16 January 2025 - Thursday of the 1st week of odd-numbered years
Homily
In Jesus' time, the word “leprosy” was a generic expression to designate a large number of diseases, especially skin diseases, and above all contagious and incurable diseases. Because of the horror felt towards these various forms of disease, those affected were ostracised. They were separated from the rest of the people, often by virtue of religious laws. In this way, people not only protected themselves from physical contact with a contagious patient, but also psychologically and spiritually exempted themselves from looking inwards.
One of the great novels of the 20th century - a novel that won its author a Nobel Prize - is Albert Camus's The Plague, published shortly after the Second World War (in 1947). The novel tells the story of a town in Algeria where the population is suddenly struck by an epidemic of bubonic plague, a plague that at various times decimated large sections of the world's population before the discovery of a vaccine. The city is quarantined, and the whole book is a description of the attitudes of various characters to this sudden and unexpected physical ailment. (I think that anyone who wants to reflect on the problem of AIDS in our time needs to read this novel).
Camus was not a Christian, even though in his youth he defended a doctoral thesis on Saint Augustine. Nor was he an atheist. He considered himself post-Christian. And because he very honestly questioned Christianity as he had known it in the way it reacted to evil, he rediscovered attitudes that were in fact profoundly Christian.
There are two main characters in this novel: a priest and a doctor. The doctor was Dr Hérou, and I've forgotten the priest's name (I'm quoting from memory).
The doctor was the first to discover the signs of the plague, and it took him a long time to convince everyone else of what was obvious to him. For as long as the plague lasted in the quarantined town (and these were years) he devoted himself entirely to caring for the sick; he organised health services, buried the dead, even invented a vaccine and finally put an end to the epidemic. Neither he nor Camus considered any of this to be heroic or even virtuous. It was simply what he had to do in the circumstances. When people wanted to congratulate him after the epidemic was over, he simply replied: you don't congratulate a teacher for teaching that two and two make four. If someone is in need and you can meet their need, you simply have to do it. There's nothing heroic about that, even if you risk your life, and even if you lose your life.
The story of the priest is also interesting. At the start of the crisis, he has all the answers ready. The city, he says, was hit by the plague because the people deserved it. God is disappointed with the modern world in general and with them in particular. But God's mercy is to give them another chance. The plague shows the way to future salvation. This good priest can see God in action, transforming evil into good. By reasoning in this way, he ‘justifies’ the plague and tries to get the people to love their suffering. The good doctor, who is certainly not a practising Catholic, responds as a practical man, and in fact with a good dose of Christian compassion. Christians sometimes talk like that,’ he says, ’without it really being what they think. And he adds this slightly caustic compliment: ‘They're better than they seem! And he also explains that the good priest talks like that because he only learned from his theology books. ‘Because of this,‘ he says, “he can speak with such certainty of the Truth (with a capital ”V’). And he adds: ‘Any country priest who has heard a man breathing with difficulty on his deathbed thinks as I do, and strives to alleviate human suffering without proclaiming its excellence...’. (quote from memory).
If we return now to our Gospel, I don't think it needs much comment. It is clear that the attitude of the priest at the beginning of Camus' novel, with all his explanations about sin and divine punishment, was the attitude of the Scribes and Pharisees and, in general, of the official religion of Israel. The attitude of the doctor in this novel is similar to that of Jesus. He simply touches the leper with his hand and heals him. Never in the whole of the Gospel does Jesus give an explanation of leprosy or any other disease - even when asked to do so. (For example, when asked why someone was born blind -- because of their sins or those of their parents -- Jesus does not answer the question. He simply heals the blind man. For him, evil is not something that can be explained, but something from which he must deliver humanity).
I suppose that each of us must then ask ourselves, in the secret of our hearts: ‘Whose side am I on?
Armand VEILLEUX