Memorial of Saint Monica

Master, I knew you were a demanding person,

harvesting where you did not plant
and gathering where you did not scatter;
so out of fear I went off and buried your talent in the ground.
Here it is back.’

What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how
infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and
admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like
a god! the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals—and yet,
to me, what is this quintessence of dust?

            Hamlet Act 2, scene 2, 303–312

Apprehension carries two meanings. Its first meaning today connotes fearfulness, though, in his day, Shakespeare probably intended apprehension as the god's ability to understand mysteries. But mysteries are often fearful to moderns.

As I consider today’s parable I think of the astonishing courage and generosity of which man is capable, and of his depraved cowardice. Like Adam in the Garden, who blamed the Lord for creating the woman who tempted him, the “wicked, lazy servant” blames his master for his failure.

But his cowardice and his excuse cannot shield him from blame and its consequences:

… throw this useless servant into the darkness outside,
where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth.

The Lord continually urges us, “Do not be afraid.” It may be the most common admonition found in the New Testament. It was Gabriel’s first word to Mary and Zechariah, and Jesus’ exhortation during the Last Supper. (In the world you will have trouble, but take courage, I have conquered the world.” John 16:33)

But this piece of work is often a frightened creature. We fear the dark and the light, solitude and crowds, viruses, germs and grizzly bears. We fear poverty, hunger, and homelessness even when we’re wealthy, well-fed, safe, warm and dry. We have a romantic fascination with war and a traumatized horror of it. We invest billions in security and insurance and yet terrorism drives our foreign and domestic policies.

When I was young and in treatment for depression, I was astonished by the fearfulness I saw among the women in the program. Twenty years later I would see that I was just as fearful, and had been all along. I was afraid to tell the truth, to be known or loved or appreciated, to be touched or caressed. I was afraid of advice even when I asked for it. 

Alas, there are cicadas resting on her veil and nose!

If Jesus does nothing else for us, he delivers us from fear. Christian history is filled with men and women of courage. Speaking out against injustice, setting out for the unknown, exploring unspeakable mysteries, they have ushered the mercy of God into laws, economics and science -- even warfare. They have shown us The Courage to Be, and there is no other way to live.