Sister Eloise Rosenblatt

I just came back from a “ladies lunch” with six parish women. Readers of a certain generation will smile at the notice, that of the dishes shared, there wasn’t a single molded Jell-O salad. One was remarried after divorce, and six of us were single – four as widows, one a divorcee, I a celibate – which is likely a gift to the men who didn’t marry me. But the fact is, women through years of heroically and silently supporting family members through crisis after crisis, ordinarily come to the wisdom of knowing they don’t have to wait until the next life to live without marrying or re-marrying. So the Gospel addresses a question men have: Who will be the owner of the female body? Is she reproductive property to be seized and claimed? Margaret Atwood strung out this scenario in the dystopian novel, “A Handmaid’s Tale.”

I pass the homeless – or the hand-out seekers – any day I’m driving across town to the post office, the market or the freeway ramp. The hand-lettered signage on the ratty fold-up cardboard torn from boxes has evolved. The signs used to say, “Down and out, no money,” or “Will work for food,” or “Help a veteran. God bless.” Now it’s “Anything helps” or no sign at all. The guy just stands there with a giant-slurp plastic cup, and if a car slows down with window rolled down, he leaps into the lane, grabs the bill, and shoves it into his back pocket. The handout seekers – are they homeless? – present an ever-increasing population.

Father Carroll O’Sullivan, SJ, a dearly loved chaplain for the Sisters of Mercy in Burlingame, once said, “We pray to become someone, not to get something.” This is the message of Luke’s shorter version of “The Our Father.” In today’s Gospel, one of the disciples sees Jesus praying and asks him “Lord, teach us to pray just as John taught his disciples.” In Genesis, Abraham pleaded with God to spare the residents of Sodom and Gomorrah - that the good character of a minority be enough to spare annihilation of an evil majority. In Luke the disciple also acts as a representative for others. “Teach us,” not just, “Teach me.” The first quality of a person of prayer is self-understanding as a mediator. Praying makes us a bridge-person, a go-between.

The account of Lazarus’ revival from the tomb includes John’s version of Jesus’ fear of his own death. In the synoptic Gospels this terror is described as the agony in the garden, on the eve of his arrest, crucifixion and death.

It’s probably not historically exact: The scenic image of Mary setting out alone from Nazareth astride a donkey, concerned to visit her older cousin, six-months pregnant Elizabeth, in the hilly village of Ain Kerem, outside Jerusalem. The journey, straight as the crow flies, is 65 miles or 104 kilometers. In Mary’s day, the road would have detoured along the western edge of Israel, closer to the Mediterranean, to avoid passing directly through unfriendly Samaria. No single woman – old or young – would have traveled four or five days alone, exposed to danger like the man who fell victim to thieves, memorialized in Luke’s parable of the good samaritan.