The Gospel reading we just heard is the third in a series - a series that is used in “year A” of the 3-year cycle of Sunday readings. This series is also used for the “scrutinies,” when those who are going to be baptized at Easter are brought to the community of faith so that they may announce to us and to the world that they are on the same walk of faith as we are.
Lent is a time for all of us to look at this curious thing called “faith.” We can try to define it, but the definition always seems to lack something, for “faith” is a living reality, and not something that can be locked up in a box of pure reason. We are on a walk of faith, a journey of faith, a pilgrimage of faith.
For most of us, our faith waxes and wanes over the course of our lives. For most of us, there are times when we are absolutely certain of what we believe, and are convinced that it makes sense and is the right way to go. At these times, we cannot conceive any other way.
At other times, we are left scratching our heads or shrugging our shoulders and wondering, wondering if it is all an illusion. Sometimes these questions arise when life is particularly difficult, when we have to face the evil in the world, or the evil in ourselves, or the most scandalous evil that is done by those who act in the name of the Church. At those times, we may be brought to the point of despair, but we must not despair. At those times we must remember the times the Lord acted in our lives, and rely on the community of faith to sustain us. “Lord I believe. Help my unbelief.” Those words were said by the father of a sick child in the Gospel of Mark (chapter 9). Let that be our prayer.
Just as in a marriage where there are times when it is easy to love and there are times when love is more of a challenge, there are times and seasons when faith is a challenge and times when it is not. Sometimes, we are called to admit our unbelief, and ask God to heal our souls so that we can believe, or believe more completely.
We are called to persist in our faith, and to put our faith into action, even when we do not “feel” it, when we do not “feel” close to God. Mother Theresa walked most of her life in a dark night, without the consolations of feeling God’s presence. In those years, she walked by faith, but not by sight. And she and the world are better because of he persistence.
[For the record, the Catechism defines faith as: “[Faith is\ a personal adherence of the whole man to God who reveals himself. It involves an assent of the intellect and will to the self-revelation God has made through his deeds and words.” [CCC] Faith is a theological or divine virtue, i.e. a gift of God who plants in our hearts the desire to believe and the means to do so.
But enough of definitions. They are too intellectual, too dry. Faith is not lived in definitions. Faith is lived in relationship.]
Two weeks ago, we heard of the wayward Samaritan woman at the well. She told her neighbors: “Come and see a man who told me everything I have done. Could he possibly be the Christ?” Seven husbands she had, and the one she was with now was not her husband! She came to believe, and through her, her neighbors came to believe. They said: “we have heard for ourselves and we know that this is truly the savior of the world.”
Last week, the blind born beggar, after having been cured and interrogated by the religious officials, comes to faith: “I do believe, Lord,” he says, and he then worshiped Jesus.
And now today, we hear of Mary and Martha. They already know Jesus, and they have a degree of faith already. Before Jesus calls Lazarus forth, they object that he has been in the tomb for four days. Their faith appears incomplete. But after Jesus calls Lazarus from the tomb we are told: “Now many of the Jews who had come to Mary and seen what he had done began to believe in him.”
What are we to make of all this? Notice that in each of these Gospels, there are certain similarities.
First, faith begins and is strengthened gradually. Each of these long Gospels tells a story of the unfolding of a relationship with Jesus, a coming to faith in time. St. Paul was illuminated by faith suddenly while on the road to Damascus, but the more usual pattern is that there is some development, some unfolding, and this is seen in each of these Gospel stories, in a sort of miniature form. Lord knows, we see it also in our own lives. We need to let our faith grow, to do the things which nourish it. We need to come to fuller faith. Lent is especially the time to do this.
Second, notice that in each of these stories there are people who are helpful and supportive to the development of faith, and people who are not. Faith is, it is sometimes said, caught, not taught. The neighbors of the Samaritan woman, some people in the crowd around the blind born man, and Martha and Mary are supportive of faith. But others - the Pharisees, the Temple officials, and often the crowd - these folks question and dispute and are querelous and contentious and seem to want to undermine the development of faith. When you get a chance, read Psalm 1: it contrasts the just one, who follows not the counsel of the wicked or sits in the company of scoffers; and the evil, who hang with the wrong crowd. This Lent, think about who supports your faith and who undermines it. Do we let the underminers undermine us?
Third, notice that when it is professed, faith in is the person of Jesus, and not in a formula. The way we describe the content of our belief is important, but the belief is Christ, not in the formulas. We are called into relationship with Jesus. The Gospels call us to faith through stories - through accounts of who Jesus is and how he acted - the theological reflection comes later.
Finally, faith breaks rules of restraint. In each of these Gospels, the main figures who come to faith are outcasts, at least to some degree. They are people on the margins, living irregular lives: a woman Samaritan with too many husbands; a beggar who cannot see but who in the end sees everything clearly (even the deep things of God) while those who claim to see are blind; today, we heard about two Jewish sisters living in a household without mention of husbands or children, a household Jesus chose to visit, which was surely an unusual household at the time.
In each of these Gospels, there is ritual defilement: taking water from a Samaritan, healing on the Sabbath, having contact with a corpse. The call to Faith crosses boundaries, boundaries of all sorts. We are Catholic - a word which means universal, which includes everyone. The Gospels make abundantly clear that the Lord of Lords and King of Kings freely mixes with the folks on the margins - on the margins of the economy, on the margins because of ill health, on the margins because of their sexual history, on the margins because of their domestic situation - and the Lord purposely calls them, us, and gets a better response from these marginal folks than he does from those who are comfortably in the center of things.
If anyone here feels unworthy, good. For no one is worthy. If anyone here is marginal, on the fringe, believes he is invisible to society or church, or feels that she is on the outside looking in, good. Know that it is just such persons that Jesus calls in the Gospels. “Come to me” Jesus says, “come to me.” This Lent, may we hear the call, for the call is addressed to us.