19th Sunday C,
It’s astonishing to realize
the great latitude God has given each of us to form his own life. Our lives, to
some degree, come to us like a mound of wet clay from which we impose our
shape, a form, giving us a distinctive individuality. From way back in our
childhood, what we have been doing or haven’t been doing has determined who we
now are. When looking back, everyone can have regrets over some of those key
and formative moments where we might have done “otherwise” than what we did and
thereby have changed the course of our lives. Although this applies to all
aspects of life that are in one’s control, this is of capital importance in the
moral life. The evils we have done and the good omitted can’t be
recalled for another opportunity; they have worked their weal or their woe. If
we had no Christian faith, that’s just how things would stand: there would be
regret without any comprehension of the ‘usefulness’ of the evils we had done.
Now I know this sounds rather bold–to say that our past sins may have been useful–but
there is no other way, it seems to me, to consider them in the light of our
Catholic faith. According to the Providence of God, human malice must ultimately
serve a good purpose and, although it is rightly what it is–namely bad, God has
arranged it so that from man’s evildoing good must inevitable come. God’s
goodness simply can’t be thwarted by no-matter-how-much wickedness we are able
to contrive (although, let it be said, every evil deed will receive its just
punishment).
Our Lord likened our
situation in the world to that of household servants in charge of their master’s
affairs. He puts them in place while giving them a large measure of freedom to
do as they will. They may act justly, as they know the master-God expects of
them, or they turn from his intentions, acting contrary, being negligent,
indolent, or causing disruption of the harmony, order and tranquility that the
master had established in the beginning.
It’s a bit frightening, I
say, that we are given so much freedom, while God is, so to say, absent, on
leave from our lives. Even though we know full well that there will be a time
of reckoning, that we will not have the last laugh, yet even so, as soon as God
isn’t looking–or so we think–we like to try our hand at misbehaving. Whatever
is the matter with us that we should be so stupid, and to be so bold, as to
step out of line and risk our whole-entire-future-welfare for the sake of some
sin while our Lord turns His back just for a moment (or so it seems)?
The end of the parabolic
story recounts the return of the master and the time for settling the score. I
made reference to the fact that God always wins, that is to say, that His
goodness can’t be conquered by human sin, no matter how many or how grave the
sins may be. But, by insisting on God being the inevitable winner, I don’t mean
to say that God’s going to bring everyone to heaven in the end (that’s not
reality, but the happy ending of many-a fairytale: pure fabrication, just as a
good fable ought to be), but I mean that God will reward the repentant and the
faithful but punish the unrepentant wicked. Here’s a point we don’t make too
often, but one which bears reflection: if men will not accept God’s mercy and
forgiveness in this life (after abandoning their sins), they will be forced to
accept His wrath in the final tally. It is good that God punishes the
sinner: this is a proof of His justice–a perfection of His, without
which He would not be God.
If that’s how things are–or,
rather, how things will be–then we can say confidently that it would be better
for us if our power of choice were taken away. And indeed, that’s the
truth. (By contrast, we wouldn’t be human without having the power of will,
but we would get along much better without the power of choice. I use these
words of ‘choice’ and ‘will’ in distinction to each other, although they are
often used synonymously.) Will means the freedom to choose only good; choice is the counterfeit freedom that would
negate goodness by departing from it. Our most fervent prayer, then, ought to
be something like this: “O God, grant that I may never exercise the power of
choice, but only will to agree in all things with Your divine will.” Freedom,
happiness, and salvation amount to one thing only: the adjustment of our wills
to God’s will. But, since no one (the Blessed Mother excepted)
has willed perfectly and consistently, our wills are always in need of
calibration, of realignment. We need to recall here another truth of our faith–one
which I reviewed in my sermon last Sunday–namely, that
our ordinary, usual and natural way of being human is not to do the
right thing but the evil thing. We have all inherited the inclination towards
evil. Therefore, it’s so foolish to say things such as “I’m basically a good
person” (not only foolish, but also embarrassingly braggart). The truth is that
we are all sinners, some of us obstinately and unremorsefully so, and the rest
of us in a mode of recovery. But let’s not speak with arrogant self-confidence
lest we turn the proverb against ourselves: ‘pride goes before a fall.’ If we
have done anything good, we should thank God for having come to our aid, making
it possible for us to do the good.
In the terms of the parable, we are servants of the Lord. Each has work to do for his master. The reading of this story should remind us to stop the nonsense, the idleness, and the downright badness of our poor service and straighten out while we have the time.