himself. As St. Paul says it (epistle), “the flesh lusts against the spirit, and the spirit against the flesh, for these are contrary to one another.” The material world, including our flesh was made good by God. Yet it is marked by sin. And so, the flesh – after the Fall – battles even against the spirit to find its place and to establish its dominion. In the civil war that is within us, the flesh can seem stronger or better armed than the spirit. After all, isn’t it a common experience that the flesh seems to “win,” to get its way? Don’t we experience frustrations and worries in life when we face the reality of our own sinfulness?
But upon deeper reflection, is it really true that the flesh is stronger than the spirit? Might it be, rather, that the flesh is more savage than the spirit? Might it be true that the flesh has more to prove than does the spirit? A more thoughtful evaluation of our civil war reveals, I think, that the flesh in its fallen nature is like a loosely organized troop, armed with some weapons, yes, but trying to exert its presence and influence on a larger scale, battling in a more frantic way. Perhaps we might even call the fallen flesh a terror cell, organized and able to inflict damage, to be sure, but frenzied and struggling to exert a stability and endurance it will never have.
If the flesh seems to be victorious in this civil war, is it really true that it is more powerful? Or rather, is it that the spirit, being more eternally established, adopts a longer and wider vision, one that can afford something akin to patience or a more measured response to the fight? After all, when you know that you are the victor, as the spirit knows, you can tend to live with or suffer the blows of a weaker enemy, knowing that you can sustain some inconvenience and harm because you know the weaker enemy will not have the upper hand.
By faith and baptism we have been washed clean of the eternal consequences of sin and given the possibility of the inheritance of eternal life, that is, given the possibility of living in the ultimate victory of the Lord, where flesh and spirit are harmonious. But in the meantime, in the campaign or the theater of battle that is this life, how are we Christians to understand the reality of our experience of the flesh and the spirit lusting against one another? And, more importantly, what are we to do about this civil war?
By maintaining the life of grace, especially in a proper sacramental life, we can faithfully take part in the battle that is our lot in this life. Our battle strategy has two basic foundations as regards the flesh and the spirit. One, while fallen flesh will not ultimately win, we need to take its savagery seriously and train it under discipline to live in greater freedom and conformity to holiness. Two, while the spirit is ultimately victorious we need to rouse it from slumber and its tendency to dismiss the attacks of the flesh so that we strive with greater zeal and eagerness to live according to the spirit. Penance and mortification are our practical responses to this twofold battle strategy. We complete penance out of justice for our sins. And we undertake mortification as a response to the call of prudence. Penance and mortification become the duty of “every Christian who is not foolish enough to pretend to be out of the reach of concupiscence” (The Liturgical Year, Guéranger, vol. 11, p. 332).
In the Gospel, the Greek wording is stronger than our English translation can communicate. Rather than a message that no one can serve two masters, it is more like no one can be a slave to two lords. When we focus on grasping, possessing, and controlling our own stability in this life, we are permitting the flesh to have the upper hand. We are thereby serving “mammon,” that Aramaic word with a negative connotation, meaning “money” or “wealth.” The gospel highlights some of the most basic elements of life. We are not talking about fanciful things here. No, it is more basic. Do not worry over what you will eat or drink or wear. Do not worry about the future. This is such a basic lesson but such a foundational aspect of faith. Faith can refer to an intellectual assent but it can equally mean trust. Trust is a faith that has practical implications for how we live. The Lord’s words in the Gospel are meant to recall for us who we are in this battle of life: we are God’s children and we are called to live in the freedom of the children of God. We are worth more than the smallest of creatures, yet even they are cared for by God. We are being called to a radical trust in God’s Fatherhood. And when in our weakness and frustration with our own flesh we tend to listen to the lies that make us hopeless, we are called to have hope and trust in God’s working. We have this hope and trust because we have been united and incorporated into Christ. As members of the Church we are united to the Lord as Bride to Bridegroom. As members of Christ’s Body we are united to our Head. Thus, in the introit, when we cry out to God our protector and ask Him to look on the face of thy Christ… this is our face too and in a mystical way we are crying out to God to look upon us with that same favor and protection. We cry out to a Heavenly Father who cares for us and who invites us to trust in Him. We have confidence that when our Heavenly Father looks upon us He sees the face of His Christ, battered and wounded yet glorious and victorious. And He responds such that we are withheld from eternal harm and guided to what is good for our salvation.
IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER, AND OF THE SON, AND OF THE HOLY GHOST. AMEN.