26 October 2024 – 30th Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year B) (Sunset Mass)

by Fr Fabian Dicom

When we hear God’s promise in today’s First Reading to bring Israel home, it is easy to imagine a straightforward story of forgiveness. An obvious situation. A God turning a wayward people, the Israelites, back to grace. Maybe He needs to do it right now, in Gaza.

Anyway, but I invite all of us to pause and think about what exile really means and who it affects.

Now were all those exiled during that time guilty of abandoning God’s love and mercy? Were they guilty of just not believing in Him? Likely no. Many were innocent, dragged along in this wave of consequences that they never invited.

This echoes deeply in today’s world where exile doesn’t always look like crossing borders. Often, it is the exile of the heart or the exile of the person. Now think of the innocent, especially children and of women who are isolated by suffering they never invited. This is the exile of heart.

People wounded by abuse. People becoming victims of oppression or those shamed and isolated, even within their families and communities. They carry the wounds that isolate them, stripping away trust and confidence. Like Israel’s exile, these wounds lead to devastating isolation, leaving a person feeling like an outcast even in their own skin.

Now many in our society are the blind and the lame as mentioned in Jeremiah in the First Reading. Walking in a fog of shame, of anger, of helplessness, of fear. Now this exile is all encompassing, reaching into the very core of their daily lives. And not necessarily as a physical displacement but as an exile within.

Now what about those pressured in work places or in relationships who are asked to compromise their values under threat? The abuse might not leave physical scars but it leads to inner exile, a loss of identity, trapped by silence and intimidation.

Recently I read about a woman who shared her story. She was asked to ‘comply’ with inappropriate requests at work, special ‘favours’ for the boss. And she was told that she would never succeed otherwise. She felt trapped. An exile created not by crossing land but by moral violation.

And if we could look even closer. Troubled families where physical or emotional abuse goes unquestioned, often dismissed as normal. We carry these wounds forward, thinking ‘This is just how it is. Let’s get on with it.‘

But Father Richard Rohr says this:
If we don’t transform our pain, we will transmit it.

This quiet exile within families breaks us down, affecting how we live and love later. In general, not just within families but also in our personal and social lives. These inner feelings of being cut off leaves marks and create hurt. And now this hurt keeps going on and on, repeating patterns of pain unless it is brought out into the open.

Exile therefore is a pervasive experience, entrenched by systems of control and fear. And sometimes even in our church communities. Spiritual arrogance. Gossip, gossip, gossip. Rigid rules. These often push people to the edges. Really.

We need to pay attention. Even in this community. How we can, with our words, our actions, break people, practically ‘kill’ them, making them feel exiled within their own faith community.

Stop worshipping rules and start respecting people.

Our world today is rife with exiles of different kinds. Even beyond the church, this exile is imposed not only by social expectations but also by leaders and systems that fail to deliver on promises of dignity and justice.

Here in Malaysia, we are encountering, right now, broken promises, shattered hope that seem to litter the Malaysian landscape. Are we experiencing a politics of betrayal? What happened to the leaders we trusted and voted for? Their turn-around, their spin-around is leaving communities who feel unheard, isolated by economic policies, divisive unity measures and governmental decisions that continue to lead to marginalisation and a sense of exclusion. Not much has changed.

And on a global scale, the very lands of the bible now bear witness to some of the world’s longest and most tragic exiles. In places like Gaza, Syria, Iraq. Entire communities are torn from their homes by unending cycles of violence and conflict. And Israel just finished another bombing session.

So how do we, coming back to us here in this church:-
~ How do we move beyond exile?
~ How do we move beyond shame?
~ How do we move beyond fear, beyond anger, beyond hurt?
~ How do we begin this journey back to ourselves, to that image that we are created? The image of God that you and I are created in?
~ How do we go back there? How do we go back to God?

Jeremiah says:
They left in tears but I will comfort them and lead them back.

And how? Through Jesus who entered our exile fully, lived in our humanity and invites us now to healing. It is Jesus.

The Gospel story of Bartimaeus, the blind beggar, offers a path from exile to healing. Bartimaeus cries out to Jesus despite attempts to silence him. When Jesus stops, Bartimaeus casts his cloak, shedding his shame, shedding his isolation and expresses his deepest need:
Lord, I want to see!

Bartimaeus, though sidelined by society, by his own people, refuses to be silenced, illustrating the power of faith and the longing for wholeness. In Bartimaeus, we see three roles:-
1. The exiled
2. The silent crowd.
3. And the compassionate Jesus Christ.

Bartimaeus represents those who are suffering and whose suffering is ignored.
The crowd embodies indifference and
Jesus, who stops to listen, embodies healing love.

Today, we are invited to consider which role we embody. Perhaps one, perhaps two, perhaps three or all.
Do I feel exiled by others and by my own self, blinded by my wounds of hurt, of anger?
Or are we like the crowd, numbed by routine and detached from the suffering of others?
Or like Jesus. Are we like Jesus? Can we open ourselves to hear the cries of those exiled, responding only with love?

Now Bartimaeus’ journey to healing teaches us that breaking free from exile requires courage. He recognised his pain, persisted despite resistance and was willing to let go of his cloak of shame, of secrecy, of marginalisation.

We too can fall into the trap of identifying with our pain, of wearing it like a familiar cloak and holding on to it, scared, shamed, making us fearful of asking for something more.

And what about when we see others in exile? Are we truly present with them? Or do we keep them at arm’s length?

But God calls us beyond that, through Jesus who entered, fully entered, into our humanity. God invites each of us to healing and belonging. Personally, to remove the cloak of shame or marginalisation, or fear, or anger, of all the wounds as Bartimaeus did calls for courage and an active choice to let go of the security found in the familiarity.

Even if we are very familiar with the pain and we are used to it, Bartimaeus teaches us that identifying our pain is only the first step. Letting go means shifting our identity from one centered around wounds to one grounded in God’s healing and promise of wholeness.

When Bartimaeus threw off his cloak, he symbolically left behind whatever he had used to define himself in his suffering. 

And for those exiled by circumstances beyond their control, whether through social marginalisation or by governmental oppression or even by war, this act of throwing off the cloak might look like choosing hope in God’s promise over despair. A conscious courageous choice.

It could also mean in acting with solidarity with others, working towards social justice. It also means praying with a heart opened for transformation.

As Jesus stopped for Bartimaeus, God hears the cries of those suffering unjustly in society. And each of us is invited to stand with them, to be agents of God’s listening, God’s healing, God’s justice. 

Bartimaeus’ journey back to dignity shows us that when we take even a single step toward God with courage, the journey home begins, regardless of what form of exile we are in.

Each of us is called to support this journey in others as well, bringing them hope and reminding them of God’s boundless love.

Finally, today we are challenged to take up this journey, not only by seeking our own healing but by becoming vessels of healing for others. Christ calls us to community for a reason, to become the ointment or the balm for each others’ wounds. To listen, to act and to bring hope.

Let us become agents of reconciliation, a church that brings others home, echoing the promise Jeremiah reminds us of today.

Amen.

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