Today’s Gospel refers to Solomon. But – I want to start by telling you about another man named Solomon.  

In early January of 1853, on a cotton plantation in Louisiana — not that far from here — a man was working in the field. Everyone there called him “Platt.” His master called him Platt. The overseer called him Platt. The other enslaved men and women called him Platt. 

But that was not his name. 

His name was Solomon Northup. He had been born a free man in upstate New York. He was a husband, the father of three children, a farmer, and the finest fiddler in Saratoga Springs. In 1841 two friendly, well-dressed men offered him good money to play music for a traveling show. It sounded like an opportunity — a way to provide for his family. He went with them to Washington. They drugged him. He woke up in chains in a slave pen within sight of the U.S. Capitol, was beaten when he insisted he was free, and was shipped south and sold. For twelve years, he answered to a name that was not his. 

Then one day a carriage came up the road onto that plantation. A lawyer from New York stepped out with the local sheriff and a packet of legal papers. And he did not call out for Platt. He called for Solomon Northup. 

That lawyer was Henry B. Northup. My 5th great-grandfather. But here is the whole truth of the story, because the whole truth is where the Gospel is. The reason Solomon carried the Northup name at all is that his father, Mintus, had been enslaved by my family — by Captain Henry Northup, my grand uncle. The captain set Mintus free in his will, and so Solomon was born free. A generation later, the captain’s grandnephew traveled more than a thousand miles, armed with letters from the Governor of New York, to undo a terrible wrong and bring Solomon home. 

If you’ve ever read the book (or seen the movie) 12 Years a Slave, you know this story. For you it was a documentary. For me, it was family history.  

So, my family’s story with Solomon’s family begins with chains held — and ends with chains broken. But that is your story and mine as Christians as well. Every one of us has, at one time or another, been both: the one in chains, and the one holding them. And every one of us has been sought out by someone who came a very long way to call us by our real name. 

Listen again to St. Paul this morning. Abraham had two sons — one by the slave woman, Hagar, one by the free woman, Sarah. One born “naturally,” one born “through a promise.” And Paul says to the baptized: “We are children not of the slave woman but of the freeborn woman.” 

Here is what struck me when I think of Solomon Northup’s story next to this reading. When my great-grandfather finally found him, the papers he presented did not make Solomon free. They proved he already was. He was free from birth. Twelve years of chains had changed how he lived — but they never changed who he was. Edwin Epps, his so-called master, had no lawful claim on him at all, and in the end, he had no choice but to let him go. 

That is baptism. Your baptismal certificate is your free paper. You were born again “through a promise,” children of the Jerusalem above. Sin can drag you into a slave pen — but it has no lawful title to you. And so, Paul pleads: 

“For freedom Christ set us free; so, stand firm and do not submit again to the yoke of slavery.” (Gal 5:1) 

Notice who Paul is writing to. Not pagans — baptized Christians. You can be free on paper and still live as a slave. That is the danger. 

And notice how Solomon lost his freedom. He was not captured while running. He walked out of his own front door, willingly, with men who seemed kind, toward something that looked good. That is almost always how sin works. It rarely shows up rattling chains. It shows up as an opportunity. A little reward. A little relief. A little attention. 

Jesus said it plainly: “Everyone who commits sin is a slave of sin” (Jn 8:34). And the Catechism puts it beautifully: the more we do what is good, the freer we become; the choice to do evil is an abuse of freedom that leads to “the slavery of sin” (CCC 1733). 

For those of you who give your lives in service, here in the ACCW — and I say this with great respect — the friendly offers may look like this: the resentment that whispers, “nobody appreciates what I do”. The comparison that says, “someone else gets all the credit”. The gossip that feels like closeness. The busyness that makes us feel indispensable. The perfectionism that tells us we are only as good as the last thing we did. 

And here is the cruelest thing slavery does: it renames you. Solomon became “Platt.” Sin does the same thing. It gives us names like Not enough. Too far gone. The angry one. The one who always messes up. And after a while, we start answering them. 

So, let’s look at what Jesus says in today’s Gospel. The crowd demands a sign. Jesus says the only sign they will get is the sign of Jonah: three days in the belly of death, and then rising. And then he says: 

“At the judgment the queen of the south will rise with the men of this generation and she will condemn them, because she came from the ends of the earth to hear the wisdom of Solomon, and there is something greater than Solomon here.” (Lk 11:31) 

This woman — the Queen of Sheba — traveled from the ends of the earth because she was hungry for truth. Jesus holds her up as the model of a seeker. And he tells us that the One [HIM] standing in front of us is greater than Solomon. 

Henry B. Northup traveled a thousand miles to Louisiana. Christ traveled farther — from the glory of heaven to a manger, from the manger to the cross, from the cross down into the belly of death itself. That is the sign of Jonah. 

Henry brought papers signed by the governor. Christ brought his own blood. St. Paul says he canceled “the bond that stood against us… nailing it to the cross” (Col 2:14). Epps had to sign Solomon over. The enemy has to let go of you. Christ has the better claim. 

And when he finds you, he does not call you “Platt”, or some that others gave you. He calls you by your name.  

Freedom in Christ is not just freedom from. It is freedom for. Today’s psalm sings it: the Lord raises the lowly from the dust… to seat them with princes. And the full psalm finishes with the barren woman made the joyful mother of children — the very promise Paul quotes about Sarah: “Rejoice, you barren one.” 

God’s freedom is fruitful. Solomon Northup did not just go home and disappear. He told his story. He wrote a book that awakened the conscience of a nation. His freedom became a witness that helped set others free. 

And that is what your service is. You do not serve as slaves trying to earn God’s approval — you already have his love. You serve as free daughters of the promise. And free women serve differently: with joy instead of resentment, with generosity instead of keeping score, with peace instead of anxiety. 

So, as you begin your annual conference today, I want to leave you with three things. 

First — name your “Platt”, your sin. What false name have you been answering to? Bring it to Christ. Bring it to confession. That is where the Church presents your free papers all over again. 

Second — stand firm. What is the friendly offer you keep accepting? Name it, and the next time it comes up the road, do not get in the carriage. 

Third — be Henry Northup for someone. Somewhere this year — in your parish, your neighborhood, maybe your own family — someone is living in chains and has forgotten their name. Every act of service you do is a trip down that road to say: You are not who they told you that you are. You are a beloved child of God. Come home. 

My family began that story holding chains, and by God’s grace ended it breaking them. Christ has written a better ending for all of us. He has come up the road. He is calling your name. Not by your sin. By your name.