Today’s readings begin with a tragic story of the Babylonian conquest and destruction of Jerusalem. King Zedekiah is captured, brutalized, and humiliated. His final vision -- the murder of his sons -- would haunt him during his final days as a prisoner in Babylon. The consequences for the Kingdom of Judah would be horrendous: Jerusalem and all its symbols of God’s dwelling among mankind would be destroyed. Indeed, the temple, all the important buildings, and even the walls surrounding the city would be devastated, and a period of Babylonian captivity would begin for those residents of Jerusalem who survived, except for a few agricultural workers.
The scriptures include many accounts in which deeply flawed human beings reveal their weaknesses, experiencing defeat, hardship, and untimely death. The Bible is not a book about superheroes, but a book that tells us about human experiences with God throughout the ages, warts and all. Stories such as these sometimes cause us to question, “Where was God? What was he doing? Doesn’t he care?” We often struggle for explanations when our side loses. Being a human with limited information and understanding does not always put us into a very good position to evaluate what God is doing and why, and sometimes this problem persists for years and years thereafter.
For most of us, the dramatic consequences of domination by an enemy as presented in this story are beyond our understanding. In the long siege of Jerusalem, we are told that “famine had gripped the city.” Fear probably had deep roots here, too, as the enemy’s taunts and gradual progress toward domination and destruction of their city, their temple, and their community loomed larger on the horizon. How did the people live under this stress? Would this shake our confidence in God?
Some part of this story may still resonate with those who live with other kinds of threats to their wellbeing, perhaps involving violence, disease, or loss of a loved one. We may struggle in prayer, asking that these threats be removed from us, but often our struggle continues. Hopefully we endure, but we are likely to ask, “Where is God? What is He doing? Doesn’t He care?” In doing so, we reflect our humanity. We know that we lack what we need, and that only God can help us. We may fail to understand the full context or significance of our struggles, but we hang on by faith. Our confidence rests in our knowing that God is good and trustworthy – a trust that is also nourished supernaturally by divine grace and by the prayers of the faithful.
Today’s Gospel reflects the simple beauty of a leper’s prayer. This man had endured suffering and anguish, and perhaps also fear, as he witnessed his flesh wasting away. We are told that he came to Jesus and “did him homage”. Then, he chose not to beg, plead, or cajole, as some have done. (Compare Bartimaeus in Mark 10:46-52). Instead, he left room for Jesus to do as he wished, stating plainly: “Lord, if you wish, you can make me clean.”
Such graciousness is present in this man’s request. It strikes me as a better model for prayer than the questioning model we adopt during periods of stress and turmoil. But thankfully, God hears both kinds of prayer, and He is gracious to us in spite of our ungraciousness. I am grateful for the example of the leper recorded in Matthew’s gospel. He could not have known his prayer would teach so much to others coming after him who would also follow Jesus.
Edward Morse
Ed Morse is a professor of law who holds the McGrath North Endowed Chair in business law at Creighton. University School of Law. He and his wife Susan are Catholic converts. Together, they operate a family cattle farm in rural Western Iowa.
Writing these reflections over the past fifteen years has helped me to learn and grow in faith. Sometimes it has also chastened me by reminding me of the constant need to practice what we have learned as we live out our faith journey together. I am grateful for feedback and encouragement from my fellow travelers.
