A kind of confession, a kind of revelation

 (this is a scene from a story I am working on)

“I know. I know, my boy.  So it seems. Hopeless.  But think of this. When Abraham was about to lose everything, God sent an angel to comfort him and stop his hand. When Moses was cast into the desert, a burning bush appeared to him and when Job was utterly lost and without hope –even from his friends—what happened?”

“What?”

“God answered him.  Not in words, not in reasons, but by revelation. God revealed Himself to Job. That was His answer. Job was a good man who suffered unjustly –we would say—suffered not because he had done anything wrong, but simply because bad things happened to him.  And what was the result, my dear?”

“Yes.”

“What was the result?”

“Yes.” Henry felt his chest begin to tremble. The sense of emotion and anxiety and dread and a sudden euphoric joy overwhelmed him. His voice broke as he repeated, “Yes.”

“Oh dear. Yes. You’re right. It was something beyond. A vision of God’s splendor. You’ve heard people speak of the transcendent, haven’t you?  Yes. Dear me. I know you have. You’re not a fool. I know that.  But, do you understand? God didn’t answer Job in human terms. Not in the way that Job and his friend were thinking of an answer. No. They were all good men, so to speak. Don’t you imagine? They all had good intentions. But God said to Job: Gird up your loins, and then as… well, by way of… yes, well, then He… what does God do? He… well, He challenges Job. But, you understand. Don’t you, my dear? You understand God wasn’t being mean. He wasn’t belittling Job.  No. No. Dear me. God doesn’t work that way. He was simply, and transcendently –yes. Yes. Very transcendentally… revealing Himself in all His splendor… all His glory.  Think about those images: the storehouse of the snow, the pedestals of the earth, the great and terrible behemoth –Who can put a hook in his nose?—and the birthing of the gentle mountain goat… the womb of the seas, telling the water it may come this far and no more… Do you understand? It’s all so amazing and wonderful. It’s all so awesome in the actual sense of that word. Not like the kids would say: an awesome movie! You know? But awesome in the sense of, well… awe inspiring. Truly awe inspiring. And what happens? What does Job do?”

“He places his hand over his mouth…”

“Yes. Yes. That’s right and he says though I spoke before I will not speak again. He is truly and utterly…”

“Yes…” Henry whispered.

“Yes. Yes. That’s it.  People often think this is because Job realized he shouldn’t challenge God. He shouldn’t ask God to defend Himself.  But that’s all wrong. People often mistakenly say that the answer Job gets is that things are too big for people, even someone as great as Job, to understand. As if God were chastising Job and putting him in his place.  As if God were saying to Job: what right have you to question me?  But Job isn’t a book about an inscrutable God and His unfathomable ways.  It is a book about suffering –though ultimately, you see, not about misery—No. No.  It’s about the power of suffering. The –what does Peter call it? …the refiner’s fire. Job endures the refiner’s fire. Unjust sufferings, seemingly endless miseries, and never learns why… and yet in the end what happens?”

Henry simply stared, unable to speak.

“He gets a glimpse of the truth; of God’s glory.  Don’t you see?”

“Yes.” He whispered.

“Is it possible? Is it possible, my dear friend, that God reveals Himself through His cross? Through the cross we come to understand God. Through our own part in that cross we come to understand Him; not intellectually. I don’t mean that. But to –in a way—taste a moment of His –what? Glory? I think taste might be a better word because we don’t really think of understanding a cheeseburger, but when we taste it we know what it is and we even know something of its splendor. If it’s a good one, of course. I have to say I do like a good cheeseburger. Yes. Ruby Red. Oh, the peanuts. Yes. Oh dear. Oh dear. I miss Ruby Reds.”

Henry chuckled. “Yes, Father. Me too.”

“I just… oh dear, me.  But. Do you understand what I am trying to say? I am trying to say that perhaps the story of Job isn’t about the suffering itself but about the experience; and in the end --do you see?—it’s about what comes of it.  Is it possible, dear dear Henry. I know I’m not supposed to know who you are, but you know I do. I’m sorry.  I do.  Is it possible that what you are going through, and of course it is a kind of crucible, I know that. I know. Yes. I know.  Oh dear… But is it possible that God is trying to reveal Himself to you? through this? Through your wife’s suffering. Through your job? Through your struggle? Even and maybe especially through your brother. Oh, dear Henry. You are Job.  If ever I knew one, you...  I pray for you often. Daily. I do. But, am I just like one of Job’s friends? Am I just a foolish old priest making pompous statements about things I don’t understand? Oh, Henry. I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Don’t listen to me. What do I know about wives and sufferings. I was an only child and now I’m an old priest. And you, you my son… I think you are a saint. In the making, at least. Oh dear. Dear. Dear, me. I’m sorry. Sometimes I just say things. I don’t know why.  Do you pray to Joseph? Pray to Saint Joseph. If anyone will understand your troubles, it will be him. Pray to him now. As your act of contrition. Please. Let us do this together. Both of us.”

The stone the builders rejected

“Why have you broken down the walls,

so that all who pass may pluck its fruit?”  --Psalm 80: 13

One of my favorite psalms is Psalm 80 with that great image of the vine brought out of Egypt. As the psalmist tells it, the vine grows and thrives and begins to tower over the trees and spread to the sea, even casting its shadow over the mountains.  Under God’s care, that vine is doing pretty darned well.  Then there is that abrupt change, as the psalmist cries out:  Why then have you broken down its walls? Now, everyone who passes by can pluck its fruit! By golly, even the beasts of the fields and the boars of the forest eat its fruit and ravage the vine, Oh Lord!  Why would you do this, God?  Why would you build something up and then just pull away Your protection and let it be ravaged and torn down and even despised and rejected?  Why?

And with this past Sunday’s reading from Matthew we hear a possible answer.

“Have you never read in the scriptures: the stone that

the builders rejected has become the cornerstone; this was

the Lord’s doing, and it is amazing in our eyes.” (Mt. 21:42)

Yes. It is amazing in our eyes. We who long for success and smooth sailing and promotion after promotion as confirmation of our actual value –we who lick the earth (to paraphrase another psalm), we who cannot imagine success without some kind of pleasure –at least as our reward.  It is amazing to us that the one rejected could possibly become anything, let alone the cornerstone. Truly amazing. Yet, it is the Lord’s doing. And perhaps we should remember –often it seems to be a singular mark of how He works.  The one who is rejected, who is denied, who is ridiculed –that one becomes the cornerstone.

And so we look again at the vine from the psalm.  It is ravaged and plucked by any and all who pass.  Why would God let such a thing happen?  Is it possible that the answer is to make cornerstones?  Think of Christ on the cross: He is dying a failure and a ridiculous fool to those with any power.  They laugh and taunt Him. Even one of those dying with Him cannot resist the desire to pluck at what remains of His early dignity:

If you really are the Messiah, save yourself and us! (cf LK 23:39)

But that isn’t how God works.  God makes His cornerstones out of the stones the builders reject, and to prove that –Jesus must feel the utter rejection of feeling abandoned even by God.

“Why have you broken down the walls?”

“So that all those who pass by may pluck and ravage My vine…”

It seems to me that Jesus is teaching us something about recognizing God’s amazing hand in what looks to us (and the world) like failure.  When we feel plucked and ravaged and rejected, perhaps we should take heart and trust that God is working on us. He is forming us and shaping us and turning us into cornerstones. That may not make the rejection feel any less painful, but it may be some consolation to know that perhaps this is how He builds His kingdom.

But now I wonder –does that mean any time I fail, I am being formed into a cornerstone?  Possibly… but when I lean over to kiss my wife and she says, “Honey, please! Not right now…”  What kind of cornerstone does that make me? One with garlic breath?

The parable of the wages: envy & the generosity of God

“These last ones worked only one hour,
and you have made them equal to us
who bore the burden of the day and the heat…”
--Matthew 20: 1-16

Is Heaven a place of reward where if we have faith and if we live right we will receive our prize –our just wage?  Is that what this parable is about? Or is Christ teaching us something else? Something about the Kingdom of God that transcends our idea of “reward?”

Sunday at mass, the priest spoke of Heaven as the just wages of those who have faith, and then he kind of wandered off on a tangent about John Wayne (yes –that John Wayne) having a death-bed conversion.  And there was a brief interlude in his homily about death-bed conversions and how that is all it takes to earn your reward, like those laborers who came only at the last hour and yet received a full wage.   This insight, troubles me.  Not that it isn’t true, but that it feels like the wrong approach to the lesson at hand. For instance, if a death-bed conversion is all it takes to earn an eternal reward in Heaven –why on earth should I bother with morality and devotion and self-sacrifice –especially in my adolescences, and then there’s my twenties and thirties –when I’m trying to explore and experience life (and maybe forties and fifties, when it’s time to savor some of… oh dear…)? Anyway, shouldn’t I just wait for my death-bed and offer myself to Christ then?  To paraphrase Jesus, there’d be a lot more celebrating in heaven with the conversion of such a sinner (cf. Luke 15:7)!  So, it seems like a win-win!  And yet, I know that this isn’t the right approach.

Do you see why this parable has always troubled me?

There is something valid in the complaints of the workers who have worked in the heat of the day.  They have borne the brunt of the work, and the owner will earn the better part of his profit due to their effort. And yet, of course, the owner is right: they have no reason to complain. They received the wages they agreed to.  Still… something else seems to be happening here. Which, of course, is why I am still writing.

If we come at this parable from a different point of view, we might learn something not only about the question of laborers, vineyards and rewards, but also –and more importantly—about the Kingdom of Heaven. 

For the kingdom of heaven is like unto a man
that was a householder, who went out early
in the morning to hire laborers into his vineyard. –Matthew 20:1

This is a story not about just wages, or generosity or envious workers; it is about the Kingdom of Heaven.  To me this is key. We are getting a glimpse of Heaven through the words of Jesus. Heaven is a place of generosity, and envy has no place in Heaven, that is another of the key lessons I think we can all agree on.  But, for me, that envy is still an important part of this story.  And why is that envy so important? Because through the laborer’s envy we catch a glimpse of where the Kingdom of Heaven isn’t found.  Clearly, it isn’t in the wages.  And so, we must ask ourselves what image of the Kingdom of Heaven is Jesus offering us here?  I propose that it has something to do not with the wages, and not with the number of hours the laborers work in the vineyard, but instead with our acceptance of the call. 

I think Jesus is showing us that the Kingdom of Heaven isn’t about a reward we receive either for a life lived well or for a death-bed conversion.  If the Kingdom of Heaven is a reward that we receive at the end of our life, then we are back to the question of: why bother with morality or justice or sacrifice during the 4 score years allotted us? Why not wait and claim your golden ticket during your last hours? Life will be easier, and you get the same wage as those who fasted and prayed every day for 75 years –so, why not?  Why not? Because the reward isn’t paid at the end, perhaps it isn’t paid at all.  What if our focus on the laborers and the wages was all wrong to begin with?  What if the Kingdom of heaven was like a man who went out and called people to work in his vineyard?  What if the Kingdom of Heaven isn’t symbolized by the wages but by the call?  And what if the laborers who are being envious are not simply a portrait of people who missed the point, but a portrait of Christians who missed their call?

Why should we take up our cross and follow Christ?  Because if we do, if we endure this suffering now, we will receive a great reward at the end?  Maybe… But what if it’s because that is the reward? What if the reward is the Cross?  

“Blessed are you when they revile and persecute you,

and say all kinds of evil against you falsely for My sake.

Rejoice and be exceedingly glad, for great is your

reward in heaven…” –Matthew 5: 11-13

What if our reward for a faithful life lived well isn’t eternal streets of gold, harp music and an all-you-can-eat buffet that always has fresh crab-cakes and plenty of shrimp?  What if our reward is found in living that life?  What if the real lesson of this parable isn’t that we shouldn’t question the generosity of God, but that we need to learn to recognize it?  Whether you are waiting for a death-bed conversion or going to mass every morning, I’m saying: don’t wait around in hopes of some future reward?  The reward is at hand. Seize it. Live it.  If you look closely at the model of Jesus, I think you will see: the reward isn’t in the wages –it is in the life; it is in the laboring; just as the glory of God was revealed not on a throne, but on the cross.  The workers who were envious were wrong, not because they wanted more than the workers hired at the end of the day, but because they were too blind with envy to see what they had already received. They had been given a full day in the vineyard. A whole day working for God. If you had the choice, where would you rather be? Standing around on a street corner waiting to be called? Or working in the vineyard of the Lord?  What if the generosity the landowner speaks of isn’t just revealed by the denarius he pays to the late workers; what if it also found in the call he gives the first?