Ezekiel 33:7-9, Psalm 95, Romans 13:8-10, and Matthew 18:15-20.
A man waiting for his train
noticed an elderly stranger struggling with two heavy bags. Everyone else was
hurrying past, so he picked up one of the bags, walked with the old man to the
correct platform, and helped him into the train. The elderly man thanked him
and said quietly, “My wife died recently. She always travelled with me and
carried this bag. Today is my first journey alone.” Suddenly, carrying a
suitcase became much more than a small act of courtesy; for a few minutes, a
stranger had helped carry another man's loneliness. We may never be asked to
perform heroic sacrifices, but every day someone near us is carrying a burden
we cannot see. Sometimes the simplest answer to Cain’s question, “Am I my
brother’s keeper?” (Genesis 4:9), is simply to notice, to stop, and to help.
But being our brother’s
keeper does not mean becoming our brother’s policeman. Some people enjoy
correcting others so much that they seem disappointed when nobody is doing
anything wrong! There is a great difference between a watchman and a
fault-finder. A watchman warns because he sees danger; a fault-finder searches
for something to criticize. The Old Testament gives us a beautiful example in
the prophet Nathan. King David had committed adultery with Bathsheba and
arranged the death of her husband Uriah (2 Samuel 11). Nathan had the dangerous
responsibility of confronting a king. He did not enter the palace shouting,
“David, you are a terrible sinner!” Instead, he told him a story about a rich
man who stole the only little lamb belonging to a poor man. David became angry
at the injustice. Only then did Nathan quietly say, “You are the man” (2 Samuel
12:1-7). Nathan spoke the truth, but he spoke it in a way that opened David’s
conscience. David replied, “I have sinned against the Lord” (2 Samuel 12:13).
Good correction does not humiliate a person; it helps him see what perhaps he
has refused to see.
One striking example comes
from the life of Abraham Lincoln. As a
young man, Lincoln had a sharp tongue and sometimes wrote mocking letters about
people who irritated him. In 1842, after he anonymously ridiculed Illinois
politician James Shields, the insult became so serious that Shields challenged
him to a duel. The confrontation was eventually prevented, but the experience
deeply affected Lincoln. Years later, during the American Civil War, when one
of his generals prepared an angry letter attacking another officer, Lincoln
advised him to write the letter fully—but not send it. Lincoln had learned
through his own painful mistake that truth spoken merely to wound rarely
changes anyone. Sometimes a person needs to be shown his fault without being
publicly shamed. Correction is most fruitful when it protects a
person’s dignity while helping him see what he could not—or would not—see in
himself.
This is precisely the wisdom
of Jesus in today’s Gospel. “If your brother sins against you, go and tell him
his fault between you and him alone” (Matthew 18:15). Notice the first word of
Jesus’ method: go. Notice also where Jesus does not tell us to go. He does not
say, “Go to your neighbour and tell him.” He does not say, “Go to ten friends
and discuss it.” And, translated into modern language, he certainly does not
say, “Put it on WhatsApp!” We sometimes practise Matthew 18 backwards. Jesus
says: first, speak to the person privately; then, if necessary, bring one or
two others; finally, involve the community. We often begin with the community,
continue with twenty friends, post something indirectly on social media, and
eventually—perhaps six months later—speak to the person concerned! By then
everybody knows about the problem except the person who could have solved it.
The Old Testament had already
taught the same principle. Leviticus says, “You shall not hate your brother in
your heart; you shall reason frankly with your neighbour” and immediately adds,
“You shall love your neighbour as yourself” (Leviticus 19:17-18). That is
remarkable. Correction and love appear side by side. Saint Paul quotes that
very commandment in today’s second reading: “Love your neighbour as yourself,”
and concludes, “Love does no wrong to a neighbour; therefore love is the
fulfilling of the law” (Romans 13:8-10). We sometimes imagine that love means
never saying anything unpleasant. But suppose a doctor discovers a dangerous
illness and says nothing because he does not want to upset the patient. Would
we call that kindness? Suppose you are driving and your passenger sees that you
are entering a one-way street from the wrong direction. You would not expect
him to say, “I respect your personal choice.” You would expect him to shout,
“Stop!” Sometimes love encourages; sometimes love comforts; sometimes love
keeps silent; and sometimes love has the courage to say, “My friend, this road
is going to hurt you.”
Saint John Bosco understood
this particularly well in dealing with difficult young people. His educational
approach became famous for relying on reason, religion and loving kindness
rather than fear and harsh punishment. He knew that a young person is rarely
improved by being publicly humiliated. Correction is more fruitful when the
person first knows that he is loved. That principle applies far beyond schools.
A husband can say the right thing to his wife in the wrong tone and turn truth
into a weapon. A wife can make a legitimate complaint to her husband but choose
the worst possible moment to make it. Parents can correct a child so constantly
that the child begins to believe, “Nothing I do will ever be good enough.”
Employers can correct workers publicly when a quiet conversation would have
preserved their dignity. Before correcting someone, therefore, it is worth
asking: “Do I want this person to become better, or do I merely want to prove
that I am right?” Those are very different desires.
Jesus then says that if the
person refuses to listen, take “one or two others” (Matthew 18:16). This comes
directly from the Old Testament principle that a serious matter should be
established by two or three witnesses (Deuteronomy 19:15). The purpose is not
to assemble a stronger attacking force. Jesus is not saying, “If you cannot
defeat him alone, bring reinforcements!” The others are there to bring wisdom,
objectivity and reconciliation. Sometimes two people are so angry that each
hears only what he expects to hear. A wise third person can say, “I think both
of you are misunderstanding each other.” Many marriages, friendships, parish
disputes and family quarrels could be healed if people sought a wise mediator
rather than enthusiastic supporters. Unfortunately, when we are angry, we often
choose advisers who will confirm that we are completely innocent and the other
person is completely impossible.
There is also a warning on
the other side: we must learn to receive correction. Psalm 95, today’s
Responsorial Psalm, says, “O that today you would listen to his voice! Harden
not your hearts.” It recalls Meribah and Massah, where Israel quarrelled with
God and tested him in the wilderness (Exodus 17:1-7; Psalm 95:7-9). A hardened
heart is not necessarily an evil heart. Often it is simply a heart that has
stopped listening. We all like prophets until the prophet speaks to us. David
probably admired Nathan when Nathan was correcting other people. Nathan became
less comfortable when he said, “You are the man.” We gladly listen to sermons
about the sins of the world, but become nervous when the Gospel comes close
enough to knock on our own door.
There is a humorous truth in
the story of the man who came out of church delighted and told the priest,
“Father, that was a wonderful sermon. Everything you said applies perfectly to
my neighbour!” That is one of the great miracles of preaching: a sermon aimed
at us can travel over our heads and land on somebody three pews away. Psalm 95
therefore does not say, “Today, if your neighbour hears God’s voice.” It says,
“Today, if you hear his voice, harden not your heart.” Before asking whom, I
should correct, perhaps I should ask what God is trying to correct in me.
Saint Augustine offers us a
powerful example. For years his mother, Saint Monica, watched her brilliant son
wander far from the Christian faith and live a life that caused her enormous
sorrow. She could not force him into conversion. She prayed, waited, spoke when
appropriate and refused to give up hope. Eventually Augustine encountered Saint
Ambrose in Milan. What first attracted Augustine was not an argument but the
bishop himself and the way he taught. Slowly the barriers came down. Augustine
was baptized by Ambrose in 387 and became one of Christianity’s greatest
teachers. Monica reminds us that correction sometimes takes the form of words,
but at other times it takes the form of patient prayer. We cannot change
another human heart by force. We can speak truth, offer love and then leave room
for God.
The story of Eli in the Old
Testament shows the opposite danger. Eli knew that his sons Hophni and Phinehas
were behaving disgracefully in their priestly ministry (1 Samuel 2:12-17,
22-25). He rebuked them, but his response was ultimately inadequate, and their
corruption continued. God held Eli responsible for failing to restrain the evil
entrusted to his care (1 Samuel 3:11-13). There are moments when silence is not
peace but avoidance. A parent who sees a child entering serious danger, a
friend who sees another being destroyed by addiction, dishonesty or destructive
behaviour, or a colleague who sees grave injustice cannot always say, “It is
none of my business.” Ezekiel reminds us that sometimes God places us on the
watchtower precisely because we are the person who can see the danger.
Yet Saint Paul gives us the
test for everything: love. “Owe no one anything, except to love one another”
(Romans 13:8). What a strange debt! Normally when we finish paying a debt we
celebrate. Paul says there is one debt we can never finish paying—the debt of
love. Every morning God sends us another instalment notice: love your family
today; love the difficult colleague today; love the elderly parent today; love
the neighbour who irritates you today; love even the person you need to
correct. Love does not mean approving everything another person does. Jesus
loved Peter, yet said to him, “Get behind me, Satan” when Peter tried to turn
him away from the cross (Matthew 16:21-23). Jesus loved Martha, yet gently told
her that she was “anxious and troubled about many things” (Luke 10:41). Jesus
loved the woman caught in adultery, protected her from condemnation, and then
told her to leave her sinful way of life (John 8:1-11). In Jesus, truth and
mercy are never enemies.
Finally, Jesus says, “Where
two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them” (Matthew 18:20).
We often quote these words about prayer, and rightly so, but notice where they
occur: in a teaching about broken relationships, correction, reconciliation and
community. Christ promises to stand in the middle of people struggling to come
together. When two angry brothers finally speak, Christ can be there. When
husband and wife put aside pride and listen, Christ can be there. When a parent
and child begin again after painful words, Christ can be there. When
parishioners choose reconciliation instead of gossip, Christ can be there. We
do not need a crowd for Christ to be present. Sometimes the holiest church in
the world at that moment may be two chairs, two wounded people, one sincere
conversation and Jesus quietly standing between them.
So, the message of today’s readings is
surprisingly practical. If someone has hurt you, speak to the person before
speaking about the person. If someone you love is walking toward serious
danger, do not hide behind comfortable silence. If you must correct, do it
privately, gently and with the intention of gaining a brother or sister, not
winning an argument. If someone corrects you, resist the temptation to build a
wall immediately; perhaps there is something worth hearing. And when words
fail, pray. Ezekiel tells us to be watchmen; Psalm 95 tells us to keep our
hearts open; Paul tells us that love must govern everything; and Jesus tells us
how broken relationships can be restored. The carpenter in our opening story
was asked to build a fence, but he built a bridge. During this coming week we
will probably have at least one opportunity to do the same. Before repeating a
fault, make a phone call. Before sending the angry message, wait and pray. Before
judging, listen. Before correcting, ask whether love is speaking. And before
building another fence, remember that Jesus is still in the business of
building bridges.
-Satish Selvarance