YOU EARNED IT! -- OR NOT?

Earlier this week we heard at mass the parable of the vinedressers (Mt 20:1-16). You  may remember the story: The owner hires workers for his vineyard; some start early in the morning and work all day, while others are hire at various later time during the day, so that some work only an hour or so. The problem, you remember comes when the workers who were hired first for the agreed-upon wage of one denarius, see that the men who had worked only one hour were being paid one denarius and so they, who had worked all day, expected to receive a lot more. But they are upset when they are paid the denarius that they had agreed upon. 

Our sense of justice finds this parable a little difficult to understand. It doesn't seem fair that the master should pay all the workers the same wage at the end of the day. One takeaway from this story is that God's ways are mysterious, and that lots of times it seems that God is being unfair The only counter to this accusation is the belief that "God's ways are  not our ways, nor are our ways his." We have to walk by faith and not by human sight.

But as I meditated on this parable the other day, I found myself pushing back against the idea of thinking of myself as a laborer working for a "negotiated wage" (the original word in Greek is "misthos," "the amount offered for services or paid for work done.")  in order to "earn my salvation." My faith tells me that I have been saved by grace, by God's gratuitous gift. I have to use  my free will to accept and cooperate with the Gift, but in the end it's all gift.

Earlier in this same gospel there is a story where the idea of earning a payment comes up:

When you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, who love to stand and pray in the synagogues and on street corners so that others may see them. Amen, I say to you, they have received their reward. But when you pray, go to your inner room, close the door, and pray to your Father in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will repay you. (Matt 6:5-6)

What seems revealing is that in this passage, when Jesus says three times that the hypocrites have "already received their reward/payment" the gospel writer uses the word "misthos" that we saw above in the story of the vinedressers who are paid their just misthos.

But, interestingly, what Jesus promises to those who pray in secret and give alms or do works of charity in secret, is not that the Father will pay them a misthos, but that the Father will "reward" them -- but now it's a new verb, based on the word "to give." What the latter will receive is a gift from the Lord, not something they've "earned."

It may be that I'm making too much of this difference between the two Greek verbs: between the hypocrites' "earning a wage" and the virtuous ones' "being given a gift," but Matthew must have had a reason for making that distinction all three times. In any case, it made for a good meditation, so I'm sharing it with you.

Lord, we ask that we may always cooperate with your grace so that one day we may share fully in your divine Presence. Amen.

RUNNING TOWARD GOLIATH

A couple of days ago I was reading the story of David and the Philistine giant Goliath. The famous tale tells of how the two mismatched warriors

 stood opposite one another at a distance and traded threats and insults in a kind of preliminary ritual. Then, when the ritual shouting was over, the writer tells us "David ran quickly toward the battle line to meet the Philistine." (1 Sam. 17:48)

When I read this verse I was reminded that I'm not very good at "running toward the battle line" in a potential conflict situation. I'm one of those folks who tries to avoid conflict whenever possible. Life, however, presents me with plenty of situations in which I have to face a problem or a person that I would really prefer to avoid.

During the Easter season the readings at mass present us every day with tales of various apostles defying the authorities in order to preach the Gospel, of their being thrown in jail and scourged and persecuted. Yet in the face of all this they continue to spread the Good News. Running toward the fight, just like David. 

Today is the feast of Saint Catherine of Siena, a religious, mystic and (of all things)an activist. At the time, the pope was residing in the imposing "Palace of the Popes" in Avignon, not in Rome. Catherine, in the midst of her profound mystical experiences, felt called to go to Avignon and try to convince the pope to return to Rome. (Her appeal fell on deaf ears at the time.) She got involved in various disputes within the Church as well as in political disagreements. She never seemed to be cowed by men of power and authority whom she thought needed to be confronted.

In reflecting on Catherine's approach to life, I saw right away the source of her remarkable courage: Her intense, intimate inner life with God. She never acted on her own initiative, but in response to what she saw as God's will for her. She was confident that the Lord was supporting her all the time. 

David, too, was confident that God would support him in his fight against Goliath, because Goliath had dared to insult the armies of the God of Israel. So it wasn't really David's fight, it was the Lord's. 

And what about those fearless preachers in the early Church? They had the same source of courage: The Holy Spirit had captivated their hearts and minds, so their egos were not involved in their work: This was entirely the work of the Lord; so they could hand over everything to God including especially, their worries.

There's a good lesson for me in these figures, David, the apostles and St. Catherine of Siena. When I find myself lacking the courage to face a difficult situation, I can imitate their example and call on the Lord and turn the conflict over to Him. Why should I have to face this problem on my own when the Lord keeps offering to take my cares upon Himself? Why am I so slow and so stubborn?

A famous quote from St. Catherine is:

"Be who God meant you to be and you will set the world on fire."

I think I'll pray to St. Catherine for some help in learning to let go of who I want to be so I can be who God meant me to be!  

MEASURE, MEASURE

 Measure, Measure, Measure

This all began Thursday morning when I started preparing a homily on the day's readings  I decided toconcentrate on this verse, "The measure with which you measure will be measured out to you (Mk 4:24)". Then, looking for an angle for a homily I went to the passage in the Greek and was immediately captivated by Mark's way of putting the statement. The Greek metron means a unit of measurement of length or volume, often translated "a measure." So, if you pardon my Greek, here's how the sentence reads in the original Greek: "metro metreite metrethesetai..." An impressive rhetorical feat that really focusses you on the subject at hand: "measure measure measure." The word play worked on me right away, and I began asking myself questions.

Do I forgive others with the same generosity as I expect to receive from God? Do I overlook the mistakes and weaknesses of others with the same wideness of compassion that I hope to receive from God? I thought of the hymn by Father Frederick Faber, which is worth quoting in its entirety here:

1 There’s a wideness in God’s mercy,

like the wideness of the sea.

There’s a kindness in God’s justice,

which is more than liberty.

The Return of the Prodigal

2 There is welcome for the sinner,

and more graces for the good.

There is mercy with the Savior,

there is healing in his blood.

3 But we make God’s love too narrow

by false limits of our own,

and we magnify its strictness

with a zeal God will not own.

4 For the love of God is broader

than the measures of the mind,

and the heart of the Eternal

is most wonderfully kind.

5 If our love were but more simple,

we should rest upon God’s word,

and our lives would be illumined

by the presence of our Lord.

Does my mercy look like God's -- measureless, boundless as the sea? Or do I stingily dole out my forgiveness and mete out my compassion to my brothers and sisters. "Mete out" must come from Marks' "metron" = I  measure it out carefully, as if I have only a limited supply of compassion to give. Where did I ever get that idea from? Surely not from Jesus in the gospel!

THE BROKEN THIMBLE 

A metron, a unit of measure, could be a container such as a cup, a quart bottle or a fifty-gallon drum. Years ago, after reflecting on the passage above, I put a small plastic thimble in the left pocket of my habit. Being left-handed I kept encountering that thimble at some inconvenient times, i.e. when I was about to return a harsh word for some remark made to me, or when I was in the midst of unfairly  judging the motivation of a student or a brother. The little plastic thimble was an eloquent reminder of the words of Jesus about measuring out my mercy, my empathy and my compassion. Until the day I accidentally sat on it and it broke. 

 You might think that tis is the end of the thimble story. But no. It's the start of a new lesson: The broken thimble can no longer be a metron, it can't measure anything Aha! It's just like God! Go back and read verse 3 and 4 of Fr. Faber's hymn above and you'll see what I mean. 

The broken thimble that could no long mete out love by the thimbleful was a much more eloquent reminder of how God wants me to live. I hope I've internalized that thimble by now, and can spread a little better, the message of God's measureless mercy.

MY TALENTED CO-WORKER

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Early this morning I was in church meditating on the gospel for today's mass, the story of the three servants whose master gave each of them a certain number of "talents" to take care of while he was away. (In Greek, "talenton" refers to a certain large sum of money, but, because of this parable, it has come, in modern languages, to refer to various gifts or "talents" that we're born with.)  

As I usually do when I know the biblical story by heart and it seems to be getting stale, I looked up the text in the original Greek, where I invariably unearth some hidden treasure to reflect on. I wasn't disappointed this time.

The servant with the five talents took them and "invested" them. The Greek verb here is based on the Greek root "erg," which refers to the notion of "work." You may remember that physical scientists use "erg" to mean a unit of work. The servant, Jesus is telling us, put his five talents to work! So there was a challenging insight: Whatever gifts the Lord has given me, whether "talents" or powerful experiences or special people in my life, the Lord intends me to "put them to work," the way the servant in the parable did. I immediately thought of some recent experiences I've had and a couple of special friends, in terms of "How might the Lord want me to use these for the benefit of other people?" In ten days I'll be back in my role as sophomore Religion teacher, where I can certainly put to use most of the graces I've been enjoying recently. And then there are the five junior monks that I'm in charge of; they ought to be able to profit from whatever gifts I've been given.

Timothy, God's co-worker

But something still seemed to be missing when I looked at my "talents" this way. Then, true story, as I thought about that verb "to put to work," I remembered another word based on the root "erg" that had caught my attention earlier in the week, and which I'd noted in my prayer journal. I opened my journal to this past Thursday and found this verse from I Thessalonians, 3:2: "and so we sent Timothy our brother and co-worker with God." There was that root again, -erg, only this time it had a prefix, "syn," meaning "with." Timothy was a synergon,  a  "co-worker" with God in the preaching of the gospel. Timothy was putting his talents to work, like the servant in the parable, but he wasn't working alone: God was working alongside of him! 

"Well done, good and faithful servant."

I was really encouraged by that image: God has given me all of these gifts (another word for "graces"), including my talents, my friends, and my experiences, and is inviting me to put them to work; but the Lord promises to work right beside me. So, at times when I'm getting weary, I can glance around me and see Jesus hard at work beside me making sure that my efforts are fruitful and my talents are profitable.

This certainly bodes well for Judgement Day, when the Master will ask for an accounting of what I've done with my five talents.

SCARCITY OR ABUNDANCE (1)?

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I'm reading and truly enjoying Richard Rohr's "Things Hidden: Scripture as Spirituality."  The following paragraphs are from his discussion of grace:

Unless and until you understand the biblical concept of God's unmerited favor, God's unaccountable love,... most of the biblical text cannot be interpreted or tied together in any positive way. It is, without doubt, the key and the code to everything transformative in the Bible. 

In fact, people who have not experienced the radical character of grace will always misinterpret the meanings and the direction of the bible.The Bible will become a burden and obligation more than a gift. 

Grace cannot be understood by any ledger of merits and demerits. It cannot be held to any patterns of buying, losing, earning, achieving or manipulating, which is where, unfortunately, most of us live our lives. Grace is, quite literally, "for the taking." It is God eternally giving away God -- for nothing -- except the giving itself. I believe grace is the life energy that makes flowers bloom, animals lovingly raise their young, babies smile and the planets remain in their orbits -- for no good reason whatsoever -- except love alone.

Abundance, largesse, is the spiritual name of the game, "full measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over and pouring into your lap (Luke 6:38). Grace will always be experienced as more than enough instead of a mere survival mode. If there is not grace to a situation, it does not really satisfy or give any deep joy.

The ego does not know how to receive things freely or without logic. It prefers a worldview of scarcity, or at least quid pro quo, where only the clever win. It likes to be worthy and needs to understand in order to be able to accept things. That problem, and its overcoming, is at the very center of the gospel plot line.


I've been thinking a lot about the contrast he draws in the book between the worldview of scarcity and the worldview of abundance. According to the former, there is only so much grace to go around, so we have to scramble to earn our share; God has only so much forgiveness to dispense, so we have to work hard to earn it; God's patience has a limit, too, as does his love. This makes for a religion of fear, of measuring, of feverish effort to placate God and find ways to keep him pleased with us. I'm afraid that some of this sounds like the religion many of us were brought up in.

On the other hand, a worldview of abundance sees that God's love has no limits, his grace is a superabundant gift that is freely given rather than earned, his forgiveness, too, know no bounds. Many of us are very uneasy with this way of seeing God. We're more comfortable with a God who feels and acts like we do: that is, a God who keeps score, who records every misstep of ours so that he can punish us for it long after we've completely forgotten it and moved on. We want a God who is just: who doesn't love bad people, who only loves certain people (members or our particular church or religion, for example) and who detests drug addicts, and people of a different sexual orientation, and so on. For some reason, many people seem more comfortable with a God whose love has limits.

Tomorrow's gospel tells the story of Jesus' first miracle according to John, the changing of water into

wine. Notice that Jesus makes more wine than the entire village could use in weeks. John doesn't call this a miracle but a "sign." A sign, among other things, that the new era being initiated by Christ, will be one of abundance, not scarcity. Uh-oh! That will pose a problem for those who want a scarcity-based God who makes you earn his love, that is, for those whose religion is based on a ledger of merits and demerits, of buying, earning, achieving or manipulating. 

Be prepared for what happens in the rest of John's gospel: the woman taken in adultery isn't condemned, and Jesus, hanging on the cross, says "Father, forgive them!" Be prepared for Jesus to ask if he can wash your feet. Be prepared for him to challenge you to "love one another as I have loved you!" That last one is a switch from our idea that God loves people the way we love others: with restrictions of all sorts.

The story of Jesus changing water into all of that extra wine welcomes us into God's world, where it's all about infinite abundance rather than carefully measured scarcity.