Trying to Correct God.

Trying to Correct God

Homily for the Twenty-Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time

September 15, 2024

 

There is a story of a man who was bothered with continual ringing in his ears, bulging eyes, and a flushed face. Over a period of three years he went to one doctor after another. One took out his tonsils, one removed his appendix, another pulled his teeth. He even tried goat-gland treatment in Switzerland—all to no avail. Finally, one doctor told him there was no hope—he had six months to live.

 

The poor fellow quit his job, sold all his belongings and decided to live it up in the time he had left. He went to his tailor and ordered several suits and shirts. The tailor measured his neck and wrote down “16 ½.” The man corrected him. “It’s 15 ½,” he said. The tailor measured again: 16 ½. But the man insisted that he’d always worn a size 15 ½. “Well, all right,” said the tailor. “Just don’t come back here complaining if you have ringing ears, bulging eyes and a flushed face!”

 

It’s amazing how much we are influenced by our preconceived ideas and sometimes wishful thinking. We find that in today’s gospel passage. Jesus teaches the disciples that he would “suffer greatly and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and rise after three days.”

 

We find that this just doesn’t fit Peter’s expectations. A Messiah, a Savior, a Son of God simply should not act in this way or allow mockery, rejection, suffering and death to be a part of the picture. And Peter steps in, arguing that this rejection, mockery, suffering and death stuff will not go over well. If he keeps talking in this way, he’s going to alienate a huge percentage of potential followers.

 

But Jesus, in a particularly forceful way sticks to his teaching and his job description, and expands on it. “Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross and follow me.” And what’s worse, “Whoever wishes to save his life will lose it!”

 

I believe that many of us are like Peter. We tend to develop a notion of what God is like—or what God should be like. In our prayer we often tell God what God should do, as if, like Peter, we were a Pope. I from time to time encounter someone claiming to be an atheist, finding belief in God impossible. When I question the person about it, I find that what has happened is that the person has defined God, like Peter tried to do, and when it doesn’t fit his thinking, rejects the idea of God.

 

In difficult situations, such as a cancer diagnosis, the suffering or death of a love one, a world in which the innocent suffer so much, a world full of poverty and injustice—well, a real “God” wouldn’t allow such stuff. Notice Jesus’ response: “You are thinking not as God does, but as human beings do….Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross and follow me.” For whatever reason, the world doesn’t always revolve around our wishes.

 

But we shouldn’t lose sight of the ultimate goal of Jesus’ teaching…that “the Son of Man must suffer greatly and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed”—all this horrifyingly nasty stuff. But he then adds, “and rise after three days.” Through suffering and death, Jesus identifies with the lot of the human race, with all its tragedy, its ignoring the needy, its trampling on justice—and he shows us a pure act of love. There is no greater love, he teaches, than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. But Jesus’ teaching doesn’t end there. Nor do cross and tomb have the final say. He will “rise after three days.” Jesus destroys our ultimate and final enemy: death.

 

So, there’s kind of a tough situation here. The question is: do we adjust to the reality of Jesus teaching as it has been handed on to us? Or do we, like Peter, try to correct God and argue that our way is better? If like the man in the story, we can’t accept the truth of our neck size, will that also be our approach to God—trying to correct the truth?

You might also like

Father's Homilies

By Charlene Currie May 7, 2026
Building Bridges, Not Walls. Homily for the Fourth Sunday of Easter April 26, 2026
By Charlene Currie April 25, 2026
Born to Look … Learning to See Homily for the Third Sunday of Easter April 19, 2026 The scoutmaster used to take his troops on hikes along wilderness nature trails. After each hike he would challenge the scouts to describe what they had observed on their excursion. The boys invariably hadn’t seen a fraction of what the scoutmaster had seen. He would wave his arms in great circles and shout, “Creation is all around you, but you are blocking it out. Stop wearing your raincoat in the shower. You were born to look, but you have to learn to see.” You were born to look, but you have to learn to see. One of the questions that always arises about today’s gospel passage is: Why didn’t the two disciples recognize Jesus? Let’s spend some time reflecting on the possibilities. One obvious answer is that they were disheartened. Their lives are at their lowest point. They are sad and confused. The one they had pinned their hopes on had been humiliated and crucified in a horrible way. How could such a disaster be anything but a total defeat? How could a Messiah, or Savior, allow himself to be beaten and put to death? In addition, the two disciples are probably terrorized, full of fear. The leaders of the people, both religious and political, had made their point. Anyone who rocks the boat and challenges authority will be dealt with swiftly and brutally. If the two were recognized as followers of Jesus, his fate could also be theirs. Let me share another story with you, a story which shows how expectations can color what we see and experience. ---------------------------------- A young man from a wealthy family was about to graduate from high school. It was the custom in his affluent neighborhood for the parents to give the graduate a car as a graduation present. Bill and his father spent months looking at cars, and the week before graduation they found the perfect one. Bill was certain that the car would be his on graduation night. Imagine Bill’s disappointment when, on the eve of the big day, his father handed him a gift-wrapped Bible! Bill was so angry, he hurled the Bible across the room and stormed out of the house, vowing never to return again. Bill and his father never saw each other again. Yet it was the news of his father’s death that brought Bill back home again. One night, as he sat going through his father’s possessions that he was to inherit, Bill came across the Bible that his father had given him. He brushed away the dust and opened it to find a cashier’s check, dated the day of his graduation—for the exact amount of the car they had chosen together. ------------------------------- As the scoutmaster said, “You are born to look, but you have to learn to see.” What does today’s gospel passage want us to learn to see? One obvious answer is that the privileged place to encounter Jesus is in the celebration of the Eucharist, or Mass. In the gospel Jesus does two things: he interprets the Scriptures and how they apply to him; and he “breaks bread” with the two disciples. We thus have the two halves of the Mass: the liturgy of the word and the liturgy of the Eucharist. The Bible is telling us where to look, and it is teaching us to learn to see. Like the cashier’s check in the Bible, Jesus’ presence is not always obvious or straightforward. So, where and how should we look? The first place is the Bible. We need to take time to read God’s word slowly, savor it, and allow it to speak to us. If you are having difficulty, a commentary will help. Turning to those who know the Bible better that we do, and asking for clarifications and advice, will also help. The second place of encounter with Jesus is the Eucharist. The mystery of Emmaus is that the disciples recognize Jesus in the “breaking of bread,” which was one of the phrases used for the celebration of the Eucharist. Try to enter the Mystery more and more by giving yourself totally, without distractions, to each part of the Mass. Savor what it means to gather with open minds and hearts; to listen to the message of Scripture, the inspired word of God; to take the message of the homily home with you and reflect on it; to ask for forgiveness and to pray for peace; to intercede for our needs and the needs of the whole world; to receive our Lord mindfully, and not just hurry through the motions. Finally, in the Emmaus story, Jesus approaches his people who are depressed, disappointed and broken-hearted. At first, they do not recognize him. But as they listen more and more, their hearts start to burn within them. So, another way to experience the presence of Jesus Christ is to do as he did, to find value in what he taught and how he acted. He clearly said that he could be found in the poor and vulnerable: I was hungry, and you gave me food; I was thirsty, and you gave me drink; I was naked, and you clothed me; I was ill, or in prison, or lonely, and you visited me. Today’s gospel gives us a blueprint for encountering Jesus and feeling his presence. But we have to give ourselves to it wholeheartedly. We were born to look, but we have to learn how to see. The Bible has a treasure in it, and it’s not a cashier’s check. The Eucharist has a presence in it, and it’s something more than bread. The people around us are children of God. They have a spark of the divine within them. We were born to look, but we have to learn how to see.
By Charlene Currie April 25, 2026
Will You Still Need Me? Homily for the Second Sunday of Easter April 12, 2026 One hot summer afternoon a woman was working strenuously, weeding her flower beds and pruning the plants. The flowers were especially magnificent. A passerby asked, “I really like those flowers—do you?” As she wiped perspiration from her face with a dirty hand, the woman’s weary response was, “Only when they bloom.” The passerby thought how many folks have a similar attitude toward church, family, work, or life in general—“I only like it when it is in full bloom and beautiful.” The passerby thought of those necessary times of hard work—mulching, weeding, cultivating, pruning and transplanting—as well as seasonal dormancy, which are all necessary to bring about the blooms which precede the bearing of seeds and fruit. --------------------------------- I mentioned during one of my homilies during Holy Week that I was always bothered that the risen Jesus, with his risen body, still had the wounds. I compared it to buying a shiny, brand-new car, and insisting that there be dents on the fenders and leaks in the engine. As I thought about it more and more, however, I came to understand that the wounds were there for a purpose. In the case of Thomas, the wounds were the evidence he needed. But, beyond that, the wounds serve as a reminder that Jesus’ love for us is total, down to the last drop of blood. The wounds help preserve the memory of how painful true love can be. It’s easy to love that which is perfect and beautiful, is it not? But Jesus chose to show us a love of that which is less than perfect, and clearly not beautiful. Perhaps the clearest example of that is that he was there for the lepers of his day, those who had a contagious disease that rotted their flesh and forced them to live in isolation. But it was true of others, as well. Jesus went out of his way to embrace public sinners, foreigners, enemies, even those who were involved in putting him to death. From the cross he prayed, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” The risen body of Jesus, still bearing the wounds, means that our Lord is present in a special way to those who are wounded: those with cancer or another life-threatening disease, those who have lost a loved one, those who have been bullied, those carrying the wounds of a failed relationship, those who feel they cannot be forgiven, those who know they are less than perfect. Jesus is there for those living with the daily threat of war, terrorism, violence, domestic abuse, betrayal. In short, the less than perfect resurrected body of Jesus means that now, as then, he is present in a special way to those who are less than perfect. ------------------------------------------------ I was reminded of an early hit by the Beatles. Do you remember a song entitled When I’m Sixty-Four, released in June 1967? Here are some of the lyrics: When I get older, losing my hair Many years from now, Will you still be sending me a valentine, birthday greetings, bottle of wine? If I'd been out till quarter to three, Would you lock the door? Will you still need me, will you still feed me, When I'm sixty-four? Ooh … I could be handy mending a fuse When your lights have gone. You can knit a sweater by the fireside, Sunday mornings, go for a ride. Doing the garden, digging the weeds, Who could ask for more? Will you still need me, will you still feed me, When I'm sixty-four? -------------------------------------------------- In a similar way, Jesus’ wounds remind us that he’s not a fair-weather friend, only there for the good times. He’s there, always, and especially when we’re wounded. So, if you’re struggling, if you’re dealing with something painful, don’t run away. Don’t make the mistake of thinking the Lord doesn’t understand, or care. Instead, go to the wounds. Allow yourself to feel what true love is like when you need it the most.