When I was a seminarian, I had the privilege to know a very holy pastor, a pastor who had inherited a very messy parish. There were so many fires to put out, so much evil to address, and, Lord help us, a ton of politics and infighting that polluted the spiritual lungs and heart of what should have been a very vibrant parish. This holy pastor, zealous as he was, seemed to me, a zealous seminarian, to be making a grave mistake: for all intents and purposes, he appeared to be doing nothing about it.
I was a little scandalized. And a little frustrated. Why
was he doing nothing? Wasn’t he a holy pastor? Wasn’t he zealous? Didn’t he
love God and his people?
Perhaps you have had a similar experience with a boss at
work. Or maybe you’ve thought such things of your spouse and whether they
care for the house or the discipline of the kids. Why won’t so-and-so do something about it?
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Years later, another holy pastor told me a parable. He
appealed to my love of the mountains and said, “If you had a bunch of snow and
you wanted to change the mountainous landscape, how would you do it?”
Well, I thought
to myself, there are two ways: either by
avalanche or by glacier.
The avalanche is fast and dramatic while the glacier is
slow—yet, they both change the landscape. But, consider what a mountain looks
like fifty years after an avalanche. Yes, an avalanche takes down all the trees
and some rocks, perhaps some unfortunate skiiers, too, and after it all you can
see the chute down which it ran. For several years, in fact, you will be able
to see the avalanche chute simply because the absence of the trees. But come
back in fifty years and all the trees will be back. Hikers may never know that an avalanche once passed through here.
But consider the glacier. Yes, it is slow. But it takes
everything with it. Slowly grinding, slowing sculpting—painfully slow. But when
it is gone, the landscape will have been changed forever. The valley that it has
made, the moraines, the lakes—the whole new landscape, hikers will see that for
thousands of years and they will say, Wow,
it’s amazing to think that a glacier did this….
I understood the pastor who had much to address but who took
small steps to address it. He was taking the glacier approach. It wasn’t
dramatic, it wasn’t sexy, but in the end it would change the parish forever.
What I didn’t see in my zeal was the importance of the long game.
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And, admittedly, the long game is frustrating. Whether it
is going to the gym and starting slow and just being consistent; or parenting
and being calm and merciful day in and day out; or growing in a particular virtue;
or saving money—the long game can be a struggle. Is it worth it? we may tend to ask. After all, we don’t want to
lose. We don’t like losing and the humiliation that comes with it. We want to
be good parents and not failures. And, well, in the long game, there seem to be
so many instances of humiliation and failure that we then start to doubt the
long game’s worth. It would be easier, we think, to just take the reins, be in
control, and win the battle now—save for the fact that it may just cost us the
war.
This is particularly evident when it comes to God. Our
heavenly Father clearly operates by the long game. Although He is the “master
of might" and “power attends [him]” such that He can call on it “whenever [He]
wills,” says the Book of Wisdom, God judges “with clemency” and He governs us “with
much lenience.” When the servants ask the Master if they should pull up the
weeds, Jesus tells them to wait. The time will come, but not now. Later. Long
game.
And that’s frustrating. We want evil to be remedied now.
We want darkness and sin to be gone now. We
want the Coronavirus to be over now.
Shoot, even the holy apostles (saints) James and John, when they saw a
Samaritan village being unwelcoming to Jesus, begged Him, “Lord, do you want us
to call down fire from heaven and consume them?” (Lk 9:54)
Not yet, Sons of Thunder. Not yet.
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But why not?
And doesn’t the Lord understand that He comes off as
being… indifferent?
How many people now think, with great presumption in
their hearts, that they can do evil and break the commandments, rationalizing
it all by saying: “God will not see, He does not take notice” (Psalm 94:7)?
Some have even grown so disillusioned that they think God simply does not
exist; for if He did, He would intervene—and now. Some even blame God for the
evil, unheeding of Jesus when He says, “An enemy has done this.”
Which brings us back to the question: Why doesn’t God
uproot the evil now?
Hear the answer from the Book of Wisdom. It says,
You taught your people, by these deeds
That those who are just must be
kind;
And you gave your children good
ground for hope
That you would permit repentance for
their sins.
So there are two reasons why God seemingly waits. First,
to give us an example of forbearance and kindliness. And, second (stemming from
that), to provide an opportunity for evildoers to repent.
“Do not pull up the weeds,” says Our Lord, “for you may
pull up the wheat with them.”
That is to say, do not pull up the weeds right yet, for
if you do, you may actually be pulling up their opportunity to convert. Give
them time.
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And yes, to wait like this is frustrating. And it makes
us vulnerable. And, oftentimes when evil seems to be winning all the battles,
we feel out of control and humiliated. The question Will we really win the war? may even enter our hearts.
But do you remember the story of the avalanche and the
glacier? Think for a moment: what are both made of?
They are made of small, light, fluffy, harmless little
flakes of snow….
The very thing that causes a great change and what has tremendous force
and power—can be laughingly caught and held in the delighted palms of children.
Hence the parable of the mustard seed immediately follows the parable of the weeds and wheat. It is as though Jesus is saying: I
know you doubt my power and the effectiveness of the long game, but you would
also misjudge the significance of the mustard seed, too. But don’t you see?
That little, insignificant seed grows into a formidable tree. Do you not think
that I, who appear insignificant—even becoming a little babe at Christmas or the small host in the Eucharist—do you think that I am not formidable?
Do you not think
that I will outlast evil? I am the Alpha and the Omega—evil will not
out-persevere me, it will not out-last me. So take heart!
Indeed, Lord, “you show your might when the perfection of
your power is disbelieved.”
There will be vindication. There will be judgment. The
weeds—the evildoers and those who cause others to sin—they will find their
fiery reward. But for those who persevere to the end, you will find your glory!
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So, yes: be in it for the long game. Run the race—the marathon—of
faith, as Paul calls it.
Repent of your temerity: your mistrust, your presumption,
your lukewarmness, and your doubt.
And start again to do the small things—the seemingly
insignificant things—day in and day out. That small Act of Faith, or that small
sacrifice, or that little prayer, or that unnoticeable growth in virtue that
only your heavenly Father can see-- that seed of starting-small and slowly
growing from there…
These and all those around you and the grace of God-- it
will all add up like the little, seemingly insignificant fluffs of snow, into a
great and powerful glacier. Mountains will be moved, valleys filled, and all
will be changed forever!
In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the
Holy Spirit. Amen.
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