There was a story on CNN last week about a young boy who sang the national anthem. Nuzzled between the cyber-articles about a sea lion snuggling with a sailor and the intimate connection between Jesus and Superman was the story of little Sebastian de la Cruz, an 11 year old budding mariachi singer from Texas who sang the Star Spangled Banner at an athletic event, leading social commentators (read idiotic tweeters) to make some very unkind responses to the little tyke. -- "Why they got a Mexican kid singing the national anthem -___-" from Daniel Gilmore. Good use of the interrogative there Danny. -- "How you singing the national anthem looking like an illegal immigrant" from Andre Lacey, proud father and firefighter from Augusta, Georgia. -- "Why is a foreigner singing the national anthem. I realize that's San Antonio but that still ain't Mexico" from Lewie Groh. -- "Who let this illegal alien sing our national anthem?" from Matt Cyrus. And the list went on and on. In fact, at last count 1034 on and on’s. Problem is that little Sebastian is just as American as apple pie, leading us to wonder if a great Gospel adage hasn’t found additional reinforcement in yesterday’s headlines, namely: Things are not always what they seem to be. It should come as little surprise that the heroine in today’s Gospel from Luke is a woman of questionable reputation. This is Luke’s way, throw down the powerful and lift up the lowly. Show the world of self-righteousness and bigotry just how small it is, how myopic it can be. She comes to do a good deed for Jesus. She comes to offer a gift of humility. She comes in a spirit of penance. She comes in charity. And yet, she comes to the house of Pharisees. For Luke, it is an indictment of a national attitude, the attitude of perfectionism that condemns itself in its self-seeking. Her reputation was already sealed when she came in the door. She could do no good. She was a sinner. She became the victim of a rampant prejudice that, at least in Luke’s gentile perspective, seems indicative of the whole tweeting Pharisaical lot. Of course we are not immune to the attitude of that Pharisaical lot ourselves. Even in chrismated corners of the cloister, judgment, prejudice, opinions, mistaken ideals, continue to hold forth emboldened as they are by vows of stability that just will not let go of anything, anything. St. Luke seems to ask us: What of the Spirit? What of the spirit of love? In the Gospel today, Jesus asks Simon the Pharisee a question: (Why are all the goofballs in the New Testament called Simon?) “Simon, I have something to say to you.” “Tell me, teacher, ” he said. “Two people were in debt to a certain creditor; one owed five hundred day’s wages and the other owed fifty. Since they were unable to repay the debt, he forgave it for both. Which of them will love him more?” Simon said in reply, “The one, I suppose, whose larger debt was forgiven.” He said to him, “You have judged rightly.” Boom! Condemned by his own mouth. You, Simon have judged rightly. What do we do? We harp, we indict, we naysay. And yet the Spirit of God, the Spirit of Christ continues to shine forth. Sinful people still come forward, pouring out gifts for the King of Kings and Lord of Lords in spite of our interminable round of commentary. The Spirit of Love which came to the woman in today’s Gospel continues in our day in times of prayer and consecration in a world of violence, violence in the home, in the fields, in the human heart, and in a world of blasphemy, blasphemy of creation, blasphemy against innocent life, blasphemy against proper contrition which of course morphs itself into blasphemy against God himself. Yet there is hope in prayer and this prayer just might be offered up by those we least expect. The Spirit of Love lives. The spirit of love lives as sinners approach the font of holiness to pour out the oil of their compunction at the pierced feet of Jesus. And the spirit of sullenness is squelched in the light of simple goodness. The Spirit of faith lives as we are reunited to Christ in our daily acts of common prayer and the spirit of subversion is put down on bended knees in the presence of the Lord of simplicity. The Spirit of sacrifice lives in the lives of fathers on this Father’s Day, dads who give their lives in sacrifice for their children and thus put down the spirit of negligence and abandonment. The Spirit of love, love that comes from God is put forward in our lives as long as little boys and girls continue to sing their hearts out in spite of stupidity and hatred and ignorance And that spirit of Christ is not confined to the houses of Pharisees. Our Holy Father, Pope Francis has reminded us that it lives today. It lives among us. It lives in those we might least expect, might least anticipate. And the old Simons are put down in … The spirit of life that boldly proclaims itself in a pharisaical, hypoctrical culture of death, proclaims through our lives, proclaims without compromise the dignity of every man, every woman, every child from conception until the last labored breath is drawn It is the spirit of love that infuses us to be mighty proclaimers of the Word That Word whose quickening syllables arouse us from the slumber of indifference, impatience, and spiritual sloth That Word that desperate ears long to hear, that dispels the fearsome phantoms of temporality and proclaims eternity for a twittering people huddling against the walls of a lost Eden That Word that compels us to proclamation, instills in our hearts the wonder of the Incarnate Deity That Word that tells us who we are: We are a gifted people We are gifted with the Holy Spirit and can speak languages of concern and praise for one another, until we no longer understand the syllables of compromise and hatefulness. We are a forged people We are forged in the crucible of God’s radical experiment for peace in the world day by day until the bellicose remonstrance of our personal tortures is quelled. We are a people loved to death We are loved to death by a God who gives us himself so fully, so completely that we cannot help but put aside our idiotic selves and become authentic instruments of hospitality not only to strangers but to one another. Like the woman in today’s Gospel, rescued from the slavery to sin. Like King David, rescued from his own self-worship. Like St. Paul in today’s second reading, rescued from the slavery of self-righteousness we can say too: I have been crucified with Christ; yet I live, no longer I, but Christ lives in me; insofar as I now live in the flesh, I live by faith in the Son of God who has loved me and given himself up for me. No longer I but Christ lives in me. No longer I. That truth gives joy to voices like little Sebastian’s belting out the anthem of freedom. That truth gives life to withered hearts who long to know the freedom of the Gospel. That truth is this: Things are not always what they seem to be. That truth brings us to the altar. It brings us to the place of reconciliation and lasting hope, joy, peace and yes, love. It brings us here where all animosity and bitterness is laid aside. It brings us to our true selves, sinful men and women pouring out our gifts upon one another here in this place, at this time, for all ages. Blessed, blessed indeed are those called to the supper of the lamb.