A TALE OF TWO SONS

On Sunday, September 27, 2026, we hear the following parable:

"A man had two sons..."

Jesus said to the chief priests and elders of the people: "What is your opinion? A man had two sons. He came to the first and said, 'Son, go out and work in the vineyard today.' He said in reply, 'I will not,' but afterwards changed his mind and went.

The man came to the other son and gave the same order. He said in reply, 'Yes, sir, 'but did not go.

Which of the two did his father's will?" They answered, "The first." 

Here are are some thoughts by a respected French theologian, Yves de Montcheuil:

This parable alludes in the first place to the Jews and the Gentiles; but it also applies to each one of us we said “yes“ when we recognized the legitimacy of God‘s law and promised to submit to it; but very often we go on living as before, without troubling ourselves about the will of God. 

We think we live in the kingdom because our “yes“ was once sincere, and yet the force of daily habit, an alludes, the will of God who is calling us to the kingdom. Often perhaps his will, and our action coincide, but when a discrepancy arises between his will, and hours, it is the latter which carries the day; we obey our own wishes and whims.

Now life in the kingdom does not merely consist in putting one’s name down for it. Entry into the kingdom requires of us a continuing and living desire to accept God‘s will for us at each moment of our life. It is a “yes“ said over and over again.

In practice, though, it is our unfaithfulness which is repeated.

I was intrigued by the idea that I have both sons in myself, and hope that you, too, may find this reflection useful. 

I DON'T UNDERSTAND

Very often when someone comes to me to tell me about their suffering, about some awful thing that is happening in their life, they will say, “I don’t understand! Why would God allow this terrible thing?”

Aristotle begins one of his works with this simple statement: “All humans desire to

know.” And to me, this is exactly what gets us into trouble in our relationship with God. We want to know why God did or allowed a certain event in our lives. This is, of course, particularly troublesome when the event is a negative one. Why does God allow evil to exist in the world?

Usually that question is posed as an indirect challenge to God.  As Aristotle says, we all want to know. But, as we all have experienced, the so-called “problem of evil“ is completely unsolvable from our limited  human perspective. 

The Gospel reading for today (Sunday, September 20) presents the familiar parable about the workers in the vineyard, and that they were all paid the same wage at the end of the day, whether they had worked eight hours or only one. 

The first reading at mass prepares us to hear the parable. It’s the Lord speaking through Isaiah.  I’ve reprinted it herewith some words in bold type.:

Seek the LORD while he may be found, call him while he is near. Let the scoundrel forsake his way, and the wicked his thoughts; let him turn to the LORD for mercy; to our God, who is generous in forgiving. For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the LORD. As high as the heavens are above the earth, so high are my ways above your ways and my thoughts above your thoughts (Isaiah 55:6-9)

Now let’s return to my friend who is struggling to come to grips with some terribleevent in her life, and who complains  “I don’t understand! Why would God allow this terrible thing?” Will this passage from Isaiah be of any comfort to her? I doubt it. Her complaint, “I just don ‘t understand” is still sitting there.

We Christians, however, have a few ways of approaching the problem of evil. None of them provide “answers” or “solutions”, but rather they offer us a place to stand, a bit of perspective. At the center of the issue is the idea of “mystery.” The Lord is clear: “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways,”

I’m not God, and so shouldn't expect to grasp the mystery of God’s hidden plan. The virtue of Hope, however, is God’s gift that strengthens me to believe that God has a loving plan for the world, and that whatever things may look like to me, God's plan is working itself out in ways that I simply can’t comprehend with my limited intellect.

This won’t help my friend to “understand” anything, but it offers a place to stand, a perspective. In the end, then, I need to trust in the Lord’s goodness and wisdom and infinite Love. 

I wonder what that vineyard worker felt like as he walked away with his denarius after a full day’s work knowing that some of his fellow workers got their denarius for working only one hour. Maybe he mumbled “I just don’t understand!"

"My friend, I have done you  no wrong..."

WHERE WAS GOD ON SEPT. 11, 2001?

This past Friday, September 11, we made a good effort (somewhat successful, I think) to acquaint our 800 students with what "Nine-eleven" is all about. A colleague said to me in  a conversation that the way you can tell that this day is important is that twenty-five years later Americans over the age of thirty-five can tell you where they were on the morning of Sept. 11, 2001. 

In this post, though, I'd like to ask not "Where were you?" but rather "Where was GOD on September 11, 2001?" Countless numbers of believers have asked themselves that question, sometimes in anger, sometimes in bewilderment. I'd like to offer the following essay by a monk, Aelred Graham, excerpted from his book, Zen Catholicism. Parts of it are a bit dense, but it may be of some help to you.

Among the factors that turn the existence of suffering into a "problem," even for religious people (perhaps especially for them), is a tendency to apply to God their own notions of good and evil, right and wrong. The expectation that the Almighty will conform to a moral pattern laid down for him in advance by his creatures still endures, despite the whole weight of biblical evidence to the contrary. The assumption that if one's conscience is clear God must be on one's side explains the self-righteousness that usually characterizes this or that "crusade" -- "we" being in the right, “they” hopelessly in the wrong — in which the participants are confident that they are fighting the battles of the Lord. 

A Christian truth which, often to our great detriment, we are for some reason reluctant to face is that God is implicated in created evil. Does disaster strike a city if the Lord has not sent it? I make the light and create darkness. I make weal and create woe. I, the Lord, do all these things. These texts from the inspired scriptures are to be explained in the light of a consistent theology, but they are not to be explained away. God has created a universe in which his positive action, the generation of things, implies a corresponding negative corruption or destruction. In order that human beings may live, part of the animal and vegetative world must die. Even moral evil, ť sin, falls within the divine plan. Though sin, being a defect in a creature's will, does not require God's causality, sin could not happen unless God permitted it. God, having created a race of frail human beings, takes account of the fact that large numbers of them will prove their frailty in action. God's universe contains the built-in realities of physical and moral evil. 

A commonly felt reluctance to face the fact that evil enters into God's scheme of things is due to a mental confusion. God is supremely good, we rightly say: therefore he can have no part in evil. But the conclusion does not follow. There is a distinction to be drawn between the ontological goodness, which is one of God's attributes, and moral goodness, which is based on conformity to an external norm. God is infinitely good because he lacks nothing of being, but his actions are not regulated by any norm other than his own inscrutable wisdom. God's holiness, which means "wholeness," includes all that is positive in moral goodness as we understand it; but what he sees as beneficial to the universe as a whole may involve evil to individuals. If we are to discover our true self, which is our being as harmonized with God, then we must learn to look upon areas of evil, not with approval, but calmly and dispassionately. What God tolerates we have no business to find intolerable. Or, to state the same point in more positive terms, we should seek to become increasingly identified with the attitude of your Father in heaven, who makes his sun rise on the evil and equally on the good, his rain to fall on the just and equally on the unjust. 

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NEW WINESKINS NEEDED

Earlier this week, Jesus told two parables that warned His hearers against trying to combine the old and the new. 

They were complaining to Him that he and His followers were not strictly obeying he Jewish ritual laws. So He made it clear to them that the Good News that He was preaching was indeed something quite new. You don't put new wine in old wineskins, or the new wine will burst the wineskins.

The Gospel, He tells them is not a patch-up job of Judaism, it is not simply a reform movement. Nor can it be contained within the limits of the mosaic law.

I think we can understand what He is saying here: the Pharisees will have to let go of their cherished  system of detailed laws and observances in order to relate in a new way to the God of infinite love and forgiveness, His Abba. They have a difficult decisio9n to make.

But what about me?

Do I ever try to squeeze the gospel down to a manageable size so that I can work with it without disrupting my present comfortable way of relating to the world?

Do I ever find myself trying to contain the gospel within the limits of my own easy truce with my faults and minor venial sins?  

 

I was asking myself this question when it occurred to me that the Lord is doing

something new with our community here at Newark Abbey. With the recent death of our beloved Abbot Melvin, we are now down to 11 members. 

What if the Lord is offering our community the gift of “new wine" while we are still using the old wine skins that we’ve grown used to over the decades? Maybe we should be looking at new ways of living the gospel in our monastic life.

It seems to me that maybe we need to be open to the possibility that the Lord is doing something really new, something that can’t be contained within our present wine skins? 

Maybe we are being faced with the same challenge as those Pharisees: Maybe the Lord is not asking us to “patch up” our present way of being, but is asking us to let him do something entirely new with our community.

Actually, this has a familiar ring to some of us monks who were here when God did the same thing in 1972.

Let us all pray for one another, that all of us will be able to recognize and then face courageously whatever challenges the Lord sends our way!

CHANGE OF PLANS

In the gospel for Sunday, August 30, we see Jesus and his disciples on their way up to Jerusalem. The apostles are expecting that the journey will end with Jesus, the Messiah, being anointed as king.  

But Jesus did not come to fulfill human expectations or achieve worldly triumph.

"Get thee behind me, Satan!"

And He reveals what is actually going to happen to Him in Jerusalem. So Peter’s demand that Jesus avoid going up there to undergo such an unexpected and terrible fate is an obstacle on the way to the cross, the cross that Jesus knows He must accept. So Jesus turns and tells the disciples that they must let go of their dreams of Messianic grandeur, deny their ambitions, and prepare instead to carry their crosses. They must be willing, in fact, to give their very lives for his sake! 

They must exchange their own wills for the Father’s will just as He Himself will do in the garden of Gethsemane, and as He had taught them to pray “thy will be done.”

Paul will one day write to the Romans “offer your bodies as a living sacrifice,“ in imitation of Jesus, who was following God‘s will.
This is what Jesus continues to call his disciples to do today.

It seems that He had a pretty good idea of His Father’s will for Him. But you and I have to rely on the Holy Spirit to help us discern what is “good and pleasing to God.” (Romans, 12:1).
One good way to start our discernment might be to meditate on what happens to the apostles on the way to Jerusalem and notice how they have to begin to let go of their own plans and their own vision of the future in order to follow Jesus completely. So we ask ourselves what we may need to sacrifice in order to follow Jesus and “to do what is good and pleasing to God?”

I believe it was C.S. Lewis who once wrote something like, “If you want to see God laugh, tell him your plans.“

Because discernment is not an easy task, the Lord sends us the gift of the Spirit. The Spirit of Wisdom. Actually, I doubt that Jesus laughs at us. I picture him smiling gently as he watches us as we try to let go of our dearest hopes and plans so we can take up our cross and walk with him up to Calvary. He knows very well, of course, that once we share with Him the temporary suffering of Good Friday, we will go on to share with Him the eternal Victory of Easter in heaven.

WHO DO YOU SAY I AM?

The gospel passage assigned for this Sunday is the famous "Confession of Peter" at Caesarea Philippi (Mt. 16:13-20) in which Jesus asks his disciples "Who do people say I am?" They recount the various theories they've heard - some people say you are John the Baptist come back to life, others say some other prophet, etc.

Then, you recall, he asks the much harder question, "And who do YOU say I am?"  We can imagine the embarrassed silence, the uneasy shuffling of feet, the sidelong glances. This is an entirely different question from the previous one. Jesus is no longer asking them to be mere reporters, reciting what others are saying. The answer to this second question has to take the form of a commitment. 

So Peter, whom Matthew always portrays as the bold leader who jumps in feet first (sometimes literally), Peter takes up the challenge. Leaving aside other people's opinions (which are way off the mark anyway) Peter risks everything by stating his personal and obviously deeply held conviction: "You are the Messiah." (The Greek word is Christos, which can also be translated "the anointed one," or "the Christ.") "You are the Messiah, the Son of the Living God."

See how different this is from saying "Some people say you are the Messiah." The latter is a recitation, merely quoting others' opinions. To recite this sentence requires no commitment on the speaker's part - he or she has no stake in the situation, is not taking any risk as to the truth or falsity of the statement, nor of its consequences in their life.

WORDS THAT CHANGE THINGS

It reminds me of what linguisitic analysts call "performative language." A perfomative statement brings about a change. For example, I'm watching a baseball game on t.v. and I shout "Strike three!" as the pitch hits the catcher's glove. The umpire standing behind home plate shouts "Ball four!" His cry is essentially different from mine - it causes something to happen, it makes the pitch into "ball four" by his simply uttering it in his capacity as umpire.

Here's a second example of performative language. The bride and groom are standing at the altar and the minister says, "Do you, Charles, take Agnes to be your lawful wedded wife?" When Charles says "I do!" something happens -- his "I do" is performative - it's called a vow. It creates something that wasn't there a moment ago: a bond, a commitment, etc.

NOT "JUST SAYING"

The latest English translation of the mass texts seems to be suggesting a similar point by re-introducing the word "I" as the first word of the Creed. The Latin "credo" means "I believe," but the earliest English translators wanted to create a feeling of community and common belief, and so translated it in the plural, "WE believe in one God..." The new translation, however, by re-introducing "I" into the statement of the Creed, offers us a challenge if we are willing to accept it.

It's harder to be a mere repeater of faith statements when beginning each statement with "I believe." That pronoun offers at least a reminder that this profession of faith should not be a recitation but a commitment - similar to what Peter said, in contrast to the other disciples' simple reporting of other people's statements.

Of course I can mindlessly recite the words of the Creed at mass each Sunday, and be a mere reciter of these eternal truths without any real commitment to changing my life. But that's missing the whole point of the Creed. The official heading for the Creed in the missal is "Profession of Faith." Monks and other religious make "Profession of Vows." This is the realm of performative language. Maybe there's a message here for all of us who "profess our faith."

When I preside at mass I don't say "Let us now stand and say the Creed." Nor do I invite the congregation, "Let us now recite the Creed." I challenge the assembly and myself with the words "Let us now profess our faith." "Professing" your faith is decidedly NOT "just saying" it.

Jesus asks his disciples "Who do YOU say I am?" inviting them to commit themselves and their lives to him. The emphasis should not be misplaced so that the question reads "Who do you SAY I am?" Saying it is easy! That's not Jesus' point at all; he's not just asking his disciples (and us) to SAY something, but rather to take a leap and commit themselves (ourselves), like the groom who "says" the words "I do"  or the nun who "professes" her vows and thereby changes her life.

Think about that when you hear Jesus asking you "Who do you say I am?" Behind his question you can hear the real questions: "Are you living your faith?" "Do you act as if I am really the Messiah?"

Remember this the next time you "say the words" of the Creed: "I believe in one God....": you're not "just sayin'", you're professing your faith, you are, it seems to me, implicitly promising to act in a certain way because of those truths you're professing. Otherwise why bother professing them?

Just sayin'.
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OR AT LEAST IT'S SUPPOSED TO!

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ASSUMPTION LESSON

I first wrote this a a post for August 13, 2012. But I think it merits some more reflection on my part, and, I hope, yours as well.

QUID MIHI? 
The Latin question “Quid mihi?”, “What’s it to me?", was posed by certain non-Catholic theologians in protest when Pius XII declared in 1950 that the Assumption of Mary was a dogma of the Catholic Church: "Mary, having completed the course of her earthly life, was assumed body and soul into heavenly glory.”

When I do my daily lectio divina (reflective reading) with sacred scripture, I always ask myself "Quid mihi?": What does this reading mean for me? What is it saying to me? I think it’s a great question to ask as we celebrate the feast of Mary’s Assumption on August 15, not in protest but in an earnest effort to find some answers.

The following selection is from The Water and the Fire by Gerald Vann, O.P. The paragraph headings and any italics or emphases are mine. I hope you enjoy Father Vann’s answer to the question “What’s the Assumption to me?”

THE IMPORTANCE OF BODILINESS

The gulf between matter and spirit, between material things and the praise of God, is widening at a pace and to an extent hitherto unknown: it would be very easy to despair of this civilization of ours, very easy to despair of the future of our race, very easy to feel that, so far from marching triumphantly forward to a golden age, we are rushing headlong into an abyss; very easy to feel that our world is doomed because all the physical and material side of life must continue to drag man down and degrade him till the heavens are closed to him. But it is just at this moment that the voice of the Church comes to us like a challenge: we are on the contrary to shout aloud our belief in the dignity and holiness of material things; we are to affirm our faith and our hope in the future of man's flesh. The woman who stands in the heavens, the Mother of God, is also the mother of men, and her glory is the guarantee of theirs.
The doctrine of the Assumption is of supreme importance not only to Catholics but to all men and women because it means that there is still in the world, there will always be in the world, a voice to affirm and a power to defend the dignity and the ultimate glory of matter, of material things, of human flesh and blood, of the lovely mystery of human love, of the beauty which is the work of men's hands. There is a voice which affirms, there is a power which defends, all the material things which make life worth while; and they bid us be of good heart because we can hope in the end to achieve our own lives, full, rich, deep, unified, free, not by escaping from the flesh and material things, but by the healing and sanctifying of the flesh and material things.

In the greatest of the Church's definitions of doctrine concerning our Lady, the doctrine that she is the Mother of God, it was her Son that the Church was defending. But she is also the mother of all men; and here, in the doctrine of her Assumption, it is all her sons that the Church is defending. Just as the figure of motherhood is at the very center of the earthly history of every human soul, of the earthly history of the human race, so the figure of this Maiden-Mother is at the very center of the eternal history of individuals and of the race. If she is attacked, later on her Son will be attacked, and in the end her other children will be attacked. Men will begin by denying some part of the God-given greatness and glory; they will go on sooner or later to deny the divinity of her Son; and in the end there will be no defense for the greatness of humanity itself. The Church's voice is a challenge because, while it tells us to hope because in Mary the flesh is sanctified and glorified, material things are sanctified and glorified, it also tells us to beware because the dragon, defeated, went elsewhere to make war on the rest of her children. ...And he stood there waiting on the sea shore.

-- Gerald Vann, O.P. "The Water and the Fire" (New York, Sheed and Ward, 1961), pages 175-176. 

QUID MIHI?

In a world that seems to have lost a sense of reverence for the human body and everything related to it, the feast of the Assumption seems to have a lot to say to me. And to you, too, I hope!

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