23rd Sunday of Ordinary Time
23RD SUNDAY OF ORDINARY TIME
Back in 1837 Hans Christian Andersen composed a short story titled The Emperor’s New Clothes. We’re told that this particular emperor diverted crucial funding so that he could accumulate a vast wardrobe for himself. He continually remained vigilant, anxious to review whatever might pass for the latest fashion.
One day, he falls victim to a pair of con-artists. Posing as cloth merchants, they offer to stitch together a new wardrobe for the emperor. He informs them that he already owns a very extensive number of garments. But they respond by introducing a new type of material. They explain that this new material can only be seen by those who possess a higher level of breeding, a higher category of intellect. Unable to see anything, the emperor chooses to pretend, for the sake of protecting his sense of pride and his sense of vanity. Therefore, he goes ahead with the purchase.
The pretense is carried forward, and soon the emperor finds himself under pressure to model what he has supposedly acquired. As a result, he creates a spectacle by walking through the streets stark naked. Word has spread, however, that this material bears the unique quality of being visible only to those who enjoy a superior status. Consequently, no one acknowledges the situation for what it really is—namely, a charade. To do so would mean revealing a personal defect or some measure of inferiority.
So the fiasco continues to run its course; the emperor parading and the people offering their compliments. And yet, near the end of the story, the illusion is finally challenged. A discordant voice calls out from within the crowd: That man doesn’t have any clothes! It’s the voice of a child—an unaffected, uninhibited child, who will have none of what seems to be transpiring. As the pathetic display begins to unravel, the story reaches its embarrassing conclusion.
Let’s suppose that the emperor is missing something else, beyond just clothing. Let’s suppose that he stands in need of sanctifying grace. Should anything be said? Or should we assume that silence is golden? According to the Book of Ezekiel, the situation needs to be confronted (see chapter 33:1-9). But of course we would expect a heavy-handed approach from an Old Testament source. Perhaps we should consult the Gospel? Surprisingly enough, we’re going to find Jesus echoing the message outlined in Ezekiel. Matthew 18:15-20 basically parallels what’s presented in Ezekiel 33.
It seems then that we’ve established the “what.” This answers the question of what should or should not be done. Next, we have to consider the question of “how?” How do I confront? How do I go about raising my voice? Here is where we might want to factor in the passage from St. Paul. As far as Paul is concerned, you have to proceed according to the spirit of love (see Romans 13:8-10). It’s not about settling scores. It’s not about feeling superior. It’s about expressing a concern, not pronouncing a judgment. You express your concern, as charitably as possible.
Even though he may not realize it, a favor is being done for the emperor. He can go from pretending to being clothed to actually putting on some legitimate clothes. Those who kept silent were enabling the emperor, not supporting him. Whether it’s the one deficiency being addressed or the other, the emperor will benefit—whether you’re focusing on his lack of clothing or on his lack of sanctifying grace. In each case, a favor is being provided. He’s that much closer to being outfitted with the gift of grace because somebody says what needs to be said [a spiritual work of mercy, according to section 2447 of the Catechism].
Properly understood, this represents the charitable approach. At first glance it might appear that you’re being charitable by remaining silent. But you’re not practicing charity when you enable a pretender—when you enable somebody who’s pretending. You’re falling well short of charity…when you allow a charade to go unchallenged.
