I have always loved this parable. It’s easy to picture the scene and to feel the excitement as the bridegroom is awaited. Commentators don’t seem to be able to agree as to whether the women were carrying lamps or torches. Either way their job to be ready and to light the path.
As we come to the close of the liturgical year the Church draws our attention to the path that we all walk and to the hope that we all share that Christ will come again. While the Early Church believed this to be imminent, we usually hold this idea rather lightly. Advent will sharpen this focus as we watch and wait.
Both watching and waiting are activities close to the monastic’s heart. The rhythm of our days is cycle after cycle of watching and waiting. Largely its the daily things that occupy our hearts and minds. St Benedict invites us to remind ourselves day by day that we are going to die and hour by hour to keep watch over what we do. For St Benedict this will keep us in a spirit of preparedness.
Commenting on this parable, Australian Sr Verna Holyhead says:
Although this parable is primarily concerned with what lies behind the as yet closed doors of the end of cosmic history and Christ’s Second Coming, the Bridegroom will also come to us in our own death. One Eucharist will be the last from which we take the oil from the tables of the Word and sacrament that helps us to keep our lamps burning and light our way to open the doors of our hearts to the Bridegroom.
How can you keep your heart open the Bridegroom this coming week?
The scribes and the Pharisees occupy the chair of Moses. You must therefore do what they tell you and listen to what they say; but do not be guided by what they do: since they do not practise what they preach.
We’ve probably both given and been this advice ourselves in the course of our professional or personal lives. Being able to look to someone as an example of integrity has certainly been an important part of my own journey. For the hearers of Matthew’s Gospel keeping the commands of the Torah roots them in God’s promise of steadfast love (hesed). The faithful Jew can pray that Torah is ‘light for my path’, ‘freedom for my heart’ and ‘honey on the lips’ (Ps 118). Psalm 118’s extended meditation on Torah sees the law as blessing and not burden.
When Jesus holds the Pharisees to account he is challenging the quality of their faithfulness. How far have they internalised the commands of the Torah? Has their teaching brought blessing or burden?
The smooth running of a monastic community relies on the the faithfulness of all of its members. Living by the Rule of St Benedict means that we have a source of ancient wisdom which shapes our values. Like any ancient text, it is open to interpretation. A punctilious following of the Rule doesn’t necessarily bring about the virtue you think it should. Everything is to be tempered with mercy and an understanding of the frailty of humanity. Commentators on the Rule suggest that one of the goals of a monastic is to become ‘a living Rule’. This is an image of integration where head, heart, soul and strength work as one.
Jesus calls the Pharisees to integration. He calls us too. One of the signs of that integration is being able to make Christ’s disposition our own:
The greatest among you must be your servant. Anyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and anyone who humbles himself will be exalted.
Where are you called to grow in faithfulness through service this week?
‘You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and the first commandment.’
This week’s Gospel almost comes as a bit of a relief after some very difficult parables and scenes of Jesus being put on the spot. This week Jesus is challenged again. His answer isn’t contentious in the strict sense. He does however make an explicit link between two well known commands of the Torah. This is Wisdom Jesus who takes the received tradition and invites his hearers to go deeper. Loving God with all your heart, soul and mind is now bound together with love of neighbour. Where you have one, you have the other.
Writing in the Sixth Century, at a time of instability, St Benedict’s Rule is in many ways an embodiment of today’s Gospel. In the pages of the Rule we find practical incarnational wisdom, where love of God is assumed and love of neighbour cannot be avoided. In Chapter Four, The Tools of Good Works, St Benedict offers his monks a kind of spiritual tool box, containing seventy four tools which are to be used in the monastic craft. The chapter opens like this:
First of all, love the Lord God with your whole heart, your whole soul and all your strength, and love your neighbour as yourself.
I read this as St Benedict making clear from the outset that loving God in the monastery cannot be separated from love of neighbour. It is love and consideration for the other which are the guiding principles in St Benedict’s practical arrangements in the monastery. Whether it’s showing consideration and asking the cellarer for what you need at the appropriate times, or not grumbling when something is not to your liking, these are the ways in which you love God with heart, soul and strength in the monastery.
How is Christ calling you to love in the coming week?
Any talk of tax and taxation can very easily set up a polarity. Attitudes differ within our own political parties in the UK and across the world. As I walk into this scene in the Gospels I find myself trying to imagine what it would be like to live under an occupying power. Whatever I might think about taxation and the common good in regular circumstances might be different if that tax is paid to an occupying power.
We are so familiar with this Gospel scene of Jesus being confronted by the disciples of the Pharisees and the Herodians. Their opening words of flattery only heighten the charge of the scene: ‘Master we know that you are an honest man and teach the word of God in an honest way…’ What is at issue here is the paying of the census tax, a tax paid directly to the Emperor. This required a special coin bearing the head of the Emperor.
In both his words and his actions Jesus takes charge of the scene. By asking them to show him a coin they reveal that they are carrying the coin themselves. He then turns their question back on them. These are both masterful moves. Some commentators will see in this scene the justification for the separation of Church and state. I don’t see it like this. I see rather that Jesus is showing that it is God’s power that reigns supreme and not the Emperor’s. The silver denarius might bear the Emperor’s image, but we are made in God’s own image. We are citizens of the Kingdom of God and our currency is love.
When I sat down to read today’s Gospel I had a few ideas about how I understood the passage and I turned to my usual commentaries. No pennies dropped and I was getting close to giving up and writing something on the First Reading from Isaiah 25 instead. Something made me persevere and I looked up a lectionary website which uses the work of Rene Girard as an interpretative key.
For what follows I am indebted to the insights of James Alison. Last week I offered the idea of finding an interpretative key to help us unlock the Gospel. This week its as if we have found a key but the parable is one of those tricky locks where you have to persevere if you want to open the door. You might not do it on your first attempt.
As we open the door of Isaiah 25 we are invited to a huge banquet. The imagery paints a beautiful scene of bounty and inclusion. God has saved his people and this lavish banquet puts the seal on the whole history of God’s promises:
On this mountain, the Lord of hosts will prepare for all peoples a banquet of rich food, a banquet of fine wines, of food rich and juicy, of fine strained wines.
At this banquet it’s not just our hunger that will be satisfied but there is a promise of God wiping tears from our eyes too. It’s a holistic vision.
As we move to the Gospel scene we might picture the preparations for the wedding banquet. These preparations are lengthy and involve sending out a first invite, seeing who responds, estimating the food needed and then sending a second invite. Commentators suggest that it is at this second stage that the rather puzzling responses are made: ‘one went off to his farm, another to his business’
I have always been left wondering why anyone would turn down an invite to a party given by a king. This is where the work of James Alison provided an insight. He comments that in Hebrew a summons to war and a summons to a feast (to share bread) are very similar linguistically. The Hebrew word for ‘bread’ (lechem), shares a root with the words for ‘fight’ (lehilachem) and ‘war’ (milchama).
The reasons for the guests declining the invite are more fitting to a summons to war than a feast. Deuteronomy 20 gives several legitimate reasons for declining a summons to war:
‘Is there any man here who has built a new house and not yet dedicated it? Let him go home lest he die in battle and another perform the dedication. Is there any man here who has planted a vineyard and not yet enjoyed its fruit? Let him go home lest he die in battle and another enjoy its fruit. Is there any man here who has betrothed a wife and not yet taken her? Let him go home lest he die in battle and another take her.‘
James Alison suggests that one of the things that is at issue in this parable is the mishearing or misunderstanding of the invite. Responding to a summons to war is a choice to remain in the world of vengeance, whereas accepting an invitation to a feast opens up a world of grace.
I am left thinking about the many invitations in my own life. Am I seeing them as a summons to war or an invitation to a feast? Am I bracing myself for a battle or anticipating a rich feast. Likewise too in our global church as we journey together in the synodal process, there will be those who see it as a battleground and those who see it as a feast.
What are the invitations in your own life? How do you respond?
When we open the Scriptures, we open a world of story, poetry and metaphor. Origen, a Third Century theologian, likens the Bible to a mansion. The various books of the Bible are doors which we need to unlock. Outside each door is a key which will unlock one door. Our task is to match each key to a door. This can be the work of a life time. In public liturgy the Church will help us to open a door by laying Bible passages side by side. We can see this very clearly in today’s Liturgy of the Word.
We begin with a passage from the First Book of Isaiah. The first thing to note is that this is a song, a love song for God’s vineyard. It tells the story of God’s relationship with Israel. Every care has been lavished on Israel. The vineyard is God’s pride and joy:
He dug the soil, cleared it of stones and planted choice vines in it.
The love song changes to a lament as things haven’t gone according to plan. God expects a fruitful harvest and instead finds only ‘sour grapes’. God threatens to destroy the vineyard.
When we come to read the Parable of the Tenants in the Vineyard Isaiah’s imagery gives us one interpretative key. It isn’t a perfect fit. Unlike in Isaiah’s song, destruction of the vineyard itself is not part of the parable, but instead judgement at the way in which the tenants have managed it is. This doesn’t make for very comfortable reading at all. What message can we take from this? Most commentaries will suggest that Jesus is speaking principally to the faith leaders. If we take this at face value, then this lets us nicely off the hook. Very few of us are faith leaders. We have to mine a bit deeper. The texts from Isaiah and Matthew share a background in covenantal theology. God’s self gift in the Torah and the Incarnation bind us in relationship. God has taken the initiative and awaits our response. God has entrusted us with the ‘vineyard’ of baptism, family, community, personal vocation and many more things. Each gift has built into it the dynamic of call and response.
St Benedict expected unhesitating obedience from his monks:
‘The first step of humility is unhesitating obedience, which comes naturally to those who cherish Christ above all.’ (Rule of St Benedict, Ch 5, On Obedience)
For St Benedict cherishing Christ is key to everything that happens in the monastery. Reading this challenging line from the Rule, you might imagine blind obedience and a community of monks who silently follow orders. This is anything but the case in ordinary monastic living. Obedience is a process which unfolds the longer you live the life. In formation your training begins on the simplest of levels. You are given a timetable which is unlikely to be the same as any of your fellow novices. The first learning is, as my novice mistress said: ‘turning up in the right place, at the right time, with the appropriate expression on your face.’ There is something about the routine of following a timetable that begins to carve out in your heart a space for unhesitating obedience. Of course there will be things that you really don’t want to do. The monastic way is to turn up and do them anyway.
It’s easy to identify with both sons in this parable. I don’t have to look far for things I said I would do and then found a reason not to. Likewise there are many times when I grumpily built a case for not doing something and then relented. Each son has something to teach me. From time to time I can notice a shift in myself when something challenging is asked of me. Just occasionally grace floods in and I don’t even start the inner dialogue of whether I want to do it or not. This grace is due in no small part to the example of my sisters in community who day in and day out choose to do ‘the next right thing’.
Knowing and following God’s will can be made easier when we consciously look to others for example. We make our way together into the Kingdom of God.
When I was in the third form in secondary school, we had an innovative head of year. She was a very zany dresser, combining full length fake mink coats with yellow wellies. Just seeing her outfits always gave me a lift. Her assemblies were memorable too. She used to play music as 180 girls filed in and took their places.
My favourite track was Abba, I believe in Angels.
I have a dream, a song to sing To help me cope with anything If you see the wonder of a fairy tale You can take the future, even if you fail.
I believe in angels, Something good in everything I see. I believe in angels. When I know the time is right for me, I’ll cross the stream, I have a dream.
Today’s feast invites us ‘ to see the wonder’ of God’s power in our lives and to have hearts open to ‘something good in everything we see’. Listening to the Scriptures will help us to do this. In the first reading from the Book of Daniel we might imagine ourselves as part of the heavenly court. We might be filled with awe as we take our place with the ‘ten thousand times ten thousand’. Or we might sit with Nathaniel and hear the promise that we will see ‘heaven laid open and, above the Son of Man, the angels of God ascending and descending.’
These images come from realms that aren’t always easy for our imaginations to access. But what we can access are the many ways in which God can come to us in the ordinary stuff of our lives.
How can you be open to something good in everything you see today?
The kingdom of heaven is like a landowner going out at daybreak to hire workers for his vineyard. He made an agreement with the workers for one denarius a day, and sent them to his vineyard.
Writing in 1954, biblical scholar Joachim Jeremias, calls this text The Parable of the Good Employer. He sees the parable as being about salvation: the Jewish people are hired in the morning and the Gentiles at the eleventh hour. It’s a parable of warning and reckoning. Forty years ago when I first read this explanation I would have seen no problem with it, likewise the stereotyping found in his analysis of those hired last: ‘No oriental will stand for hours in the marketplace. Hence they sit down gossiping idly in the marketplace.’
Thinking has moved in biblical studies and I am most influenced by the work of Jewish New Testament scholar, Amy J Levine. Her thinking is that if you have to make Judaism look bad in order to make Christianity look good, then you have a problem. She sees this parable as enshrining a basic truth of Judaism: everyone is created in the image and likeness of God. God is generous by nature. God’s generosity cannot be limited by our own value system. We are back to the idea from the Gospel last week of the parables as an invitation to step into the world of grace. Placing ourselves firmly in the world of calculating and measuring risks missing an opportunity for grace. The call is to be generous.
This isn’t as straight forward as it may sound. In monastery living the ideal would be that each receives according to need. There is an understanding that one size doesn’t fit all and part of personal growth is trusting the process. Of course, in some circumstances, equal shares are expected. I remember my Novice Mistress commenting that with the best will in the world its hard not to scan and spot ‘injustice’. If a gift of cherries has been shared out and your portion has been put at your refectory place, you will instinctively know if your neighbour got ten and you got nine! The monastic way is to try to be at peace with that.
Where is God calling you to be generous this week?
The Nuns of Twitter have been sharing their experiences of their vocation journeys. While there are some differences between our experiences, we all share that mixture of courage, trepidation and love that was needed for us each to make that initial contact and then formally ask to enter a congregation or monastery.
‘As Jesus was walking on, he saw a man named Matthew sitting by the customs house, and he said to him, ‘Follow me.’ And he got up and followed him.‘
Matthew’s call looks very straight forward by comparison! There’s no hint of agonising or wondering if he will be accepted, warts and all. Indeed, it’s Jesus who takes the initiative. Reading between the lines, as we so often have to with Gospel stories, we can perhaps imagine that Matthew has been searching for a long time. Perhaps his work life as a tax collector for the Romans uses a particular skill set and has given him an identity, albeit an identity which would make him excluded from some circles. I imagine an inner restlessness that he doesn’t necessarily share with anyone. On that day, on that seat by the customs house, at that time, something shifts. Matthew is drawn into the dynamic of discipleship. He will spend his whole life responding to Jesus’ initiative.
Perhaps you can pinpoint a moment your own life when you made a choice that shaped the course of your whole life? Often that initial ‘yes’ begins a process of consciously saying ‘yes’ many times over.
How is Christ calling you to follow him more closely during this week?
