Thirty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 157

'Well done, my good and faithful servant. Since you were faithful in small matters, I will give you great responsibilities.

Come, share your master's joy.'

The Book of Genesis tells us that the Lord placed Adam and Eve in Eden as gardeners. They had work to do which, we can suppose, they found enjoyable and satisfying. Gardening looks like work to me but I am told that many people take up gardening as a labor of love. Getting their fingers in the dirt restores their sense of being Earthlings on this dynamic planet, engaged and responsible and productive. 

Adam and Eve had chores beyond gardening; they should also name the various animals and plants, an occupation still pursued by horticulturalists and zoologists. 

What they didn’t do was lay on lounges while angels peeled their grapes and plied them with kiwis from New Zealand and papayas from Chiapas. 

I hear an echo of that story in today’s gospel. When the master of those servants came home he didn’t tell them to take a six week cruise in the Caribbean or month-long hunting trip in Montana. He said, 

Well done, my good and faithful servants.

Since you were faithful in small matters,

I will give you great responsibilities.

Come, share your master's joy.

Many people suppose that heaven must be an everlasting vacation, with no difficulties, challenges, or responsibilities. It might be a city with streets of gold and ivory towers. Google will tell you that, “Heaven is a place of peace, love, community, and worship, where God is surrounded by a heavenly court and other heavenly beings.” Some men think all their needs will be satisfied by pretty little virgin girls, 

But do I want an eternity that asks nothing of me? Can I be fully human without the exercise of courage, generosity, and sacrifice. Do I want a life with no risk, where I win every hand of poker, and every game of pickleball?  

When I was a hospital chaplain I met people who spend their retirement watching television, sleeping in the same chair day and night, changing their clothes once a week (if that often), with a refrigerator stocked with beer within easy reach. They seemed to have it made in the shade, and asked nothing more of life. My sister used to work in a neighborhood bar from eight am till four pm. She had a regular clientele of retired men; their wives had driven them out of the house and they passed their days in the tavern, watching football replays year in and year out; and, one by one, disappearing. 

Everyone has their own visions of heaven, and that’s fine; but, like everything else, we should choose our visions carefully. Personally, I’d like to have a good road bike, with a no-limit credit card, smooth highways with gentle slopes, and hostels evenly spaced between idyllic destinations. But I don’t expect it. 

Saint Therese of Lisieux said she would spend her eternity doing good on the earth. I expect responsibility and challenge and I hope the Lord will always ask more of me, more than I can give, more than I can imagine giving. 

Blessed John duns Scotus, one of the most brilliant medieval theologians, taught the church that we respond to God’s grace with one of three answers: yes, no, and not yes. 

Yes is “Here I am,” which was the prayer of Abraham, Samuel, Isaiah, Jesus, Mary, and all the saints. Here I am, ready, eager, open, available, willing, generous. Just tell me what to do and I’ll throw myself at it. Do you want me to work or play, eat or sleep, run or walk, weep or laugh, sing or dance, or dance and sing? Whatever you want, Here I am! 

No is go away. I haven’t time. I’m not home. I don’t know you. I’m busy. Fuggetaboutit. Am I my brother’s keeper? 

Not yes is not not no; it is a hesitation, an unreadiness. It is a pause. Perhaps it is a request for time, for recuperation, for refreshment, for recreation that is recreating. 

I imagine heaven like being in the presence of the invisible but palpable immensity of God’s  purity, mercy, justice, kindness, and majesty while I stand back, eager to give more but frozen by my fear of losing myself completely. The Lord is a sacrificial black hole which draws everything into itself and is never satisfied, always wanting more.

 

Our saints are those men, women, and children who have stood closest to the unquenchable flame of God’s love and called us to come closer even as they wept at their failure to plunge even more deeply into God’s goodness. “Love is not loved!” Saint Francis wept, “Love is not loved!” 

I do not know what heaven is like and I suppose everyone has their own visions of heaven; but we should choose our visions carefully. We live our life in this world as we hope to discover our life in eternity. If we love God here, we’ll love God all the more in Eternal Bliss. If we ignore God here, we’ll ignore him in eternity as well; and be ignored by him, which is not a pleasant place to be. 

The blessed will enjoy the endless challenge, the same challenge we enjoy here, of being called to give more, more freely, more readily, more eagerly. 

Occasionally we’ll have to say, “not yes, not yet. I need time to recover, recreate, refresh. I want to enjoy myself and my accomplishment of being the decent human being you have created, forgiven, and restored. I want to enjoy the beauty and grandeur and wonder of a little flower, or a grand canyon, or an ocean rift, or a supernova. I need to breathe and enjoy again the cycles of inhaling, exhaling, and satisfaction; or summer, fall, winter, spring, and summer again. 

And now Lord, ask more of me, Here I am.