Pentecost+3/Proper 6A (Matthew 9:35-10:23)

Authority is a necessary element for any kind of work. Without authority, ministry or any secular operation would be impossible. For example, in our church polity, the vestry has authority over making executive decisions. However, authority often has a bad reputation. We see it frequently abused in politics, workplaces, and especially among religious authorities. Even when we reflect on our own lives, how often do we hear people or ourselves talking about having authority issues? It's like being called to the principal's office and feeling anxious, even when you've done nothing wrong!

Jesus, however, shows a different way of exercising authority. He doesn't take advantage of anyone who gives him power and authority as he performs miracles. Looking back at our political history, the type of authority given by people (not from God) is never shared but is always centralized on one particular person or party with military force. That which Jesus shares with his disciples is not of this power that be. Because the authority Jesus gives to them originates from compassion: “When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.” (Matthew 9:36) The basis of Jesus' authority or Christian authority is compassion.

What is this compassion? It is the goodwill for those who are suffering that we do not want them to suffer and genuinely hope that they find true joy and happiness in God's presence. Without compassion, no one can access God's kingdom dwelling deep in our hearts. In other words, without compassion, no one can receive Jesus' authority. But then again, this compassion is not a mere feeling or thought to have. It comes out of our deep encounter with God's inner presence in which we are seen by God's long loving look that eternally wishes us goodwill for true joy and happiness. We are lovingly looked at and received as we are, and God is perceived and experienced as God is, not as we are.

Out of this contemplative union with God, we cultivate compassion. It compels us out of our authentic desire (which we can call "authority") to reach out to others so that they may experience God's presence in themselves. We can only proclaim what we experience. In reality, what we experience leads us to share with others what we experience. Compassion and authority are the results of our contemplative union with God. Compassion for others pulls us out of ourselves to share God's presence with those who are suffering so that they too can find the ultimate source of courage, resilience, and hope in themselves.

Peace, calm, tranquility, joy, rest, and love we experience in the presence of God, not out there, but within our hearts, are what we bring out to the world. Without our contemplatively experiential understanding of the compassion-based authority of Jesus to share the good news of God's kingdom, his call to cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, and cast out demons would be challenging, daunting, and unrealistic. Our immediate reaction would be “Me, curing the sick when I'm not that healthy myself? Me, raising the dead? I certainly have my loved ones who I want to bring back to life. Me, cleaning the lepers? I know it's hard to get a dermatologist appointment nowadays but all I can offer is probably petroleum jelly (or Vaseline). Me, casting out demons? Oh no, please no demon talk. I'm an Episcopalian.”

We don't take Jesus' call to perform miracles literally. We train our presence to mirror God's presence. We embody God's presence dwelling in us outwardly, and externally. How we cure the sick is to make our presence and company that of healing. We don't step away from the sick but come nearer kindly and gently. With our presence of goodwill, we stay against the culture of death in our world. We do not join anything that kills the living. Our presence touches the spiritual walls of leprosy that no one dares to go near. We do our best to be angelic (or Anglican) faces in places where demons of greed, outrage, hatred, and resentment prevail.

The last page of our in-person Sunday bulletin contains the essence of my reflection in the words of St. Teresa of Avila:

This magnificent refuge is inside you. Enter.
Shatter the darkness that shrouds the doorway.
Be bold. Be humble. Put away the incense
and forget the incantations they taught you.
Ask no permission from the authorities.
Close your eyes and follow your breath
to the still place that leads to the invisible path
that leads you home.