Third Sunday in Ordinary Time

Third Sunday in Ordinary Time

I think I was about nine years old when I first tried rock climbing. One of my good school friends, Daniel Imbrow, had his birthday party at the Little Rock Climbing Gym. The party only lasted a couple of hours, but that was all it took for me to get completely hooked.

Now, you might think my love of rock climbing comes from being an adrenaline junkie, someone who loves danger and extreme sports. And to be fair, that may be the draw for some people. There is a certain rush to being suspended high above the ground, holding onto a thin, precarious piece of rock, with only a rope for protection.

But the adrenaline is not what I fell in love with.

Honestly, once you climb for a few years and get used to the heights, it becomes a pretty mellow, even quiet sport. What I fell in love with that first day was the camaraderie, the fellowship, and the support of other climbers.

Unless you are a professional competitor, rock climbing is not really a sport where you go against other people. You are not climbing in opposition to the other climbers. In fact, it is the opposite. There is a strong, healthy culture of encouragement. While one person is on the wall, the others are watching, cheering, offering advice, and celebrating when someone finally reaches the top.

In rock climbing, the real struggle is not against the people around you. The struggle is with the wall, with gravity, with fear, and with your own limits.

And St. Paul walks into Corinth and finds a Church that has forgotten that.

He finds Christians who have turned away from the wall and started facing each other. Measuring themselves, not by Christ, but by camps, preferences, and personalities.

“I belong to Paul.”
“I belong to Apollos.”
“I belong to Cephas.”
“I belong to Christ.”

And Paul confronts them sharply. Not because they admire different apostles, but because admiration has replaced adoration. Because secondary things have become primary. Because Christ is no longer the center that unites them, but a name being used to justify division.

“Is Christ divided?”
“Was Paul crucified for you?”
“Were you baptized in the name of Paul?”

Who saved you.
Who died for you.
Who claimed you.
Who sent you.

It was not a style.
It was not a movement.
It was not a preference.
It was Jesus Christ.

And when Christ stops being the center, the Church does not become rich in diversity. She becomes fractured into tribes.

We should not pretend this is only ancient history.

In our own time, questions surrounding the Second Vatican Council, the Latin Mass and Pope Francis’ restrictions have stirred real emotions. For some, grief. For others, relief. For many, very strong opinions. And it is precisely here that St. Paul stands before us and asks his uncomfortable question: “Is Christ divided?”

Because the danger is not disagreement.
The danger is displacement.

The danger is schism.
The danger is when the form, rather than the Lord, becomes the center.

And one of the hidden dangers of all of this is that, the liturgy wars can slowly train the heart to distrust the very authority Christ gave his Church. We move from “I prefer” to “I judge.” From “this feeds me” to “the Church is wrong.” And at that point, we are no longer following Christ and His Church. We are placing ourselves above him and above
the authority of His Church.

And this reveals something even deeper that every one of us needs to hear.

We do not come to Mass primarily for a language, a preferred liturgy, a style of music, a preaching style, or the beauty of a building. We do not even come primarily for what we get out of it.

We come to Mass to worship.

We come to stand at Calvary.

We come to offer the unblemished Lamb to the Father, under the humble signs of bread and wine, for the salvation of the world.

The Mass is not first about us.
It is about God.
It is not first about expression.
It is about sacrifice.
It is not first about experience.
It is about adoration.

If I come to Mass mainly to be pleased, I will inevitably become divided.

If I come to Mass to worship the crucified and risen Christ, I will find myself kneeling beside brothers and sisters who are not like me, but who are redeemed with me.

This is why Paul is so fierce. Because a divided Church becomes a distracted Church. And a distracted Church stops evangelizing.

“I did not come to baptize,” Paul says, “but to preach the Gospel,” lest the cross of Christ be emptied of its power.

We were not called to build factions.
We were called to save souls.

And that brings us to the shore of Galilee.

Jesus does not walk along the water and say, “Come refine your preferences.” He does not say, “Come develop your style.” He does not say, “Come form schools of Theology.”

He says, “Come after me.”

Unity is not created by uniformity.
It is created by shared discipleship.

And only after they follow does he add, “I will make you fishers of men.”

Mission flows from communion.
Evangelization flows from worship.

The Church does not exist to win arguments.
She exists to win hearts.

And while we argue about music, and posture, and liturgy, and labels, and camps, entire generations no longer know Jesus Christ. They are not baptized. They are not praying. They are not coming to Mass. They are not being formed. They are not being saved.

The boats are ready.
The nets are here.
The shoreline is full.

But too often, we are busy rearranging the boats instead of going fishing.

Christ’s call today is not subtle.

“Come after me.”

Not come after your camp
Not come after your preferred expression.
Not come after the teachers you like best.

Come after me.

Because when Christ is truly first, differences stop becoming weapons and start becoming gifts. Preferences stop dividing and start serving. And the Church stops turning inward and starts moving outward.

The world does not need a Church that agrees on everything. It needs a Church that agrees on who saves.

It does not need a Church that all fishes the same way. It needs a Church that is willing to fish.

Christ was crucified for us.
Christ alone is Lord.
And Christ did not gather us into factions, but into a mission.

“Come after me,” he says,
“and I will make you fishers of men.”