Season of the Superlative

I preached the homily today, the Tuesday of the Seventh Week in Ordinary Time (also known as Mardi Gras, the eve of Ash Wednesday), at the St. Thomas Aquinas Chapel of the Saint Meinrad School of Theology. These were the readings of the day: Sir 2:1-11; Ps 37:3-4, 18-19, 27-28, 39-40; Mk 9:30-37.

So, here we are again in the season of superlatives, that time of the year when we hear a lot of talk about who and what is the best, the most outstanding, the most valuable, the greatest. It’s the awards season. Here we are a week and a half after the Grammys honored the best in music and a mere five days before movie buffs fulfill their annual Oscar obligation. But, lest we forget, we are also only a week away from every sports fans’ favorite month, the madness that is March. Indeed, it is the season of superlatives: of best picture, best actor, best actress, best director, of most valuable player, most outstanding player, of record and album of the year. It’s also the season of office pools and Vegas high stakes, the season when every score and point counts, when every vote matters, when all bets are on: which teams will make the Sweet Sixteen, which ones will move on to the Elite Eight, who are going to duke it out in the Final Four. Or, in my world, the question is: will Martin Scorsese, on this his sixth nomination as Best Director, finally win his first Oscar?

Who is the best, the most outstanding, the most valuable, the greatest? The Gospel tells us that even the disciples were keenly interested in that question. I’m sure that the Twelve were probably keeping score among themselves: how many evil spirits did one drive away, what’s their personal best for conversions in a day, which one got the most me-and-Jesus time. It’s just what people do when they get together; they compare their achievements and talk about their success stories. Of course, what fool would risk being vulnerable in a group of twelve men and share his disappointments and failures? The disciples were having a session on superlatives, not an IPR meeting at their ministry assignment. It was all fun until, Jesus, like a CPE supervisor who bursts everyone’s bubble, confronts them, and soon it became clear to all how childish it was to argue among themselves who is the greatest. It was childish because they were arguing about this right after Jesus speaks to them about His passion, death, and resurrection. Indeed, the self-interest of the disciples pales in comparison to Jesus’ self-sacrifice.

In the end, it doesn’t matter who is the best, the most outstanding, the most valuable, the greatest among us. Indeed, all of us will be told tomorrow to remember that we are but dust and unto dust we shall return. It doesn’t matter what we have—Grammy awards, Oscar statuettes, NCAA titles; all signs and symbols of our superlative achievements eventually tarnish and break, are forgotten and get lost. Only one sign of superlative achievement has endured throughout human history: the cross of One who humbled Himself to become man and suffered and died for the sins of the world, Him who is always the first and the greatest yet chose to be the last and the servant of all. Only He has made a victory out of what seems to be a defeat. Only He has given life out of His death. Only He has brought redemption out of His condemnation.

So, we gather here in this eve of the season of Lent, the season of Him who alone is the superlative, and we do so beneath the shadow of His cross and before the altar of His sacrifice. Happy are we to be in His company. Grateful are we to be His friends. Humbled are we to be called to His supper.