Reading: Matthew 10:24-39
The resurrection and ascension of Jesus changes everything for the disciples. In communion with the risen Jesus, and empowered by the same Spirit of God that was alive in him, they now are the body of Christ – the incarnation of God’s Word of love for the world.
The world is not changed. It can be still as blind and resistant to the good news of the kingdom of God on Earth, and of God’s love for all as it was when the world put Jesus to death. So, the followers of Jesus at times face just as hard a journey, as Jesus did. But they also are as empowered by God as Jesus was, for their living of the good news of God’s kingdom on Earth, and God’s love for all.
We read the encouragement Jesus has for his followers, in these verses from Matthew 10:24-39:
No pupil is greater than their teacher; no servant is greater than their master. So, a pupil should be satisfied to become like their teacher, and a servant like their master. And if the head of the family is called Beelzebul, the members of the family will be called even worse names!
But do not be afraid of people… What I am telling you in the dark, speak in broad daylight; what is whispered in your ear, proclaim from the rooftops. Do not be afraid of those who don’t get it. Rather, be faithful to God who watches over you, as God watches over even the smallest sparrow, and in whose love even all the hairs of your head are numbered.
Yes, you will be at odds with the world – at times, even with those closest to you. But those who try to save their own life will lose it; and those who lose their life for my sake will gain it.
Reflection
Listening to the reading, what I want to say – what it seems to be saying, is that a life of following Jesus, of being a member of his body – of his community, in the world, can be one of the free-est, most interesting, most liberating, funnest ways of being. Because if it’s really Jesus – the Jesus of the Gospels that we are following, we are set free, given permission, and actually encouraged to live out the best, the most compassionate, and the most generous impulses of being human.
It isn’t always easy. Because not everyone around us is ready for it. Not everyone likes it. We too are afraid of it sometimes.
Sometimes people are afraid of the kind of generous love and inclusive compassion that Jesus lives out and that he inspires us to live out, because it challenges and upsets the way the world is divided up and put in order in ways that benefit them. And that they really don’t want to let go of, or change.
Sometimes people are afraid because what they see in Jesus' way speaks to something inside them – stirs up a kind of compassion and generosity that they know deep down is part of them, but they are determined to deny or repress, because it scares them. They don’t know where it will lead them. What it might demand of them. Where it will leave them -- or what it will leave of them, in the end.
That’s what I want to say.
For now, what I’m going to do is narrate for you a two-minute scene from the movie, “French Exit.” The movie stars Michelle Pfeiffer as Frances, a socialite widow with a college-age son named Malcolm, and whose life in New York is about to end because she is reaching the end of her assets.
It’s the night before she and Malcolm will leave town unannounced to live in a borrowed apartment in Paris until the end comes for her. They are at a high-class soiree, and she makes up an excuse for her and Malcolm to leave.
Well-dressed and well put-together, Frances and her son, Malcolm, leave the just-off-Central-Park apartment where the party is. The driver of a waiting limo – one of a line of them waiting at the curb, opens the passenger door for them to get in, to be whisked safely home. They ignore the limo and the driver, and the two of them quietly and contentedly walk off arm-in-arm into the night in Central Park.
Once in the park, off to one side in the shadow there is a voice. A man says, “Got something to spare tonight, folks?”
The camera turns towards a man with long hair and beard, dirty clothes, standing off to one side of the path, quietly holding one hand in another in front of him. Frances stops, lifts her cigarette, looks calmly directly at the man.
"Possibly we do,” she says. Takes a long drag on her cigarette, and says, “But, may we ask what you need the money for?”
The camera goes back to the man again. “I guess I’d like a little wine … if you want to know,” bowing his head a bit as he says it.
Camera back to Frances, Malcolm still standing quietly behind her. She smiles. “What’s your name?”
“Dan.”
“Daniel.” she says. “Well, what would you do if we gave you $20.”
The man whistles loudly, then begins to imagine what he would do. “I could get a gallon of Three Roses.” He rubs his hand a bit, and a bit of a quiet smile creeps into his face. “A pack of cigarettes. And (he looks around a bit nervously)… a weenie!”
“And where would you take it? All back to your room?”
“I’d take it to the park.” Daniel lowers his head a bit again as he says it. “That’s where I sleep most nights. In the park.”
A pause.
Frances says, “Hmm. So … you’d …
lie under a bush … and smoke your cigarettes … and drink your wine … and look
up at the stars …” She sounds wistful, not judgmental, as she says all this.
“Why not?” he says, smiling shyly.
Smiling herself, Frances reaches into her purse, pulls out a bill. Reaches it out to Daniel, taking a step towards him in the process. He steps forward and takes it. Looks back at her as puts the bill in his pocket. Walks away hurriedly, a little nervously. Looks back again quickly. Walks away.
Frances and Malcolm turn and continue on their way, and hear another voice from the shadows, from another direction. “That guy wasn’t bothering you two, I hope!” A uniformed policeman is slowly and self-confidently walking towards them. “Looked like he was puttin’ the bite on you.”
“Who? Daniel? ” Frances asks with some surprise and indignation. After a pause for effect, “No, not all all.” She smiles coolly. “He’s a friend of ours.”
The policeman laughs a nervous little laugh. "I thank God,” Frances goes on, “for the fact of a man like him. Not that it’s any of your business.”
The policeman is silent. He backs away uncertainly. Nods his head briefly. Turns and walks away.
Frances and Malcolm turn and continue on their way, arm-in-arm, quietly and contentedly into and through the park and the night.
The movie is called French Exit. When I googled it, I found a link to “French exit meaning.”
Apparently, a French exit – also known as a French leave, or an Irish goodbye or Irish exit, is “a departure from a location or event without informing others or without seeking approval.”
I wonder if that’s what it’s like to follow Jesus, and to live as part of his body and part of his new-life community in the world. If it’s a matter of daring to leave behind, and to walk out on the “normal” way of being in the world, in order to live out instead the best and the most generously compassionate impulse of the human heart, without feeling a need to inform others or seek approval.
I can’t help but think that even if others around us – or the world in general – are not ready for it because they’re afraid of it (as we are sometimes, too), it’s probably one of the free-est, most liberated and liberating, and fun-est ways of living. Because it’s good. And it’s of God.
Question for Consideration:
The working title for the reflection above was, “’The French Exit’ Jesus-Style: Or, Who Would Have Thought Michelle Pfeiffer Would Ever Play the Role of Christ in Central Park?”
With that in mind, identify 10 things (settings, actions, words) in the narrative of this two-minute scene of her and her son’s walk through Central Park, that you see as being symbolic or reminiscent of the way of Christ in the world.
Can you make it 15?
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