17th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: 1 Kgs 3:5, 7-12; Rom 8:28-30; Mt 13:44-52

The story of Solomon from the Book of Kings
is reminiscent of one of those folktales
in which a magical being appears
and offers someone three wishes:
God says, “Ask something of me 
and I will give it to you.”
In folktales, this rarely turns out well.
Usually, the second and third wishes
end up being used up trying to undo
the damage wrought by the first wish,
because we human beings are not very good
at figuring out what is really valuable
or the consequences of our choices.
The things we think we want
often find a way to make us miserable,
or cause unexpected damage 
to people around us.
We choose badly
because we are congenitally foolish.

For Solomon, the problem is even worse,
since he is not given two additional wishes
with which to undo an initial foolish one.
A lot is riding on his answer.
Should he ask for the kinds of things 
that kings usually want:
a long life or riches
or the death of his enemies?
All seem desirable choices,
ways to be known far and wide
for his power and success;
ways to ensure a glorious reign.
But they all might also bring 
unforeseen consequences.
A long life might be lived out 
in pain and misery.
Riches might be stolen or incite jealousy.
The death of one’s enemies 
might just create new enemies.

So he asks instead:
“Give your servant…
an understanding heart
to judge your people 
and to distinguish 
right from wrong.”
He asks for what is truly valuable: 
a wise heart and understanding.
Only the choice of wisdom 
cannot be foolish.
And this is because, ultimately, 
in choosing wisdom we are choosing God,
whose wisdom guides all creation,
making all things work together for the good
for those who love God.

But our congenital foolishness
typically makes us seek lesser goods,
things like riches,
things like physical beauty, 
things like fame or honor or glory.
And the problem with these lesser goods
is that they are limited in their scope,
so that they put us 
in competition with each other.
However rich I am, 
there will always be someone richer;
however much looksmaxxing I do,
there will always be someone more beautiful;
however much recognition I receive,
there will always be someone more famous.
I seek the kind of fine pearls and treasures
that can be had 
only by denying them to others.
And I am haunted by the idea
that there might be 
an even better pearl
out there somewhere;
a richer treasure in some other field.
So my life becomes 
an anxious and restless competition 
for the limited goods of this passing world.

The great fourth-century Church Father,
Augustine of Hippo, 
looked at his own world,
the world of the declining Roman Empire,
and saw how the desire for power and glory 
that drove its citizens
simply ended up making them miserable
as they scrambled to dominate others,
to surpass them in wealth and beauty and fame.
The problem, he said,
was that they chose limited and passing goods
rather than goodness itself.
For only goodness itself is eternal,
and only goodness itself 
is a treasure that increases
the more that it is shared in.
Augustine wrote: “the possession of goodness 
is by no means diminished 
by being shared with a partner…; 
and one who is most willing 
to admit others to a share of it 
will have the greatest abundance 
to himself” (Civ. Dei 15.5).

The more people who share in goodness,
the more goodness there is.
The more people who share in wisdom,
the more wisdom there is.
The more people who share 
in justice and compassion,
the more justice and compassion there is.
The point is simple to grasp,
but hard to live out,
because we are congenitally foolish.
Though in the course of my life 
I have had my share of achievements,
I fixate on those who have achieved more.
Though I have riches sufficient for my needs,
I fret and worry about not having enough.
My life is like a treasure 
that I have fallen fortunately upon,
and yet I abandon it, 
worrying that there might be 
a better treasure
in some other field.
It is like a fine pearl
that I will not buy
out of fear that somewhere else
there is a finer pearl.

In my foolishness I fail to see
that God is always already 
offering me my heart’s desire
if only my heart is fixed on wisdom.
God has uncovered the treasure in the field.
God has placed the pearl in my hand.
And the price of purchase is simply
a heart given over to wisdom,
a heart that desires the highest good,
a heart that is not fearful and anxious,
a heart that is not constantly looking
at what others possess and have achieved.

That’s all it takes,
but we are congenitally foolish; 
it is a condition into which we are born.
It is for this reason that Christ,
who is Wisdom incarnate, 
has come to dwell among us
within out foolish world,
“so that he might be the firstborn
among many brothers and sisters,”
so that we might be reborn 
in the image of Wisdom itself.

Let us pray that God 
would give us a heart,
that is wise and understanding.
Let us pray that the heart of Jesus,
in whom are all treasures 
of wisdom and knowledge,
would speak to our hearts
and make them like unto his.
And may God who is merciful
have mercy on us all.