There
are few things less surprising than surprise parties. At least before the
pandemic, if your fiftieth birthday is a day away and your wife hasn’t
announced any plans, prepare to be surprised—or not!
I was given a surprise party once, and one of my friends said “you know, I was almost sure you’d figured it out, but when I saw the look on your face I knew we’d kept it a surprise.”
I’d known about the party for weeks. Appearing in all those school plays taught me a thing or two about acting.
The Scriptures today tell us that the end of the world—and the end of our lives—is something like most surprise parties: we know it’s going to happen, but we’re not sure exactly when. So even though our meeting with our Master will come as a surprise, it should not be a total surprise.
And that’s not all we learn from God’s word this morning. Although the connection between the readings isn’t obvious, taken together they tell us how to get ready and how to wait peacefully.
St. Paul tells us that the fact the world’s ending and our own death will come as a surprise doesn’t mean we should live in fear. We shouldn’t be anxious or worried, either about the day of the Lord or about our last days.
He reminds us “We are children of the light!” We’re not walking in the darkness but in the light of Christ. We are called to be wide awake and ready—ready even to be judged.
So how does this work? How do we stay peaceful even in the face of God’s judgment?
With some help from the first reading, today’s Gospel answers the questions in a word. The word is stewardship.
In their magnificent pastoral letter Stewardship: A Disciple’s Response the American bishops wrote “Good stewards live with joy and gratitude for the blessings they have received—including those they have multiplied through diligence and hard work.”
And “good stewards live in communion with Christ and through Christ and the Spirit strive to return all gifts to the Father ‘with an increase.’”
That’s exactly what Jesus teaches about stewardship in this parable.
He’s telling us what the Master will expect on the day we stand before him. And knowing what he expects allows us to live with joy and gratitude, always eager to return God’s gifts to him, with interest.
Two points stand out. First, God does expect a return on his gifts. That shouldn’t surprise us. In the first chapter of the first book the Bible, God tells Adam and Eve to be fruitful and multiply—not because he needs that but because they do.
A narrow, nervous, timid, unproductive life is not for Christ’s disciples. If we live like the one-talent slave we will be weeping in the outer darkness when we realize what we have missed and how we failed, not because God is an angry master.
In a certain sense, stewardship is its own reward. And our failure to live as stewards of God’s gifts is its own punishment. We see that clearly when we fail to be stewards of the earth.
The second lesson, of course, is that the return God expects is in proportion to the spiritual and intellectual gifts he's given us. He doesn't expect the same homily from me as he does from Bishop Barron. (And neither should you!)
It’s a fluke that the money in our parable is called talents (it’s a weight, not a coin). I don’t suppose the story works so well in all languages. But that’s just as well since it's not just our talents and gifts that govern God’s expectations of us: it's our circumstances as well.
Does God expect the same amount of service to the Church and the poor from someone with five children as he does with one?
In the Introduction to the Devout Life, St. Francis de Sales points out that holiness is for everyone, although it will look different in different circumstances.
He says it’s laughable to think a bishop should live a solitary life like a hermit, or married people own no more property than a Franciscan.
But holiness is a universal, common, call. The Second Vatican Council taught that every one of the baptized, in every state in life, is called to holiness—holiness, which is the only return on investment God is concerned about.
Today's first reading and psalm show us that holiness can look quite ordinary. Holiness is doing the little things well, for the love of God. A famous architect said, "God is in the details," and that applies to holiness.
The capable wife in Proverbs is not Mother Theresa of Calcutta. True, she seems to get a lot more done in a day than I do, but it's ordinary stuff. She's not leading Israel into battle or nursing the dying; she is simply industrious, generous, and wise. She does the daily round perfectly and thus, in Christian spirituality, she is perfect, holy.
We don't find out as much about her husband in the psalm, but here too we see what holiness can look like: respecting the Lord and his law, making an honest living, and living family life in peace.
Whether you’re young or old, male, or female, married or single, the Word of God is telling us that the time for holiness is now, not later. God expects it.
And the way to holiness is found in your circumstances, your trials, your opportunities, your challenges, and, yes, your talents.
All of this would be important to think about at any time of the year. But this is not just any time—we’re almost at the end of the liturgical year, closing in fast on Advent. The end of the Church year is the time when we hear about the last things, about judgment, about heaven and hell.
We heard these readings today for a particular reason: so we could take stock, so we could ask ourselves how we are doing as stewards of God’s many gifts—and think about the day when God himself is going to ask for our account.
Let’s not be taken by surprise.
No comments:
Post a Comment