Thirty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time: November 8, 2020

My Dear Friends in Christ,

With the celebration of the Thirty-second Sunday of Ordinary Time, we find ourselves just two weeks away from the celebration of the Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe, which will draw our liturgical year to a close. Thus, liturgically, what we are experiencing is a movement toward the end for which we were created, i.e., eternal participation in the Triune dynamics of Love which is our God through, with, and in the Second Person of the Trinity, Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Accordingly, it is worth dwelling momentarily on the subject of liturgical time before going on to consider the readings for today that the Church, in her wisdom, has selected for us to consider in order to help us navigate these, our final days.

In considering the subject of liturgical time, part of the difficulty we face as Christians in a secular and some would call, a post-Christian age, is, as the Orthodox theologian Alexander Schmemann writes, that “the ‘Christian year’—the sequence of liturgical commemorations and celebrations—ceased to be the generator of power, and is now looked upon as a more or less antiquated decoration of religion” (For the Life of the World, 66). How many of us, I wonder, really live, in the first instance, out of liturgical time; how many of us even know what liturgical time is, is it simply, for us, as Schmemann says a “more or less antiquated decoration of religion”?

These questions are of the utmost importance for us as Christians, for if we can’t respond by saying, yes, I live out of liturgical time, or at least, I strive to live out of liturgical time, we have missed something of the radical transformation that the Life, death and Resurrection of Jesus Christ has brought about in our world. Schmemann explains, through Christ God reveals and offers us eternal Life, “and God revealed this eternal Life in the midst of time—and of its rush—as its secret meaning and goal. And thus he made time, and our work in it, into the sacrament of the world to come, the liturgy of fulfillment and ascension” (For the Life of the World, 80). It is the liturgical calendar that marks the ebbs and flows within the sacramentalized existence we now live as Christians, by virtue of our baptism. Made sharers in the life of Christ thereby, we travel through life with him, beginning by preparing for his birth in Advent, celebrating his Incarnation during the Christmas season, purging ourselves to participate in his life-giving sacrifice in Lent, experiencing the joy of new life in the Easter Season, and persevering in the life he has shared with us through Ordinary Time. The liturgical calendar, as it were, marks the dynamics of life with Christ, and by asking us to join him on his life’s journey, invites us to deeper conformity and participation in his very life. Only in this way do we have any light in ourselves of which to speak, for there is only One True Light of the world, a Light (Jn. 8:12) which John tells us “shines in the darkness,” i.e., the darkness of the world, the darkness of our sin-riddled souls, illuminating them as lamps by giving us a share in his very self, so that like him, we might be kept safe from being overtaken by the darkness which surrounds us and even threatens from within (Jn. 1:5).

With this in mind we might consider our readings for today. And, given what has already been said, I think it best to begin with today’s responsorial psalm, Psalm 63. The Psalm begins, “O God, you are my God whom I seek; for you my flesh pines and my soul thirsts like the earth, parched, lifeless and without water” (Ps. 63:1). With that the psalmist thrusts us into the desert. Very much in keeping with this Psalm, in his work on the lives of the saints, theologian Lawrence Cunningham rightly notes that within the Christian spiritual tradition the desert represents a place without God, a place of encounter with evil and malignant spirits, a place of struggle with the disease of sin (The Meaning of Saints, 117-119). Nevertheless, it is also a place where people are led by God. Think here of the episode of Christ’s threefold temptation by satan in the desert, the Scriptures introduce that episode by saying that Christ was led there by the Spirit (Mt. 4:1; Lk. 4:1). In imitation of Christ the desert Fathers literally went out into the desert to struggle with the darkness of sin, St. Antony of Egypt perhaps most famous among them, and in turn, imitating the desert ascetics, the monastic life attempts to recreate something of a desert setting within the monastery to various degrees, as Cunningham notes (The Meaning of the Saints, 121-122). What of the rest of us? In his own commentary on this Psalm, Augustine tells us that the desert signifies our life this side of eternity (En. Ps. 62.3 (63.3)). Thus, in a manner seemingly paradoxical, we are led into the desert, this seemingly godless place of struggle by God, the reason for this being is that the desert is simultaneously the place where we encounter God most intensely. Here we can call to mind the Israelites who were set free from captivity in Egypt precisely so that they might worship God in the desert (Ex. 7:16). The likening by Augustine of this life to the desert rings true in light of Fr. Joseph Ratzinger’s consideration that God’s innermost purpose for creation was “to open up a space for response to God’s love, to his holy will” (Jesus of Nazareth, Pt. II: Entry to Jerusalem to the Resurrection, 78).

Ratzinger’s insight is affirmed in Augustine’s reading of the Psalm, for he notes that the thirst experienced in the desert naturally leads people to begin searching for a source of water. In the same way, then, the spiritual desert of the world, precisely as the space opened up by God so that we might encounter his love, in the first instance prompts us to seek out that which alone can quench the thirst of the soul, our God. Augustine writes: “this is the place for thirst; we shall be fully satisfied elsewhere,” yet immediately he adds, “but even now God sprinkles upon us the dew of his word to keep us from fainting in this desert” (En. Ps. 62.3 (63.3)). What is this dew of the word, this sustenance given to us by God so that we might traverse the desert of this world? The list could be very long, for whatever communicates the Life of Christ to us is this nourishment. However, the Sacraments come to mind most readily, the language of dew a suitable analogy for the waters of baptism through which we are given a share in the life of Christ and no less the blood of the Eucharist through which we literally drink in Life Itself. This reading aligns well with the words of the psalmist, who goes tells us that even amidst this desert, “as with the riches of a banquet my soul be satisfied, and with exultant lips my mouth shall praise you” (Ps. 63.5). 

With the second half of the verse, Augustine tells us that the psalmist is reminding us that the desert of this life is a time of prayer (En. Ps. 62.14 (63.14). Thus, in a certain way, the latter half of the verse refers to the first, for in the Eucharistic liturgy, the prayer par excellence, our prayers are immediately answered by being filled with the Life of Christ in the Eucharist. Yet, our liturgical experience is an oasis this side of eternity, and from oasis to oasis, i.e., from Eucharist to Eucharist, we struggle to traverse the desert, and find ourselves thirsting once again. That we struggle and thirst, Augustine tells us, is appropriate to those whose lives seek conformity with Christ, as he draws an analogy between physical thirst and the beatitude of hungering and thirsting for righteousness (Mt. 5:6) (En. Ps. 62.3 (63.3)). Recalling that in the reflection from last week we saw that the beatitudes are characteristics of Christ himself, and that our living out the beatitudes denotes participation in the life of Christ, in keeping with the opening reflection on liturgical time, Augustine’s reflection on the psalm urges us to allow the whole of our lives to become liturgy, i.e., life lived in prayerful unity with God, empowered by the Holy Spirit. In this way we keep our lamps burning with the life of Christ.

It is at this point where the considerations of our first reading for today come into play. There, from the Book of Wisdom we hear that “Resplendent and unfading is wisdom, and she is readily perceived by those who love her, and found by those who seek her. She hastens to make herself known in anticipation of their desire” (Wis. 6:12-13). Notice please the personalized nature of Wisdom here, sought by those who love her and making herself known. Reading passages such as this and other like it (e.g., Prv. 8:22-31) in light of St. Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians (1:24), the Fathers of the Church understood Wisdom to be Christ. Moreover, Augustine used that same verse from Paul to define his understanding of virtue, for the Latin he read said that Christ was the virtue and wisdom of God (Christus virtus et sapientia Dei). For the tradition extending back before the advent of Christ, prudence was typically numbered among the cardinal virtues as it is for many today. Augustine defines this particular virtue as “love discriminating rightly between those things which aid it in reaching God and those things which might hinder it,” and then goes on to add that without prudence, the life of virtue in its entirety is impossible (The Catholic and Manichean Ways of Life, 1.15.25 & 1.24.45). This definition of the virtue of prudence coincides well with our reading from the Book of Wisdom today, which tells us that “taking thought of wisdom is the perfection of prudence, and whoever for her sake keeps vigil shall quickly be free from care” (Wis. 6:15).

We have seemingly thought ourselves into a corner, for if it is Wisdom that we seek, and Wisdom is Christ, and prudence is a virtue and virtue is also Christ, what gives? Augustine helps us out of our jam. Time and again he assures us that Christ, the Son of God, who from the beginning was our Source and intended End, in his Incarnation also became the Way for us, as he Himself teaches (Jn. 14:16), such that “we come through him to him” (Sermon 293.7). Thus, we travel by Christ to ever greater unity with Christ and as we do so grow in ever greater conformity with Christ. Moreover, to grow in conformity with Christ, is to participate in him who is Light, Virtue and Wisdom Itself. Accordingly, we keep the lamps of our souls lit amid the darkness through virtuous acts of justice, fortitude, temperance, humility, etc. By living in this way, the Light of Christ illuminates our path, enabling us to navigate this dark desert and help others to find the way forward as well.

This brings us, finally, to the Gospel reading. There, Our Lord begins, “the kingdom of heaven will be like ten virgins who took their lamps and went out to meet the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish and five were wise” (Mt. 25:1-2). As the parable goes on, Jesus tells us that the foolish virgins took their lamps, but took no oil with them whereas the wise virgins took the flasks of oil with their lamps (Mt. 25:3-4). As mentioned above, the soul is the lamp, and what could the oil signify but the very sacraments of the Church which so often use oil to symbolize the conferral of grace that is divine life, e.g., baptism, confirmation, holy orders and anointing of the sick. In keeping with what has come before, the wise virgins keep their lamps lit by living liturgical lives, nourished by the grace of the sacraments and staying focused on the coming of Christ, prudence continually keeping vigil and guiding them on the virtuous way. What’s more, they exemplified such a life to the foolish, imprudent virgins, who nevertheless, failed to imitate their virtuous behavior. Thus, they fall out of relationship with God, the oil of their lamps runs out, and they are left unprepared for the coming of the Bridegroom. In a rush they scramble to find some oil, and later come to the door, pleading “Lord, lord, open to us” (Mt. 25:11). In response they hear the soul-wrenching words, “Truly I tell you, I do not know you” (Mt. 25:12). What is going on here? Is it simply a matter of timing? Perhaps, but this is only part of the story. If it were simply a matter of timing they would not have been able even to make contact with him. More importantly, the imprudent virgins had lost the Light of Christ, the Light of Virtue, and thus when they scramble to the door in the middle of the night and our Lord peers through the door to see who is there, the light which illuminates their faces is not that of Christ, but something bought from the world (Mt. 25:10), and for this reason he says, I do not know you.

Our Lord then concludes the parable on an ominous note saying, “Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour” (25:13). Thus, with these cautionary words, Jesus implores us to travel through the desert of this life by the light of virtue, living in continual communion with Him as we rush toward our final days. For, indeed, the King will come, and what will matter is whether we have lived so as to make his kingdom known and his will done, on earth as it is in heaven through liturgical lives of virtue. This alone will determine whether he recognizes us, whether or not we are welcomed into the eternal banquet of love.

Your servant in Christ,

Tony