14th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle C (2025)

I recall listening to a lecture by Dr. Scott Hahn^[1]. He described an informal debate he had with a Muslim scholar regarding our two traditions of faith. In the course of their discussion, Dr. Hahn, as we commonly do as Christians, referred to God as ‘Father’. This immediately angered his Muslim counterpart. What Dr. Hahn learned was that the idea of God as a father, but also, having a human son, is not only illogical for Muslims, but offensive.

So considering the first reading we hear today in which the prophet Isaiah speaks to the Jewish people, at a time of hardship and suffering, that he will restore them, bring them home to rebuild their Temple, destroyed by the Babylonians. His words were meant to give comfort and peace, to be a promise that despite present hardships and suffering, God will nurse His children to life with a mother’s intimacy and tenderness. I can only imagine how this same Muslim scholar would respond, if one was to refer to God as mother.

And by the way, regarding the use of masculine titles and pronouns for God, we use those because those are the words given us by Jesus himself. But we all know God is pure spirt, and thus, neither male nor female. Referring to Him as Father simply gives us language that helps us to speak about God in a more personal way, and thus we use the terms Jesus used. Even more, Jesus told us in the Lord’s Prayer to call him ‘Abba’, which is more like calling God ‘papa’ or ‘daddy’.

As we hear in the Gospel today, Jesus sent out, not just 12, but 72, to go and to proclaim his message. But he sent them out almost empty-handed: “…no money bag, no sack, no sandals…I am sending you like lambs among wolves”. What he demanded of his disciples and tried to get them to understand is that they must trust entirely upon the Father.

That likely seems illogical to us. We over-prepare, equipped with provisions for anything that might come. But Jesus calls us to let go, to trust in our Father, in the same way, as children, we once trusted in mom and dad to take care of us. Maybe mom and dad didn’t always give us what we wanted, but for most of us, they provided what was needed.

So will our Father, even if it’s not according to our plan, our way, and our timing. Perhaps it’s only when we let go, despite our fears, that we’ll really have a living faith. Perhaps it’s only then that we become truly free to receive our Father’s love and care.

And don’t we all long to feel the security of a parent’s love? Even if we’re big and physically strong, deep within, we long to be loved and made secure. Jesus said, “Unless you turn and become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven” (Mt 18:3). Somehow as we grow up, we lose trust in the Father and come to trust mostly in ourselves and the things we own. But that’s our task: to regain trust; to allow Father to take care of what we truly need.

I recall hearing the story of a devastating earthquake that occurred in Armenia, in 1989. Out of nowhere, the buildings began to shake, sway and quickly collapsed. In the span of just a few minutes, more than thirty thousand were dead.^[2]

After all that, a distressed father began his determined search for his son, recalling the promise he had made numerous times: “No matter what happens, Armand, I’ll always be there.”  He reached the site where the school had stood only minutes earlier, which was now only a pile of rubble. He was frozen in place for a moment, fighting back tears, and then took off, stumbling over debris, toward the east corner where he knew his son’s classroom had been.^[3]

With nothing but his bare hands, he started to dig, desperately pulling up bricks and pieces of wall-plaster, while other survivors stood by watching, one of whom yelled out, “Forget it. They’re all dead.” He looked up, flustered, but continued digging, unable to stop thinking about his son. He kept digging and digging—for hours … twelve hours … eighteen hours … twenty-four hours … thirty-six hours. Finally, into the thirty-eighth hour, he heard a muffled groan from under a piece of wallboard. He seized the board, pulled it back, and cried, “ARMAND!”  From the darkness came a slight shaking voice, “Papa…!?” ^[4]

Other weak voices began calling out, as the young survivors stirred beneath the still uncleared rubble. They found fourteen of the thirty-three students still alive. When Armand finally emerged, he turned to his friends and said, “See, I told you my father wouldn’t forget us.”  That’s the kind of faith we need, because that’s the kind of God we have.^[5]

^[1] Dr. Scott Haha, Abbah or Allah, Lighthouse Media

^[2] Hahn, Scott. A Father Who Keeps His Promises: God's Covenant Love in Scripture (p. 13). St. Anthony Messenger Press, Servant Books. Kindle Edition.

^[3] Ibid.

^[4] Ibid.

^[5] Ibid.