Second Sunday of Ordinary Time: Sacrifice and Suffering

In today’s Gospel we hear John the Baptist refer to Jesus as the Lamb of God, a reference with several meanings. One way to understand it, is to consider what a lamb traditionally meant to the Jewish people. We recall the great Passover event of Egypt, when the blood of a lamb, smeared on their doorposts of the Israelites, saved them and eventually contributed toward their liberation.

As a way of remembering this saving act, lambs were sacrificed daily in the Temple for hundreds and hundreds of years. The Baptist’s reference to Jesus as the Lamb of God is to understand him as the sacrifice that would bring salvation and liberation.

There’s a part of the Mass called the Fracturing Rite. It happens just after the Sign of Peace, and in it we declare Jesus the Lamb of God or Agnus Dei. As we do, the priest fractures the large host, recalling how the Emmaus Companions recognized Jesus in the Breaking of the Bread (Luke 24:13-35). But the fracturing also signifies that Jesus’ body is broken and separated from his blood—meaning that he is dead.

Then, however, the priest does something that likely goes unnoticed. He takes a small part of the host and drops it into the chalice of precious blood. Body and blood are restored to one another, as on the morning of Jesus’ Resurrection. With that, the priest then holds up the broken host and the chalice—Jesus’ Body and Blood, declaring those familiar words from John the Baptist: “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world…”. In a few minutes, as we celebrate the Eucharist, I hope you’ll bear that in mind.

There’s a connection to that and what we hear described in today’s first reading, which comes from a section of Isaiah’s writings known as the Servant Songs. These writings describe a person—sometimes referred to as the Suffering Servant—a servant of God who gives himself in sacrifice. Today’s reading tells us that God gave him a mission: “The LORD said to me: You are my servant….through whom I show my glory….[that] Jacob may be brought back…and Israel gathered….”. Isaiah describes how the servant’s mission involved suffering and accepting punishment on behalf of others.

I just returned from my annual trip to Mexico. Several years ago, I visited a part of Mexico called Zamora, Michoacán. Friends took Fr. Jerry Burns and me to a large church known as the Santuario Guadalupano, a magnificent Gothic structure. We walked through it, admiring the church’s interior, until we discovered a still unfinished concrete wall in the back of the church, about 20 feet wide. Along the width of the wall, about four feet from the ground, were random holes, punched through the surface, which I learned had been made by the bullets of firing squads.

Many of us are unaware that less than a hundred years ago, powerful movements within Mexican government and society, sought to extinguish Catholicism. It reached its worst under the presidency of Plutarco Calles (1924-28), who was to the Mexican Catholic Church, what Caesar Nero was to first century Christianity. From 1926 to 1934, thousands of laypeople and priests were threatened, tortured and in many cases, publicly executed.

          As I stood at that wall, I thought of the many brave men and women—the Cristeros, as they were known—who refused to surrender to pressures to denounce their Catholic faith. They paid the price, endured suffering, giving their lives and like the servant of Isaiah’s songs, for a purpose.    

Aside from taking for granted the sacrifices made for us—including those of our own parents, the men and women of our armed forces, those who serve as first responders in our community—I ask us to consider two things:

First, is to remember that these sacrifices were made not just to save us from something, but to save us for something. The great 3rd century theologian, Tertullian, once said “The blood of the martyrs is the seed” of our faith (Apologeticum, 50). It is their blood—that of Isaiah’s suffering servant; the 20th century Cristeros; and for sure, Jesus, the Lamb of God—their blood poured out, like the Passover lambs, all as a way of preserving God’s promise for those that would follow.

Secondly, each of us must ask: For what am I willing to sacrifice and even endure unavoidable suffering. Somewhere in that answer is the truth about where the God of our faith is placed in your life, but also possibly what you’ve come to regard as your god. I think many of us would say we’d do it for our family, spouse, children.

But I ask you, for what purpose would you make sacrifice and accept suffering for them? For what purpose? Is it merely so that they can be comfortable and happy in this life? You were made for something greater, something more than this world, and so were they. May our sacrifices and acceptance of suffering be always with that in mind.

There’s more to be said about understanding the meaning of sacrifice and finding meaning in unavoidable suffering. As we continue in this Eucharist, as we hear proclaimed, “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world…”, and as you respond: “Lord, I am not worthy you should enter under my roof, but only say the word….” Pray—seriously, pray!—that His healing word might enable us to move toward understanding, because we must figure that out if our lives—and the lives of those for whom we would sacrifice—are to have meaning, to live in the promise of salvation and liberation, won for us through the Blood of Jesus.