Readings: Prv 31:10-13, 19-20, 30-31; 1 Thes 5:1-6; Mt 25:14-30
“Charm is deceptive and beauty fleeting.”
The Book of Proverbs offers this
as advice for finding a wife,
and it is not bad advice.
In fact, it’s pretty good advice
for finding a husband as well.
Childhood tales of a happily ever after
with a Prince Charming
or a Sleeping Beauty
may have lodged deep in our psyches,
and good looks and smooth talk
can give us a momentary romantic thrill,
but over time looks fade,
and the challenges of daily life
are not typically met
by sweet nothings
whispered in our ears.
Far better, Proverbs tells us,
to find someone
who has practical skills
and a generous heart,
someone who possesses inner beauty
that time cannot bear away.
The Book of Proverbs offers this
as advice for finding a wife,
and it is not bad advice.
In fact, it’s pretty good advice
for finding a husband as well.
Childhood tales of a happily ever after
with a Prince Charming
or a Sleeping Beauty
may have lodged deep in our psyches,
and good looks and smooth talk
can give us a momentary romantic thrill,
but over time looks fade,
and the challenges of daily life
are not typically met
by sweet nothings
whispered in our ears.
Far better, Proverbs tells us,
to find someone
who has practical skills
and a generous heart,
someone who possesses inner beauty
that time cannot bear away.
This, of course, is not just
good advice for seeking a spouse;
it’s also good advice for living a life.
For experience tells us
that time runs in only one direction,
and as it runs it takes its toll
on the superficially charming
and the passingly beautiful.
And our faith tells us
that time itself will one day end,
that “the day of the Lord will come
like a thief at night,”
and that we will not be judged
on the basis of our charm and beauty,
but on what use we have made of the time
that God has entrusted to us.
Like the master in the parable,
God has given us a measure of time,
and on the day of Christ’s return
we will have to give an accounting
of how we have spent that time:
whether we have hidden it away
in a futile attempt to preserve it,
or have taken the risk of spending it
in service to God’s kingdom,
reaching out our hands to the poor,
and extending our arms to the needy.
We know our time is limited.
We believe we will be asked
for an accounting of that time.
Why, then, do we not feel
more urgency about our lives?
Why do we continue to say,
“peace and security”
as the tumultuous day
of Christ our Master
draws ever nearer?
Why do we dig a hole in the ground
and bury our lives beneath trivialities,
which may be charming and beautiful
but which time bears inexorably away?
This is a question that I ask myself.
If I truly believe the things I say that I believe—
things that I say every week in the creed,
things like “he will come again in glory
to judge the living and the dead
and his kingdom will have no end”—
why then does my life look
pretty much like the lives of those
who do not believe this?
Why, if I am a child of light and day,
do I live my life like a child of darkness and night?
I don’t mean by this that I am some great sinner;
in fact, my sins are somewhat embarrassingly mediocre.
No, to live like a child of darkness and night
is simply to live a life of drowsy indifference,
a life that might have a kind of
superficial charm and beauty,
but which lacks a sense of urgency,
lacks a sense that eternal life itself is at stake
in what transpires in this brief span of time
that God has entrusted to me.
Why is God not at all times my top priority?
As one of the early desert fathers put it,
“Why not be utterly changed into fire?”
This is one of the great mysteries of the spiritual life.
What is holding me back from living a life
like St. Francis of Assisi or St. Ignatius Loyola,
like St. Teresa of Calcutta or St. Oscar Romero,
like venerable Mother Mary Lange
or servant of God Dorothy Day?
How can I see the power of God at work in them
and not want God to work in me in that same way?
But I do want God to work in my in that way.
And I suspect you do too.
We human beings, however,
are complicated animals.
We are somehow completely captive
to deceptive charm and fleeting beauty
even as we feel an urge
toward a goodness that is true
and a beauty that is eternal.
We say to ourselves “peace and security,”
even as we suspect that the Lord is coming
to overturn our lives.
We bury our time beneath trivialities
even as we long to hear those words,
“Well done, my good and faithful servant.”
How do I let the part
that hungers for holiness
direct my life,
and not the part
that drowses in indifference?
And I suspect you do too.
We human beings, however,
are complicated animals.
We are somehow completely captive
to deceptive charm and fleeting beauty
even as we feel an urge
toward a goodness that is true
and a beauty that is eternal.
We say to ourselves “peace and security,”
even as we suspect that the Lord is coming
to overturn our lives.
We bury our time beneath trivialities
even as we long to hear those words,
“Well done, my good and faithful servant.”
How do I let the part
that hungers for holiness
direct my life,
and not the part
that drowses in indifference?
Alas, I fear I don’t have an answer.
Like I said, we’re complicated animals.
But I do know this:
I know we must lean
upon the grace that comes to us
through Jesus Christ.
I know we must pray that his grace
would grow in us a yearning for him,
a hunger for his holiness,
a longing for the day of the Lord,
the day when Christ will speak to us
the truth about our lives.
I know we must pray
that these will not have been lives
of deceptive charm and fleeting beauty
but lives utterly transformed
by the fire of divine love.
I know we must pray that God,
who is merciful,
might have mercy on us all.
