A wise old farmer was visiting a friend who lived in the city, and after dinner—because it was a nice evening—they decided to a take a walk over to the park. To reach it, though, they first had to go down a crowded sidewalk along a busy street. Suddenly the farmer remarked, “Listen to the lovely chirping of that cricket.” His friend couldn’t hear it, and asked the farmer how he could detect such a small sound amid the roar of the traffic, and the chaos of loud footsteps, car horns, people talking on cell phones, and the like. The reason, of course, was that the farmer had trained himself to hear the sounds of nature. However, instead of explaining this to his friend, he simply demonstrated the idea very easily and effectively: making sure no one was looking, he took a quarter out of his pocket and tossed it on the sidewalk. Immediately a dozen people turned their heads and began looking around on the sidewalk to discover the coin’s location (Donald Deffner, Windows into the Lectionary: Seasonal Anecdotes for Preaching & Teaching, p. 69).
That’s how it tends to work for us: we hear or see or notice the things that are important to us, because those are the sights and sounds we’ve trained ourselves to pay attention to. There’s nothing wrong with this human characteristic or common way of responding; it makes perfect sense, for it allows us to recognize and use unexpected opportunities, fulfill our responsibilities more efficiently, and quite often get more satisfaction and enjoyment out of life. The Lord understands and respects this part of our human nature; He simply asks that we also pay attention to Him. His voice speaks to us in everyday situations; He personally comes to us disguised as the people we encounter in daily life. We are given the opportunity and challenge to grow in His grace in both predictable and unpredictable ways, and at expected and unexpected times—and all it takes is an honest effort on our part to be open.
On the 23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time, the story of the healing of the man who was deaf and mute comes to us from St. Mark’s Gospel. (7:31-37) Mark was writing for a Gentile, or non-Jewish, audience, and this comes through very clearly in the Gospel—for we’re told that Jesus had gone into the district of the Decapolis, which means the Ten Cities, a region located outside Jewish territory. The deaf and mute man, and the people who brought him to Jesus, were presumably all non-Jews, and so Mark presents the man’s healing as symbolizing Our Lord’s desire that even Gentiles be open to hearing the Gospel, and be empowered to proclaim it. Jesus used gestures commonly associated with healing—touching the man’s ears and tongue, using saliva (which was thought to have healing properties), and groaning with sympathy—but by looking up to Heaven, He showed that all healing has a divine origin, and then He demonstrated His divine authority through a sharp command in Aramaic: “Ephphatha!” (“Be opened!”) This miracle, of course, immediately occurred, to the amazement and delight of the crowd.
Not only did this miraculous healing fulfill the passage from Isaiah (35:4-7)—“the eyes of the blind will be opened, the ears of the deaf be cleared . . . the tongues of the mute will sing”; it also points to the need to seek, look for, and listen to the signs of God’s Kingdom. The Lord does indeed come with divine recompense or reward, as the prophet promises, but we must be ready to recognize and receive His gifts. This means training ourselves to respond to everything in terms of the values of God’s Kingdom, and in the Letter of St. James (2:1-5) we’re given a very practical example of this. A man dressed in a wealthy and important manner will almost certainly receive more respect and consideration than someone wearing shabby clothes. That’s how it is in the world, but St. James insists that it must not be that way in church. While it is proper and respectful to dress up when attending Sunday Mass, we must never use this criterion for judging other people. The Lord looks into each person’s heart—and though we can’t exactly do that, we are called to remember that every single person has a God-given dignity and value that must be respected and defended.
Sometimes we see or encounter persons who are mentally ill, emotionally or psychologically impaired, or otherwise heavily burdened. For many years I’ve been training myself, with some success, to imagine how beautiful and precious their souls are, and to remind myself of how much God loves them; that makes it easier for me to smile at them—even if they’re not looking in my direction—and to say a silent prayer for them. There are all sorts of ways we can spiritually train ourselves like this. For instance, whenever we’re tempted to be impatient with someone else, we can form the habit of reminding ourselves of how infinitely patient God is with us—and then it becomes easier to put up with the other person. If we hear the sound of someone crying, we don’t have to think “That’s too bad,” and then go our way; we can go over to the person—even a stranger—and ask if we can do anything to help. Whenever we hear of someone going through a rough time, we might train ourselves to think, “Is there something I can do for him or her?” If we have a friend who’s extremely shy and uncomfortable in social situations, that might make us more conscious of how some people struggle in those settings—and thus, if we notice someone at a party standing alone in a corner, our awareness should prompt us to go over, introduce ourselves, and try to put the person at ease. If we’ve ever been through a painful experience—widowhood or divorce, a situation of rejection, being fired or downsized, receiving a diagnosis of cancer, losing a loved one in a car accident, or so on—that ordeal might very well make us more aware of and sensitive to someone else undergoing the same tragedy—and Jesus would want us to use our experience as a source of understanding and support for that person.
There are so many voices, noises, and distractions clamoring for our attention that we have to train ourselves to look and listen for the things that really matter, and then to proclaim these truths through our words and example. This isn’t always easy, but God will always bless our efforts. If we allow it, Jesus will touch our ears and our eyes, our tongues and our hearts, and say to us, “Be opened!” If we’ve not yet asked Him to do this, now is the time—and once we’ve done so, nothing will ever again be the same.
