DEALING WITH IRON COTS

Reflections on the Fourteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Ezekiel 2:2-5, 2 Corinthians 12:7-10, Mark 6:1-6)

Procrustes is one of the many villains of Greek mythology defeated by the great Greek hero Theseus. There is something odd about Procrustes that sets him apart. An ironsmith by profession, he lived in the wilderness between Athens and Eleusis. He had a special iron bed that he had designed himself. He would invite travellers on their journey to and from Athens to rest in this bed since travelling at night in the wilderness was dangerous. But there was just one problem. He wanted the bed to fit his guests perfectly.

So, if his guest was too tall for the bed, he would cut off the limbs that did not fit the iron frame and the guest would bleed to death. If the guest was too short for the bed, he would stretch him/her by hammering or racking the body, killing the guest in the process. There was never a guest who fit the bed exactly, so Procrustes felt the need to either stretch or size down every single one of them. Paradoxically, when Theseus captured Procrustes, he made him lie on his iron cot and discovered that Procrustes himself did not fit it perfectly. Theseus finally “fitted” Procrustes to his own iron bed.

Jesus faces the cruel rigidity of a Procrustean bed in his hometown today. After having met with success in his preaching and healing ministries in various regions, he now returns to his own village. However, his presence only provokes dissent, jealousy, and even hostility. Is he not the carpenter, the son of Mary, and the brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon? And are not his sisters here with us?”. Their initial astonishment and admiration for his wisdom, teaching, and mighty deeds now change drastically so much so that they take offense at him. They don’t even address him by his name but as ‘this man’.

Who does he think he is? He is no doctor of the law nor has he had any formal teaching to claim an official title. So where does this authority come from? Their tone is condescending and their attitude is dismissive. What exactly was their problem? Jesus did not fit into their Procrustean bed! They know him well, his family and his upbringing. They more or less had an idea about what he was capable of or what he might turn out to become. However, the homecoming young itinerary preacher whom they met in their synagogue that morning was such a misfit to their iron cots that they found this new version unacceptable. So they get busy with their hammers to try and either stretch him or size him down so they can fit him again into their iron cots.

God sent Ezekiel to proclaim his message, warning him of the iron cots that awaited his prophetic ministry. “I am sending you to the Israelites, rebels who have rebelled against me; they and their ancestors have revolted against me to this very day. Hard of face and obstinate of heart are they to whom I am sending you”. Paul talks about an even more personal fight, which he calls a ‘thorn in his flesh’ and an angel of Satan. So, faced with iron cots, and struggling to find their ‘place’ in their mission, prophets struggle with the constant pain of rejection, judgements, and doubts.

Don’t we all carry our own special iron cots and end up imposing our predefined ideas, expectations, identities, prejudices, opinions, and preferences on others? And when people don’t fit into these cots, don’t we try and ‘change’ them? Don’t we take offence at people whose uniqueness and originality do not allow them to fit into our categories and evaluations? Don’t we end up trying to stretch them or amputate them to fit the size and patterns of our iron beds, with little regard for their uniqueness or dignity? Or maybe the opposite is true. Are we confronted by the iron cots of our own families, neighbourhoods, and institutions? Does the weight of prejudices, expectations and judgments bog us down, and threaten our creativity and ingenuity?

No matter which side of the equation we are on (facing others’ iron cots or fitting iron cots on others), the response of Jesus has something to teach us today. Confronted with the cruelty of the Procrustean beds of his fellow villagers, Jesus moves on. He does not seem too bothered by rejections or resistance. It is almost as if what matters most to him is his mission and not his popularity. Consider the example of the Samaritan village which rejected him. James and John wanted to command fire to come down and consume them. Jesus rebukes them and moves on to another village (Luke 9:53-56).

Similarly, in this instance, Jesus does not wish to prove himself or his villagers wrong. He does not perform any mighty deed there, except curing a few sick people by laying his hands on them owing to their lack of faith. He respects their right to resist, freedom to decide for themselves, and responsibility to respond to God’s grace freely and willingly. He does not impose but proposes a new path. And when people exercise their right to refuse them, Jesus walks away and walks on. He does not withdraw from his mission but pursues it with a zeal that does not change no matter the size or cruelty of the iron cots.

Such is the anonymity of Jesus’ passing that Augustine said, “I am afraid of Jesus who is passing by” (Timeo Jesum transeuntem) that he could pass without us even noticing his presence. The liturgy invites us to let go of our iron cots and move on when faced with the iron cots, to fulfil our mission with a zeal that outmatches the strength of these Procrustean beds.