Catholic Diversity
by Sean Innerst

The biblical story is not a parochial tale about an obscure corner of the world that has since passed into geopolitical obscurity. It’s an international story with global significance, as we will see in this month’s liturgical Bible study.

            Sometimes we don’t think about the tremendous step forward for the world when Christ came with His universal message of salvation. We see hints of that universal message in our first reading from the 28th Sunday of the Year with Naaman the Syrian, and Christ offers further clues of His universal message when he cures the Samaritan leper. Jesus made it possible by the bonds of grace for the whole human family to be united more closely than any natural family could be. The multitude of religions and variety of gods—whole pantheons of gods for different villages, tribes, or countries—presented a real obstacle to human unity.

            One reason it may be difficult for us to appreciate fully what Christ did in revealing the one God in His fullness is because of our current interest in “valuing our differences,” as the phrase goes. Some suggest that the more different we are, the better.

            As Catholics, we would have to agree with that in one respect. We are different from one another. And we believe the innumerable individual characteristics that make us unique are a reflection of the glory of God, and that He willed those differences into existence as an expression of His fullness. “Catholic” means universal, and that term points as much to a universe of difference as it does to the unity of the Church. There is something thrilling about seeing international gatherings of Catholics, each clothed according to local climate or custom. The variety of dress only seems to emphasize the already startling variety of natural differences of language, of skin and hair color, and of size and shape. Like the human family, the Church is rich in diversity.

            In that respect the Church celebrates diversity perhaps more than any other institution. Even the United Nations doesn’t approach such human variety as found within the Catholic Church. This splendid diversity within the Church represents one of the great joys of being Catholic.

            What makes Catholic diversity so wonderful? In the midst of its multiplicity is a core of unity. However different we are from one another, there is an imprint—even on a natural level—of the divine image in each of us. As diverse as we are, we share a common humanity marked by the stamp of the One True God.

            There is also much more to our Catholic unity than the nature we share. Many testify to the tremendous sense of unity they experience with an assembled community in another country attending a Catholic Mass. An Irish Catholic can feel strangely familiar in a Lebanese Maronite Rite church in Beirut. An Ethiopian Rite Catholic feels welcome in a parish church in Chicago. A Catholic is never very far from home, because if you are Catholic, the whole world is your home.

            It may well be the commonality of nature, grace, and faith that makes Catholic diversity the glorious thing it is. That is, it’s not so much our differences in themselves that make being a Catholic so wonderful as it is the unity underlying those differences that makes them all the more remarkable. As stirring as it is to see the diversity of nations meeting peacefully in the United Nations, that falls well short of the veritable miracle involved in an ecumenical council, wherein every nation of the world is represented and all assemble in the peace of Christ. Such unity is more than people of different languages, cultures, and geographies agreeing to remain in the same room without violence. It is the astounding event of people—just as disparate—gathering in a profound communion of mind and heart.

            In the biblical view, national diversity began in a conspiracy against the sovereignty of God (cf. Gen. 11:1-11), and the whole impulse of salvation history was aimed at undoing the confusion of tongues at Babel by tongues of fire on Pentecost. The ancient world was plagued by bitter tribal and national rivalries that were often viewed as battles pitting one national deity against another.

            Difference for its own sake, when embraced for its own sake, can become a nationalist idolatry. That doesn’t mean we Catholics shouldn’t value our differences. Quite the contrary, we have all the more reason to value diversity because we hear and believe in the same Gospel proclaiming one Lord, one faith, one Baptism, one God and Father of all. That unity gives life to our splendid diversity. Now let’s turn to the readings for the 28th Sunday of the Year to see what it teaches us about our unity in diversity.

2 Kings 5:14-17

            There is a wonderful consonance between our first reading and the Gospel this week. Naaman, the brusque Syrian general, has become emblematic of the Gentile peoples who come to know the One True God. This is highlighted particularly in the season of Lent when the whole story of Naaman is featured in the third week as a typological or prophetic prefiguring of the washing from the impurity of sin effected in the Sacrament of Baptism. Lent is a baptismal season, and so Naaman’s story is central. The ancient Church saw in this story a reference to the future Gentile Church washed clean from sin. This is made clear from the Lenten sermons of the Fathers of the Church, for whom Naaman was a favorite.

            We can see in the story other sacramental resonances. The seven washings is one. In Hebrew, “seven” means completeness or abundance and is virtually synonymous with the covenant, owing to the importance of the Sabbath, or seventh day. In our seven sacramental celebrations we receive faith in the one God, as did Naaman, and the abundance of the divine life of grace.

            Naaman expresses the ancient idea that gods reside in particular places and invoked by the people of that place for their protection. That is why he requests to carry earth from the Promised Land back to Damascus. He may have had in mind erecting an altar to Yahweh on that earth and constructing for himself a little island of Israel in Syria. Christ reveals that God’s covenantal favor extends to every person of every nation, that He is the one God of all. How ironic it is that Naaman is used by us as a symbol of the universal sovereignty of God, and yet he still believes that he must take Israel with him to Syria if he is to worship God there.

2 Timothy 2:8-13

           2 Timothy is something of a last will and testament for St. Paul. The chains that he mentions in this passage, it turns out, will finally hold him for the executioner. That makes his affirmation of faith all the more compelling: “If we have died with him we shall also live with him; If we hold out to the end we shall also reign with him.” But Paul’s purpose is not a shallow self-glorification. He is not saying that if you can arrange enough pain and discomfort for yourself, you can expect a payoff later. Surprisingly, some people think that the whole impulse of the Christian martyrs is nothing more than an extreme case of delayed gratification. It’s as if the whole of the massive effort of 2,000 years of Christian witness could be reduced to a statement like, “I’ll make sure I’m as miserable as possible in this life so that I can be pain free in the next.”

            The reason that Paul and millions like him from every land have been willing to exert themselves to the point of death is found in two simple lines in our reading. The first is, “Remember that Jesus Christ, a descendant of David, was raised from the dead.” Jesus is the messianic heir of the eternal throne promised to David and, as proof, He rose from the dead. Of course that terse statement contains the whole of the Gospel. To appreciate it fully we should know about David and his important place in Israel’s and even the world’s history. We have to understand Israel’s longing for a savior and, indeed, our need of a savior. We need to be aware of the importance the Jewish people attached to remembering things (the law, the covenant, the great saving works of God).

            The second line that explains Paul’s willingness to undergo unbelievable trials is: “I bear with all of this for the sake of those whom God has chosen.” That is, he is not suffering for his own reward, although that is promised, but that others “may obtain the salvation to be found in Christ Jesus and with it eternal glory.” My life for yours, he says to us.

            The whole paradigm of the Christian life is contained in those short phrases. Anything necessary, including loss of life, is worth the salvation of even one soul. Each of the chosen of God is loved so completely by Christ that He was willing to die for that one. His love for us moves us to respond in love for Him. It comes down, of course, to the great commandment to love God and neighbor. Some try to make the most unselfish creed imaginable—the whole of which is founded on love—into nothing more than a kind of cosmic bargain hunt. What a deal—misery in time for fun in eternity! Christ, St. Paul, and all the martyrs were driven by love, not their own advantage.

Luke 17:11-19

            This month we see Luke’s concern for those whom we could call covenant outsiders. First, it’s important to note that this episode is set on the border between Galilee and Samaria, both of which were avoided by pious Jews. Galilee was called “heathen Galilee,” and Samaria was inhabited by peoples of mixed race who disputed Israel’s claim that God favored Jerusalem as the proper center of religious worship. That Jesus is skirting Samaria may indicate that His destination, Jerusalem, makes Him unwelcome even by the outsiders in Samaria. (He has been rejected even by the rejects of Jewish society.) So the location itself suggests that Jesus is addressing the needs of covenant outsiders and as an outsider Himself.

            We are told that 10 lepers call out to Jesus from a distance, “Jesus, Master, have pity on us.” Lepers were considered ritually unclean. They also stood outside the Jewish community. In this sense the “distance” between Jesus and these lepers is, like the setting of the story, more than a simple question of geography. Lepers were required to avoid the company of others because of their contagious disease. Leprosy didn’t simply impose a physical distance upon its victims, but a religious one as well. Leprosy left one unable to participate in Jewish ritual practices and was considered symbolic of the ravages of sin.

            Jesus’ first act for these 10 lepers was to invite them back into the covenant family of Israel. He instructs them to go and show themselves to the priests. In so doing, Jesus was invoking the levitical law that required someone cured of leprosy to present himself to the priest for examination. An elaborate series of rituals for inclusion back into the community would follow (cf. Lev. 14:1-32). We might say that the first “good news” for the 10 lepers was that they were to return to the community.

            The one leper who returned to give thanks to Jesus was a Samaritan—the outcast among the leprous outcasts. This one receives something more than inclusion in the community. He receives the faith that brings him into communion with Jesus and the new covenant community. Jesus declares to him, “[Y]our faith has been your salvation.” He who was both faith filled and thankful was not merely returned to the human community, but ushered into the communion of saints. Ironically, the ultimate outsider is received by Jesus into the kingdom.

            By our sins each of us is as leprous as any of the 10 that Jesus healed. The remedy is the same: faith, Baptism, and the Eucharist (which means thanksgiving). By these our unity in sin becomes a miraculous unity in grace.

Reflection Questions:

(1) What challenges do we encounter by living in a family of different individuals? Consider your own experience of family life.

(2) What keeps your family together despite the diverse personalities that comprise it?

(3) How does the unity and diversity of the Catholic Church compare to that of a family?

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