Tuesday of the Thirty-fourth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 504

Jesus said, "All that you see here–

the days will come when there will not be left

a stone upon another stone that will not be thrown down."

In his poem, Mending Wall, Robert Frost refers to this apocalyptic verse as he describes hunters' furious pursuit of a rabbit.

I have come after them and made repair

Where they have left not one stone on a stone,

But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,

To please the yelping dogs.

The poet's ironic observation reintroduces a complacent reader to the violent threats of scripture; we feel the terror of the quivering rabbit as we realize our own stone churches and brick homes might be destroyed by men like yelping dogs.

But he moves on to wonder if the "gaps I mean" were made by geologic forces like the swell of rain-sodden earth or continental drift. "No one has seen them made or heard them made." They're just there, like the inevitability of death and disintegration.

We can imagine the astonishment of the Galilean disciples as they toured the ancient, holy city of Jerusalem. These fishermen and local boys had never expected to travel far; now here they were gawking at the costly stones and votive offerings of the world-famous temple. There was more wealth there than they had ever imagined. This feat of human engineering amazed them; the complex organization of human skill, dedication and work seemed beyond comprehension. "What hath God wrought!" they might have cried, echoing the Book of Numbers. (It was a shout of amazement that also signaled the first Morse code message transmitted in the U.S.) Periodically, whether we're looking at the Tower of Babel or the recently dedicated statue of Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel., we're amazed by human achievements. No one can imagine what astonishing works lie in the future!

But the poet Shelley​, like Jesus, foresees an end of such accomplishments:

I met a traveller from an antique land,

Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;

And on the pedestal, these words appear:

My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;

Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

Neither the poet nor the Lord will let us forget vanity of vanities! All things are vanity!​

There is good news of a sort: the inevitable catastrophe comes with judgement! The Gospel challenges Qoheleth's profound pessimism. (As Miguel de Unamuno pointed out, true pessimism is silent. There's no point in saying anything.)

It does not mean that all human history and accomplishment are without meaning or purpose. Rather, the Lord will judge; the worth of every human act and human actor will be assessed. Today's gospel sounds as a warning but the Christian accepts it as an invitation. Life is an opportunity. We find our purpose in his company, our peace in his will.