What will you do? A reflection on Psalm 98 and the Parable of the Laborers in the Vineyard (for 25th Sunday in Ordinary Time)

 

“Let the sea thunder, and all that it holds,

the world and all who live in it.

Let the rivers clap their hands,

and the mountains shout for joy

at the Lord’s approach, for He is coming

to judge the earth…”  --Psalm 98:7-9

 

What fascinates and delights me about this psalm is the excitement of the earth at the approach of God’s judgment.  This feel counter-intuitive. So often we are reminded, even exhorted to fear God’s wrath and beware His judgment which will –we are assured-- fall upon us like a thief in the night.

 

Recently I have been reading Jeremiah and the early chapters are all about the corruption of Israel and the coming of God’s justice; it is all warnings and woe with no hint of joy at His approach. And the key question, it occurs to me is this:

 

“But when the end comes,

what will you do?” –Jeremiah 5:31b

 

Will you clap your hands and shout for joy, or will you flee to the hills, grind your teeth, wail in fear and curse the very earth in dread and desperation. It seems to me a question of the utmost importance. For how we respond will reflect our heart and our hope—our true desire—perhaps even our fate.

 

If I clap for joy it doesn’t mean I have lived a blameless life or that I have ben faultless in my choices or actions, not even that I am not one of those corrupt officials the prophet cries out against.  But, it will reveal that even in the midst of my corruption what I really long for is the glory of God, that I am so glad that His justice is coming to put an end to even my own sin. The frustration and horrors of my own weakness and my own choices, my own selfishness and the frailty of my own flesh have overwhelmed me, but now God is coming to judge the earth and put an end to the nightmare I have made of my own life—the nightmare I could not escape on my own—and so I will clap with joy and sing out in gladness at the coming of the Lord –even from the depths of my sin—for I knew what I did was wrong, but could not stop myself on my own.

 

Is that a possible outcome, Oh Lord?

 

I hope so.

 

It seems to me, in some sense, that I see a glimpse of this in the fate of the “good thief.”

 

Now, how would you—Mr. Sutter—connect this to today’s Gospel: the parable of the laborers in the vineyard?

 

Is it possible that how they received their pay was the actual lesson of today’s Gospel?  The first laborers, who worked the longest, receive their just pay (God’s justice) with resentment, focusing not on what they themselves deserve but on what others have received. Is that not itself a kind of Hell?  To see only what others have received and see only in that an unfairness, a cause of misery regardless of what you yourself have been given? It is Hell to always be looking with envy and bitterness at the blessings of another, and never see the grace given us, blinded by resentment to the blessing (and mercy) that has been generously bestowed upon us.  That ingratitude, not God's wrath, is the true spark of Hell's miserable, endless flame.

 Sometimes it still surprises me, how much more than dreams my life can be.

 Note:

It seems undeniably true that writing is how I think and that I don’t really know what I think until I write it.

 

Thank You, Lord

let Your grace

rain over me

              keep me safe

              from temptation

and far from the quiet sin

              of envy.

 

The child Jesus as icon of reading brain

 The story of finding the young Jesus in the temple (Luke 2: 41-50) has been on my mind recently. In that story, after looking for him for 3 days, Mary and Joseph find the young Jesus sitting in the temple with the elders and what does the gospel say He was doing? He was listening to them and asking them questions (cf. Lk 2:46). It is Christ’s first encounter with the scribes and elders, and what is He doing? Not preaching or chastising, not correcting or telling them anything, but simply sitting with them, listening to them, and asking questions.
Listening and asking questions… That phrase keeps coming back to me in prayer and in meditation and even occasionally in the produce section at HEB. I think part of why this image of Christ resonates so deeply with me is because I am a librarian and in this image of Jesus I am reminded of something dear to my heart: the act of reading. What do we do when we read but listen to the voice of another, to the voice of Homer or Melville, Langston Hughes or Mary Oliver. And as we listen we might find ourselves growing curious, asking questions; Why did that happen? What does it mean? Is it true? How does it make me feel? Listening and asking questions.
Think about what the world would be like if we all did more of that. If instead of arguing or ignoring each other, we spent more time listening and asking questions, what would the world be like? And who would we be like?
Attentive, active, deep reading is a life skill like no other, it not only exposes us to ideas and art, history and imagining, but also to the practice of listening and asking questions. If we let it, it prepares us for a life of listening and asking questions. It is like Spring Training for being present to others, practice for quietly, humbly bearing witness to their story, their ideas, their feelings through patient and quiet attention. It is a life skill desperately needed today; and if we aren’t careful in this age of scrolling and streaming and AI-ing, we just might lose it and become like those idols the prophets are always talking about:

“They have ears but do not hear
and eyes yet do not see…” --Jeremiah 5:21

 

 

 

 

 

Encountering Christ in the need of others -Thoughts on "The woman at the Well" and the 3rd Sunday of Lent

 

 

“When a Samaritan woman came to draw water,
Jesus said to her: Give me something to drink.”

--John 4:7 

 Struggling this Lent to turn away from sin and return to the gospel, I am still holding on; hoping that perhaps my willingness to spend time with God’s word and in prayer will count for something against my constant hunger for distractions and my weakness with temptation. Yes, God is merciful, but I don’t want to be too presumptive.  Is that a form of pride? that hesitation to be completely dependent on the grace of God?  I wonder and I fear.  And so I am doing what I can to stay close to the well and wait for the grace to arrive? Or simply to reveal itself…

 

This past Sunday (3^rd Sunday of Lent) we heard the beautiful reading from John’s Gospel about the Samaritan woman at the well.  She encounters Christ and becomes one of the first evangelists; rushing to the village to tell everyone about this man who told her everything about herself; this man and His strange promise of “living water.”  There are many lessons we can learn from this story, from the woman’s life and actions, from the words of our Lord, from the reaction of the people in her village.  So many lessons, but listening to this story once again, I was struck by one in particular that I had never noticed before: 

 

Give me something to drink.

 

Jesus doesn’t just ask the woman politely; He tells her. Why?  To our modern ear this may sound a bit abrupt, even rude.  We teach our children to ask politely.  When a person is thirsty, we expect something like: May I have a glass of water? Please?  But instead, Jesus seems to almost command the woman to take care of His needs.  Why?  Certainly it isn’t because He can’t get water for Himself. This is a guy who can strike a rock and water would flow forth if He chose.  There has to be something more going on.  I wonder if what sounds almost like an order, is really –in fact-- an offer. But what is He offering her, perhaps the gift of His need.  And suddenly, sitting there in mass, listening to this beautiful and familiar story I could hear another lesson echoing in my head:

 

“Lord, when did we see you hungry, and give you something to eat? 
When did we see you thirsty and give you drink?” (cf. Mt. 25:31-40)

And I realized, that was it.  Here in this moment, with this Samaritan woman, in the middle of the day, sitting at this ancient well, Jesus was embodying an essential truth:

 

“In truth, I tell you, whatsoever you did for the least of these, that you did unto me.”

 

He was giving flesh to this one simple truth: whenever we serve anyone in need, we serve Christ; whenever and wherever we encounter the needs of others, we have the opportunity (quite literally) to encounter Jesus.  The opportunity to give Jesus something to drink, something to eat, clothes to wear, a caring heart, a helping hand.  Whatever you do for the least of these: sick, hungry, thirsty, prisoners, the lonely, the afflicted… That you quite literally do for (and to) Jesus.  It’s not an order, it’s an invitation. 
Looking to improve your Lent? Want to encounter Jesus face to face?  Look for someone in need. Reach out to them. Share your wallet. Share your lunch.  Share your love. Visit the sick, care for the afflicted, feed the hungry… Give Him something to drink.  It’s not rocket science… It’s just Love.