You Knew There Would Be Stings

I was working in the yard recently when I heard my wife yelling for help. She was shaking her head as if she was trying to get something out of her hair while she kept saying, “Robert, come help me.” I ran over to her as fast as I could, and once I got there, she said that a honey bee had been stuck in her hair. I confirmed that there was no bee or any other insect in her hair, but it seemed that I was too late, because I did see the stinger that the bee left in the back of her neck.

So we then moved from emergency mode to treatment mode. I carefully removed the stinger and then applied some antihistamine cream to the location. After that, we put a small ice pack on it. After a couple of days, Cynthia’s neck was back to normal.

The thing about having honey bee hives in our yard is that the occasional sting happens. I’ve been stung a couple of times, even with my bee suit on. One of my grandkids got stung when they got too close to the bee hive because they were not following their grandfather’s advice. My son-in-law has been stung mowing the lawn near the hives.

But back to the bee hives. When we purchased the bees and set them up in the yard, we knew that we were probably going to get stung at various points. Collectively, we’ve had a handful of stings over the two years that we’ve had the hives. When we decided to keep bees, we did that not because we are looking to get a sting, but because of the benefits that come with the beekeeping. Primarily, it’s actually fun trying to keep the bees alive, which is actually kind of hard to do right now. Also, there is the benefit of the honey harvest. For whatever reason, the honey that comes from the hive is very different, so much better than what I can buy at the store. That alone makes it worth it. Financially? Well, nope. That’s a different kind of sting.

So even though we know that we’re going to suffer in some ways, we choose to keep bees because of the payoff, which is the fun of keeping bees and the enjoyment of the honey that we can harvest each July.

I bring this up because it relates to something that Jesus talks about in this Gospel. Jesus is talking with Moses and Elijah about his exodus from Jerusalem. Now, he’s talking about the second exodus. The first exodus happened when the Jewish people were captives in Egypt. Their exodus was an exodus from Egypt. Moses led the Jewish people away from Egypt and into the desert. They then wandered in the desert for forty years, which, by the way, was not fun, until they ultimately entered the promised land, the land of milk and honey.

Now, the second exodus is a vastly more perfect exodus than what Moses accomplished with the Jewish people. Instead of taking us to the land of milk and honey, Jesus is taking us, the Christian faithful, to heaven. Instead of a physical destination, we have instead a spiritual destination.

Jesus goes into Jerusalem knowing what it means. Just a few verses before this reading, Jesus says, “The Son of Man must suffer greatly and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed.” Jesus knows, going in, that it’s going to be a terrible experience. But he does this because he’s leading us to the perfect promised land, which is heaven.

And here’s where we come into the story. The Catholic Church’s tradition of Lent followed by Easter reflects the exodus that Jesus is talking about.

Notice the pattern: stings, then honey; desert, then promised land; the Lord’s Passion, then heaven; Lent, then Easter.

We, as Christians, are invited to follow Jesus on this exodus, this second exodus. Just as the Jewish people followed Moses through the desert and ended up in the promised land, we are following Jesus through our spiritual desert into the spiritual promised land of heaven.

This second exodus that Jesus is leading us on is not a spectator sport. We are participants. We are players in this divine work. God gives that tremendous gift to us. And where does that journey start? The desert. Think about Jesus after his baptism. He was led to the desert for forty days. That desert, even though challenging, wasn’t a punishment. It was preparation. It’s where he got ready for his entire public ministry, ultimately leading to the cross, where he showed us how to lean on the Father when the stings of life come.

That’s what Lent is for us. When we participate, it’s our desert. These forty days are about following Jesus into the wilderness to get ready for the promised land. He’s been there. He knows the heat, the hunger, the temptation to take the easy way out. And he’s saying, come with me. Walk this path. It’s not easy, but it’s worth it. A sacrifice that challenges you to grow in your humanity, in your holiness, and in your relationship with God is the kind of thing he is talking about. But whatever it is, Jesus expects us to follow his example, not because he wants us miserable, but because the desert strips away the junk we don’t need so we can step into Easter, into heaven, with hearts wide open.

Up on that mountain at the Transfiguration, Moses and Elijah are talking with Jesus about his exodus. His death, yes, but also what comes after. The cross isn’t the end of the story. It’s the gate to something bigger. Easter is coming, and it’s not just a day on the calendar. It’s the honey at the end of the sting, the promised land after the desert, the moment heaven cracks open and says, this is what I’ve been leading you to. Jesus didn’t stay in the desert, and he didn’t stop at the cross. He rose from the dead, and he’s calling us to rise with him, to live like people who know the payoff is worth it.

Every time you say no to temptation, every time you say yes to sacrifice, to prayer, to almsgiving, you’re following him closer to Jerusalem, closer to the cross, closer to that empty tomb. We’re not just beekeepers waiting for honey. We’re disciples participating in the divine work of heaven. This is our exodus. The promised land is waiting, and Jesus is already ahead of us. He’s saying, come, follow me.

If the hard thing is in your body, and it was not a hive you chose, do not treat the illness as if it were a bee sting you agreed to. We bought the bees knowing we would be stung. Cynthia’s stinger, my stings through the suit, the grandchild who got too close, the mowing. Those were the known cost of a hive we wanted. The honey in July was the reason. An illness is not that agreement. Write the sting that is actually in the body. Then write, underneath it, that you did not purchase it.

The care is the part that can match the hive. I removed the stinger, put on the cream, and held the ice. That was treatment mode, not a speech about the honey. Do the next care you already know is yours. The appointment. The medicine. The rest. A sting is not a reason to abandon the care. It is also not proof that the illness will become honey this week. The neck was back to normal in a couple of days. Not every sting in a body works that way.

Jesus went into Jerusalem knowing he would be killed. The honey was not the sting. The promised land was after the desert. Do not call today’s pain the payoff. Name it. Do the next care. The exodus he is talking about does not finish this afternoon. If you are in danger now, call 988 or local emergency services.

This is a pastoral reflection, not clinical care and not a substitute for it. If you or someone you love is in immediate danger, call 988 or local emergency services.

Drawn from a homily first preached in 2025.