THE GREAT GROANING
OF CREATION
The title of my homily for this 30th Tuesday in
Ordinary Time is, “The Great Groaning of Creation.”
I love the combination of today’s two readings - the first
from Romans where Paul talks about
creation groaning and then in the gospel of Luke,
when Jesus makes comments about mustard
seeds growing into big bushes and yeast being mixed with
three measures of wheat flour until the whole batch of dough is leavened. [Cf. Romans 8: 18-25; Luke 13: 18-21]
GEORGE ELIOT
There is a comment made by George Eliot or Mary Ann Evans in
her book, Middlemarch, that has
always interested and intrigued me. “If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary
human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel's heart
beat, and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence.”
QUESTION: WHAT
DOES GOD HEAR?
I like to think - imagine - assume - realize - that God hears everything: grass growing - babies crying - the earth
rumbling and rambling and the moanings of old folks in nursing homes!
I’m sure you’ve seen TV documentaries where scientists place
microphones or listening devices into the deepest parts of an ocean and they
pick up all kinds of sounds - the play of dolphins, the screams of whales and
sharks, the purr of submarines - the
sound of water, water everywhere. I’m sure God hears all that!
I’m sure you’ve seen scientists listening to sounds from
outer space - and they magnify the sounds.
I’m sure God hears all that.
Doctors put a silver stethoscope on our rib cage and they
listen to the ticking of our hearts. Or they put it on the belly of a pregnant
woman and they hear both the mother’s heart beat - along with that of her
baby. I’m sure God hears all that.
I like to picture churches as gigantic crying rooms - where we
hear the sounds of children and babies - and then there are the screams and
prayers, the tears and the thoughts of people - worries and wonderings - here in church. I think of this happening at
every Mass - and I’m sure God hears all that.
Put a stereoscope on a bible and if you listen in, you’ll
hear the cries of the poor - the birds of the sky - and the moo of cows.
As the weather gets colder I can still picture myself as a little kid down
in our basement watching my dad put hard coal into our iron door furnace to get
heat for our radiators - and soft coal in a smaller furnace to get heat for our
hot water. I can hear the sound of the shovel on the hard cement cellar floor
and the clang of the cast iron furnace door opening - and watching and hearing
the roar of the fire.
And that gets me thinking of what's below the surface of our earth. I can still see the pictures and illustrations from those science books we had in school. Somewhere underneath us is molten red lava - that erupts in and out of the earth from time to time. I can hear those sounds and squish - and picture that heat. I assume God knows and hears all that.
And that gets me thinking of what's below the surface of our earth. I can still see the pictures and illustrations from those science books we had in school. Somewhere underneath us is molten red lava - that erupts in and out of the earth from time to time. I can hear those sounds and squish - and picture that heat. I assume God knows and hears all that.
I think of all the people I have listened to as priest and
person - voicing their joys and sorrows, hopes and despairs, victories and
failures, sins and suggestions - groans and moans.
CONCLUSION
The title of my homily is, “The Great Groaning of Creation.”
Paul is telling us in today’s first reading - these are all
the sound and stuff of the mix of our inner prayers with God’s inner prayers. Listen.
Listen to the roar of that inner fire - deep below our surface - but above the core of
each of us - as well as in God.
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