Homily This Sunday

The Cloak Before Sunset

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ, picture a poor man in the ancient world standing at the door of his neighbor. He has borrowed money, and as a guarantee he has handed over the only thing of value he owns: his cloak. By day it is his coat. By night it is his blanket. Without it, he will lie shivering on the ground.

Our first reading from Exodus speaks directly to that moment. God says, "If you take your neighbor's cloak as collateral, you shall return it to him before sunset; for this cloak of his is the only covering he has for his body. What will he sleep in?" Then God adds these remarkable words: "If he cries out to me, I will listen; for I am compassionate."

Hold that image in your heart: a cloak handed back before the sun goes down. It may be the best commentary we have on today's Gospel.

In the Gospel, a scholar of the law tries to test Jesus. "Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?" This was no idle question. The rabbis counted six hundred and thirteen commandments in the Law of Moses, and they debated which ones mattered most. Some were weightier, some lighter, and people wanted to know where to put their energy.

Jesus answers by reaching into the heart of Israel's own prayer, the words every faithful Jew prayed daily: "You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind." Then, without being asked, He adds a second: "You shall love your neighbor as yourself." And He concludes, "The whole law and the prophets depend on these two commandments."

The word "depend" literally means "hang." Imagine a great door swinging on two hinges. Every commandment, every teaching of the prophets, hangs on these two. Take away either hinge, and the door falls.

My friends, this is the central truth I want us to carry home today: the love of God and the love of neighbor cannot be separated. They are not two separate tasks, one for Sunday and one for Monday. They are one love, flowing in two directions.

We are always tempted to split them apart. Some of us are drawn to prayer, devotion, and beautiful liturgy, and we can forget that the God we adore in church is waiting for us in the coworker who annoys us or the stranger who needs help. Others among us are generous and active, quick to serve, yet we can forget to pray, and our service slowly runs dry, because it was never rooted in the One who is Love itself.

Saint John puts it bluntly in his first letter: "Whoever does not love a brother whom he has seen cannot love God whom he has not seen." And Saint Augustine taught that while love of God comes first in the order of commanding, love of neighbor comes first in the order of doing. In other words, God is the source, but our neighbor is often where our love for God is first tested and made visible.

Pope Benedict XVI, in his first encyclical, *God Is Love*, wrote that love of God and love of neighbor are inseparable; they form a single commandment. He explained that in God and with God, I can love even the person I do not like or do not even know. That is the key. We do not love our neighbor by gritting our teeth. We love because we have first been loved, and God's love in us reaches out through us.

Now return to the reading from Exodus, because it shows us that this love is never vague. God names specific people: the resident alien, the widow, the orphan, the poor borrower. These were the most vulnerable people in ancient society. They had no land, no protector, no voice in the courts. And God tells Israel why they must care for them: "for you were once aliens residing in the land of Egypt."

In other words, remember where you came from. Remember that you were once the stranger, the slave, the one with nothing. And remember that I heard your cry and brought you out. Israel's kindness to the vulnerable was meant to be a memory of God's kindness to them.

Brothers and sisters, the same is true for us. Each of us was once a stranger to God, lost in our sins, and Christ came to find us. Jesus Himself is the One whose cloak was taken from Him on Calvary, stripped so that we might be clothed in grace. When we show mercy to others, we are simply passing on what we have received.

The Catechism teaches that the commandments of the second tablet, those concerning our neighbor, are rooted in our love for God. And Pope Francis, reflecting on this very Gospel, reminded us that love for God shows itself concretely in love for our brothers and sisters, especially the least among us. Our faith cannot remain words alone.

So who are the widows, orphans, and strangers in our lives today? Perhaps an elderly neighbor who has not had a visitor in weeks. Perhaps a newcomer to our parish or our country, struggling with language and loneliness. Perhaps a child at school whom no one sits with at lunch. Perhaps a family member who is grieving, or someone in our own home who simply needs us to put down our phone and listen.

And what is the "cloak before sunset" in our lives? It may be the apology we have been putting off. It may be the debt of kindness we owe someone. It may be the grudge we are holding like collateral, waiting for the other person to pay up first. Scripture tells us not to let the sun go down on our anger. Give the cloak back before nightfall.

Saint Paul, in our second reading, praises the Thessalonians because their faith had become known everywhere. They had "turned to God from idols to serve the living and true God." Their conversion was not hidden. People could see it. They became, as Paul says, a model for all the believers. That is our calling too: that people might look at this parish and say, "See how they love God, and see how they love one another."

Dear friends, this is not a burden placed on tired shoulders. It is an invitation into the very life of God. And God does not ask us to do it alone. In a few moments, on this altar, Christ will give Himself to us completely in the Eucharist. Here we receive the love that fulfills the whole law. Here the vertical love of God and the horizontal love of neighbor meet, just as they meet in the shape of the Cross.

When we receive Communion, we are united not only to Christ but to every member of His Body. We cannot receive Him at the altar and then refuse Him in the poor, the lonely, and the stranger. The Eucharist sends us out with hearts made larger.

So here is one simple step for this week. Ask the Lord in prayer each morning: "Lord, whose cloak do I need to return today?" Then listen. He will show you someone. And before the sun sets, act.

Because the God of Exodus has not changed. He still hears the cry of the poor. He still says, "I am compassionate." And now, through us, He wants to answer.

Amen.

Sources Consulted

- *The New American Bible, Revised Edition* (NABRE) - Saint Augustine, *Tractates on the Gospel of John*, Tractate 17 - Pope Benedict XVI, *Deus Caritas Est* (2005), nos. 16–18 - Pope Francis, Angelus Address, October 29, 2017 (vatican.va) - *Catechism of the Catholic Church*, nos. 2055, 2083, 2196 - Saint Thomas Aquinas, *Catena Aurea* on Matthew 22 - Curtis Mitch and Edward Sri, *The Gospel of Matthew* (Catholic Commentary on Sacred Scripture) - Bishop Robert Barron, Word on Fire Sunday Sermons, Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year A