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,

no to offer us wishes,
but “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. 

17th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: 1 Kings 3:5, 7-12; Romans 8:28-30; Matthew 13:44-52

VIDEO

We all want a lot of different things.
This seems to be part of what it is to be human.
Other animals have pretty limited sets of desires.
My dog, for example, seems to want food and sleep, 
twice-daily walks when he can sniff everything in sight,
and cuddles on the couch in the evening,
and all of these wants are, more or less,
controlled by instinct.
But we human beings are a different story.
We want food and shelter,
but also new cars and an end to world hunger,
recognition by our peers 
and something worth watching on television,
the latest cell phone and a happy marriage,
for our neighbor not to mow his lawn 
at 7:00 AM on Saturday
and for Vladimir Putin 
to withdraw his troops from Ukraine,
to enjoy eternal life in heaven
and to pay off our mortgage.

And each day we discover 

new things to want.
We are desiring machines 
who seem to desire most of all
more things to desire.

Now some people would tell you 
that all of this wanting is bad,
that it is materialistic or selfish 
or a recipe for disappointment.
But this doesn’t seem quite right.
God made us to desire the good,
and it is precisely because things are good
that we want them;
it is their goodness that draws our desire.
And we don’t want just material things;
we want spiritual things like joy and peace.
And we don’t want things just for ourselves;
we want good things for those we love,
and even for the world as a whole.
And while you can avoid disappointment
by avoiding desire,
you do this at the cost of losing
those good things that only come
to those who seek them out.

No, the problem is not with wanting things;
the problem is figuring out how to bring
some kind of order to our desires.
Because sometimes our desires 
are in conflict with each other.
Can we continue to consume 
a never-ending stream of products
and still hope to end world hunger?
Can I sacrifice all for my work
so as to gain recognition from my peers
and still have a happy marriage?
In the vast array of things we want
there is friction and conflict,
a need to prioritize our wants
and even to sacrifice 
some desires for others.
But how do we discern 
which of our wants is better,
which good is more worthy?
Unregulated by the instincts 
of our fellow animals,
our wants can come to seem
like a chaotic ocean 
in which we might drown.

This is why Solomon,
when invited by God 
to ask for whatever he wants
does not ask for a long life or for riches,
nor even for the defeat of Israel’s enemies.
He asks for an understanding heart.
He asks not for something 
from the long litany of wants
that we human beings can easily generate,
but for the gift of wisdom,
that gift of insight
into what is right and what is not,
what is good and what is better.
He asks for the wisdom 
that allows us to know our highest good
so that we can bring order to desire
by judging all things in light of God,
who is the source and goal of all our desiring.

This wisdom is the treasure 
hidden in the field of all our many desires,
it is the pearl of great price,
for which we should be willing to give up
everything that we have or want.
For all of those things,
as good as they may be,
are limited in their goodness.
They clash with each other,
they wear out and vanish.
Only the infinite goodness of God,
the eternal source from which flows forth
the manifold goodness of creatures,
can shed on us the light of wisdom
that will allow us to bring order to our desires,
to see what is good and what is better
by seeing them all in light of what is best.

Jesus does not simply teach this wisdom
in his parables of the hidden treasure
and the pearl of great price.
He lives it in his life,
which is wholly given over 
to the proclamation 
of the good news of God’s kingdom,
and he lives it in his death,
enduring the cross and its shame
for the sake of the joy that lay before him.
Jesus gives all he has for the love of his Father,
and in doing so he gains all,
not simply for himself,
but for all of us,
winning for us eternal life,
becoming the firstborn
among many brothers and sisters.

Being a Christian is not, in the end, 
simply about giving things up;
it is about gaining everything 
by gaining God.
St. Paul tells us that all things 
work for good for those who love God.
If we give our heart to God above all else
then we will know how to love properly 
all those things that are less than God
by desiring them for the sake of God;
we will see them in the light cast
by the eternity that Christ has won for us
and so be able to choose the better 
for the sake of the best.
So let us give our all 
for that pearl of great price,
the treasure of the wisdom 
revealed in Christ,
and may God who is merciful
have mercy on us all.