St. Joseph Church in Beirut offers a sanctuary for migrants, refugees, and asylum seekers fleeing South Sudan, Syria, the Philippines, Sri Lanka, and many other conflict-torn nations. Daniel Corrou, S.J., pastor of the community, vividly recalls entering the 19th-century church immediately after the devastating 2020 blast in Lebanon’s capital.
“It was still filled with dust, broken wood everywhere; the pews were all shattered, and all the glass was torn down. It was in the middle of the night; so, it was pitch dark,” Dan tells “Preach” host Ricardo da Silva, S.J. Still, there was one light that shone on and cut through the darkness, Dan says. “The little red candle next to the tabernacle. The whole damn city had been devastated, thousands of people in the hospital and hundreds had died, but Jesus was still there, right in the middle of it,” he recalls. “If Jesus isn’t running away from this, I don’t know what the incarnation is other than that.”
In his homily for the 110th World Day of Migrants and Refugees, Dan, who also oversees the Jesuit Refugee Service in Iraq, Jordan, Lebanon, and Syria, calls us to see the humanity in seemingly intimidating strangers. We must embrace a “story of love” rather than a “story of fear,” he says. “A story of love is always a better story—lean into the story of love!”
Scripture Readings for the 26th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year B (World Day of Migrants and Refugees)
First Reading: Nm 11:25-29
Responsorial Psalm: Ps 19:8, 10, 12-13, 14
Second Reading: Jm 5:1-6
Gospel: Mk 9:38-43, 45, 47-48
You can find the full text of the readings here.
Homily for the 26th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year B, by Daniel Corrou, S.J.
Eldad and Medad had not gone out of the tent, and yet the Spirit came to rest on them also. But after they went out and preached, we hear in our first reading in the book of Numbers, the story of Moses going up on the hill with 70 elders and receiving the gift of the Spirit to be able to go out and do the very real work that Moses was called to. That work is the spiritual work of every single one of us: Moses leading the people out of captivity and into the freedom of the children of God.
It is the work that we are all doing. It is the very foundation of our Judeo-Christian-Islamic traditions: that invitation to do the very real work of working through the process of moving out of areas of death and confinement and smallness, and into that freedom that God is calling us to.
Moses and the elders are up on the mountain; they receive that gift, go among the community, and are full of energy to do that very real work of allowing people to come out of those areas of captivity and smallness.
In this particular reading, they highlight two individuals who just happen to be hanging out in their tent and can’t be bothered. James Keenan, a Jesuit moral theologian, talks about sin as being “can’t-be-botheredness”: I just can’t be bothered to care about my neighbor; I can’t be bothered to worry about how I spend my money or my time.
Usually, these two individuals are sitting in their tent and just can’t be bothered to go up on the mountain or do anything. And yet, somehow or another, God can pierce through those walls of laziness or smallness or fatigue or boredom or whatever it is, into our own lives, and call them—call us—out of our own laziness or smallness or fear or fatigue, and into that same prophetic call, that same invitation to move ourselves and to move with the community of God’s people.
We move from those areas of smallness and captivity into the freedom of being awkward. I think this is where we get to the beautiful point of the message that we have in our festival today, World Migrant and Refugees Day. The theme, chosen by Pope Francis, is “God walks with God’s people.”
I do think that this image of walking or accompanying is a very important one. Francis, in his letter, has a very powerful phrase: “The fundamental reality of the Exodus... is that God proceeds and accompanies the people and all children in every time and place.” God’s presence in the midst of the people is a certainty of salvation history: “The Lord your God goes with you and will not fail you or forsake you” (Dt 31:8).
This idea of God accompanying God’s people in that process—it isn’t a process that we’re just left alone to do. This invitation to move into that freedom that we’re all called to is something that God accompanies.
I often think of my nephews when they were very small, learning to walk. It was a real task. Every time they tried to walk, it was a moment of destabilization; they had to be off balance. They had to move into the awkward space of being unsure. When you’re small and learning how to walk, you don’t always land the next step, and you’re not certain of it.
But if you don’t lean into the awkward, if you don’t lean into the destabilized, off-center space, then you’ll never be able to move forward as a pilgrim. St. Ignatius talks about himself as a pilgrim; here we’re talking about the pilgrim people of God, moving through the Exodus desert.
We have to be destabilized; we have to be in this awkward space of not being in control, really pushing forward or moving through. I think that’s the great message that we have in the message of Refugee and Migrants Day, that Pope Francis is reminding us: none of us are in our homeland.
The Judeo-Christian-Islamic tradition is that we are always on pilgrimage to something more. So the idea that I belong here—wherever that happens to be—is just false for all of us. The idea that I belong, and you don’t belong, is just a fallacy.
In the Christian vocabulary, we cannot say that we are all on a pilgrimage. This is not our homeland; we are moving into that ever-greater freedom. And so, in this idea of moving, always in the off-balance the idea of being a pilgrim people—all of us a pilgrim people—is something that should put us all off balance.
It should make us realize that we’re not in a place where we can say, “They are taking from me,” or “I am in a place where I belong, and they are not.” So I think this is an essential part of our Exodus story—a story we know.
