July 27, 2008, 17th Sunday of Ordinary Time
Kings 3:5, 7-12 Romans 8: 28-30 Matthew 13: 44-46
To the churched and unchurched[1]
gathered in a temple not built by human hands[2]
First reading from Kings
3:5, 7-12
The LORD appeared to Solomon in a dream at night. God said, “Ask something of me and I will give it to you.” Solomon answered: “O LORD, my God, you have made me, your servant, king to succeed my father David; but I am a mere youth, not knowing at all how to act. I serve you in the midst of the people whom you have chosen, a people so vast that it cannot be numbered or counted. Give your servant, therefore, an understanding heart to judge your people and to distinguish right from wrong. For who is able to govern this vast people of yours?” The LORD was pleased that Solomon made this request. So God said to him: “Because you have asked for this—not for a long life for yourself, nor for riches, nor for the life of your enemies, but for understanding so that you may know what is right—I do as you requested. I give you a heart so wise and understanding that there has never been anyone like you up to now, and after you there will come no one to equal you.”
Alleluia, alleluia.
A reading from the holy Gospel according to Matthew
13: 44-46
Glory to you, Lord.
Jesus said to his disciples: “The kingdom of heaven is like a treasure buried in a field, which a man finds and hides again, and out of joy goes and sells all that he has and buys that field. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls, and when he finds a pearl of great price, he goes and sells all that he has and buys it.”
The Gospel of the Lord.
Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.
Introduction
Two one-line parables
Here are two parables consisting of one line apiece. In the first, a man was walking through someone’s field and stumbled upon a treasure. [3] Excited over his find he went and sold everything he had to buy the field and ultimately lay hold of the treasure. In the second parable, a merchant, who made his living buying and selling pearls, came upon a prize pearl. He, too, excited by his find, went and sold everything he had to buy the pearl. There is, however, a difference between the two parables: in the one, the man accidentally stumbled upon the hidden treasure, and in the other, the merchant came upon the pearl only after ardently searching for it.
A parable stirs curiosity
A parable is an easy-to-remember one-liner or story. Its humble imagery says more than what at first it seems to say. A parable, therefore, stirs curiosity. We know what a treasure is. But what, we ask, is that treasure which a man stumbled upon in a field and for which he sold all? We know what a pearl is. But what, we ask, is that pearl which a merchant found and for which he sold all?
Is it some enthusiasm which drives us to put all our eggs in one basket and go for it? (Enthusiasm is too energetic a thought for those of us who are weary of all the enthusiasms of the past which have exhausted us, and which we have finally discarded.) Is the gospel treasure or pearl of great price some overriding conviction which dominates our life and commands our time and energy? That, too, sounds a bit exhausting. Is it Paul Tillich’s “Ultimate Concern” which makes life worth living and death worth dying?
All kinds of pearls
There are all kinds of pearls. There are saltwater and freshwater pearls, natural and cultivated pearls, akoya and keshi pearls, black and white pearls, etc. There are all kinds of gospel pearls of great price. Ghandi’s pearl was non-violence. For that he sold everything and bought the pearl. Mother Teresa’s pearl of great price was her pro-life crusade not only for all unborn babies but also for all born adults neglected and dying on the streets of Calcutta. For that she sold everything and bought the pearl. Elie Weisel (noted survivor of the Holocaust and Nobel Prize winner in literature) who has written more than thirty books says he writes about one thing only -- the evil of indifference[4]--nothing else. That is his strange pearl of great price; it is an ominous black pearl. For that he sells everything and buys that priceless but painful pearl.
Not fleshless words but stories
No one-line definitions can do justice to the gospel pearl of great price. Only stories can do it justice. A good story crafted with much flesh and blood can shed more light on the pearl of great price than a thousand disembodied words. For what are stories but words made flesh. Good stories paint pictures, and we humans, who are made of flesh and blood, delight in pictures. Stories stick with us but disembodied words fly away. At the end of the day, story-telling lies at the heart of good religion and preaching.
The pearl a cabby found
Listen to a story told by a cabby. Powerfully enfleshed as it is, it sheds more light on the gospel pearl of great price than a thousand disembodied words. His story doesn’t speak words about the pearl; it paints a picture of the pearl.
Twenty years ago I drove a cab for a living. It was a cowboy’s life for one who didn’t want a boss. What I didn’t realize was that it was also a ministry, a service to others. Because I drove the night shift, my cab became a moving confessional. Passengers climbed in, sat behind me in total anonymity, and told me about their lives. I came upon people whose lives amazed me, ennobled me, made me laugh and weep. But none touched me more than a woman I picked up late one August night.
I was responding to a small call from a small brick duplex in a quiet part of town. I assumed I was being sent to pick up some party people, or someone who just had a fight with a lover, or a worker heading for an early shift at some factory in the industrial part of town. When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window.
Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. But I had seen too many poor people who depended on a taxi as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door.
This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked. “Just a minute,” answered a frail elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940 movie. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensil on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.
When we got into the cab, she gave me an address, and then asked, “Could you drive through downtown?” “It’s not the shortest way,” I answered quickly. “Oh, I don’t mind,” she answered. “I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice.” I looked into the rear mirror. Her eyes were glistening. “I don’t have any family left” she continued. “The doctor says I don’t have very long.”
I quickly reached over and shut off the meter. What route would you like me to take?” I asked. For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had danced as a girl. Sometimes she would ask me to slow down in front of a particular building or corner, and she would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was illuminating the horizon, she suddenly said, “I’m tired. Let’s go now.” We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.
“How much do I owe you?” she asked. “Nothing,” I said. “Oh, you have to make a living,” she answered. “There are other passengers,” I responded. Almost without thinking, I bent down and gave her a big hug. She held on to me tightly. “You gave an old woman a little moment of joy.” She said, “Thank you.” I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me a door shut. It was the sound of a life that was closing.
I didn’t pick up anymore passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if the woman had gotten an angry driver? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?
The cabby ends his story with a bottom line. “As I look back now, I do not think that I have done anything greater or more important in my whole life!”
Those are the words of one who, indeed, has found the gospel pearl of great price. Unlike the pearl merchant, however, the cabby was not ardently seeking the pearl; he stumbled upon it as he was “responding to a small call from a small brick duplex in a quiet part of town.” On second thought, however, in his heart of hearts he was, indeed, ardently seeking the pearl. That’s precisely why he found it! Jesus tells us, “Those who seek [the pearl] shall find [it], and for those who knock the door will be opened.” (Lk 11:10)
Conclusion
The pearl divides us
The pearl of great price divides us into three kinds. There are some of us who, like Ghandi, Mother Teresa, Elie Weisel and the cowboy cabby, seek the pearl and find it.
Then there are some of us who do not find the pearl of great price because we do not seek it, either because we don’t have time or don’t care or don’t need to seek it because we have found a fake pearl which keeps us ambiguously happy.
Finally, there are some of us (maybe many of us) who are seeking the pearl of great price but as yet have not found it. Be encouraged! The cabbie (who was more a cowboy than a saint) at the end of the day found the pearl of great price because down deep in his heart of hearts he was really seeking it. Be encouraged! To those who have not yet found the pearl but are still seeking it the Lord promises, “Those who seek shall find, and for those who knock the door will be opened.” (Lk 11:10)
[1]] By the “the unchurched” is especially meant not those who have left the church but those whom the church has left!
[2] Acts of the Apostles 17:24
[3] In Jesus’ day there were no deposit boxes in banks where people could safeguard their valuables. So they would bury them in some strategic spot out in their field. But the law of the land declared that a treasure belonged to the finder only if he owned the land.
[4] The indifference of the German and Polish people made the Holocaust possible.
Kings 3:5, 7-12 Romans 8: 28-30 Matthew 13: 44-46
To the churched and unchurched[1]
gathered in a temple not built by human hands[2]
First reading from Kings
3:5, 7-12
The LORD appeared to Solomon in a dream at night. God said, “Ask something of me and I will give it to you.” Solomon answered: “O LORD, my God, you have made me, your servant, king to succeed my father David; but I am a mere youth, not knowing at all how to act. I serve you in the midst of the people whom you have chosen, a people so vast that it cannot be numbered or counted. Give your servant, therefore, an understanding heart to judge your people and to distinguish right from wrong. For who is able to govern this vast people of yours?” The LORD was pleased that Solomon made this request. So God said to him: “Because you have asked for this—not for a long life for yourself, nor for riches, nor for the life of your enemies, but for understanding so that you may know what is right—I do as you requested. I give you a heart so wise and understanding that there has never been anyone like you up to now, and after you there will come no one to equal you.”
Alleluia, alleluia.
A reading from the holy Gospel according to Matthew
13: 44-46
Glory to you, Lord.
Jesus said to his disciples: “The kingdom of heaven is like a treasure buried in a field, which a man finds and hides again, and out of joy goes and sells all that he has and buys that field. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls, and when he finds a pearl of great price, he goes and sells all that he has and buys it.”
The Gospel of the Lord.
Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.
Introduction
Two one-line parables
Here are two parables consisting of one line apiece. In the first, a man was walking through someone’s field and stumbled upon a treasure. [3] Excited over his find he went and sold everything he had to buy the field and ultimately lay hold of the treasure. In the second parable, a merchant, who made his living buying and selling pearls, came upon a prize pearl. He, too, excited by his find, went and sold everything he had to buy the pearl. There is, however, a difference between the two parables: in the one, the man accidentally stumbled upon the hidden treasure, and in the other, the merchant came upon the pearl only after ardently searching for it.
A parable stirs curiosity
A parable is an easy-to-remember one-liner or story. Its humble imagery says more than what at first it seems to say. A parable, therefore, stirs curiosity. We know what a treasure is. But what, we ask, is that treasure which a man stumbled upon in a field and for which he sold all? We know what a pearl is. But what, we ask, is that pearl which a merchant found and for which he sold all?
Is it some enthusiasm which drives us to put all our eggs in one basket and go for it? (Enthusiasm is too energetic a thought for those of us who are weary of all the enthusiasms of the past which have exhausted us, and which we have finally discarded.) Is the gospel treasure or pearl of great price some overriding conviction which dominates our life and commands our time and energy? That, too, sounds a bit exhausting. Is it Paul Tillich’s “Ultimate Concern” which makes life worth living and death worth dying?
All kinds of pearls
There are all kinds of pearls. There are saltwater and freshwater pearls, natural and cultivated pearls, akoya and keshi pearls, black and white pearls, etc. There are all kinds of gospel pearls of great price. Ghandi’s pearl was non-violence. For that he sold everything and bought the pearl. Mother Teresa’s pearl of great price was her pro-life crusade not only for all unborn babies but also for all born adults neglected and dying on the streets of Calcutta. For that she sold everything and bought the pearl. Elie Weisel (noted survivor of the Holocaust and Nobel Prize winner in literature) who has written more than thirty books says he writes about one thing only -- the evil of indifference[4]--nothing else. That is his strange pearl of great price; it is an ominous black pearl. For that he sells everything and buys that priceless but painful pearl.
Not fleshless words but stories
No one-line definitions can do justice to the gospel pearl of great price. Only stories can do it justice. A good story crafted with much flesh and blood can shed more light on the pearl of great price than a thousand disembodied words. For what are stories but words made flesh. Good stories paint pictures, and we humans, who are made of flesh and blood, delight in pictures. Stories stick with us but disembodied words fly away. At the end of the day, story-telling lies at the heart of good religion and preaching.
The pearl a cabby found
Listen to a story told by a cabby. Powerfully enfleshed as it is, it sheds more light on the gospel pearl of great price than a thousand disembodied words. His story doesn’t speak words about the pearl; it paints a picture of the pearl.
Twenty years ago I drove a cab for a living. It was a cowboy’s life for one who didn’t want a boss. What I didn’t realize was that it was also a ministry, a service to others. Because I drove the night shift, my cab became a moving confessional. Passengers climbed in, sat behind me in total anonymity, and told me about their lives. I came upon people whose lives amazed me, ennobled me, made me laugh and weep. But none touched me more than a woman I picked up late one August night.
I was responding to a small call from a small brick duplex in a quiet part of town. I assumed I was being sent to pick up some party people, or someone who just had a fight with a lover, or a worker heading for an early shift at some factory in the industrial part of town. When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window.
Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. But I had seen too many poor people who depended on a taxi as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door.
This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked. “Just a minute,” answered a frail elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940 movie. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensil on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.
When we got into the cab, she gave me an address, and then asked, “Could you drive through downtown?” “It’s not the shortest way,” I answered quickly. “Oh, I don’t mind,” she answered. “I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice.” I looked into the rear mirror. Her eyes were glistening. “I don’t have any family left” she continued. “The doctor says I don’t have very long.”
I quickly reached over and shut off the meter. What route would you like me to take?” I asked. For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had danced as a girl. Sometimes she would ask me to slow down in front of a particular building or corner, and she would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was illuminating the horizon, she suddenly said, “I’m tired. Let’s go now.” We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.
“How much do I owe you?” she asked. “Nothing,” I said. “Oh, you have to make a living,” she answered. “There are other passengers,” I responded. Almost without thinking, I bent down and gave her a big hug. She held on to me tightly. “You gave an old woman a little moment of joy.” She said, “Thank you.” I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me a door shut. It was the sound of a life that was closing.
I didn’t pick up anymore passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if the woman had gotten an angry driver? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?
The cabby ends his story with a bottom line. “As I look back now, I do not think that I have done anything greater or more important in my whole life!”
Those are the words of one who, indeed, has found the gospel pearl of great price. Unlike the pearl merchant, however, the cabby was not ardently seeking the pearl; he stumbled upon it as he was “responding to a small call from a small brick duplex in a quiet part of town.” On second thought, however, in his heart of hearts he was, indeed, ardently seeking the pearl. That’s precisely why he found it! Jesus tells us, “Those who seek [the pearl] shall find [it], and for those who knock the door will be opened.” (Lk 11:10)
Conclusion
The pearl divides us
The pearl of great price divides us into three kinds. There are some of us who, like Ghandi, Mother Teresa, Elie Weisel and the cowboy cabby, seek the pearl and find it.
Then there are some of us who do not find the pearl of great price because we do not seek it, either because we don’t have time or don’t care or don’t need to seek it because we have found a fake pearl which keeps us ambiguously happy.
Finally, there are some of us (maybe many of us) who are seeking the pearl of great price but as yet have not found it. Be encouraged! The cabbie (who was more a cowboy than a saint) at the end of the day found the pearl of great price because down deep in his heart of hearts he was really seeking it. Be encouraged! To those who have not yet found the pearl but are still seeking it the Lord promises, “Those who seek shall find, and for those who knock the door will be opened.” (Lk 11:10)
[1]] By the “the unchurched” is especially meant not those who have left the church but those whom the church has left!
[2] Acts of the Apostles 17:24
[3] In Jesus’ day there were no deposit boxes in banks where people could safeguard their valuables. So they would bury them in some strategic spot out in their field. But the law of the land declared that a treasure belonged to the finder only if he owned the land.
[4] The indifference of the German and Polish people made the Holocaust possible.
