To the end of his days Bilbo could never remember how he found himself outside, without a hat, a walking-stick or any money, or anything that he usually took when he went out; leaving his second breakfast half-finished and quite unwashed-up, pushing his keys into Gandalf’s hands, and running as fast as his furry feet could carry him down the lane, past the great Mill, across The Water, and then on for a mile or more.
The story of The Hobbit begins not really with an invitation, but rather with a challenge. Gandalf the wizard and the band of Dwarves that turn up at Bilbo Baggins’ door never really give him a choice to come with them or not. Instead, as the situation unfolds, Gandalf reveals that what is being proposed is a complete upheaval of everything the pipe- and hearth-loving Hobbit held dear.
And before Bilbo even realizes it, he is off on an adventure, and his life will never be the same (nor would the world).
This weekend’s Liturgy of the Word presents us, too, with scepters and thrones, priceless gems, gold, swords, and riches. It also carries with it an invitation to an adventure.
The First Reading speaks of the value of Wisdom – how it is found in a singular commitment to God. The book itself tells us that “wisdom begins with the fear of the Lord.” To possess this gift is better, we hear, than scepter and throne, priceless gems, gold, silver, health, beauty, and even light. With this sort of reward in front of us, what wouldn’t we endure to talk hold of the wisdom from heaven? Having that is worth more than anything – it is the eternal life that the young man in the Gospel desires as he comes to Jesus. It’s what we are made for.
Jesus tells him that the path to eternal life is clear: first, keep the Commandments; second, have a spirit of poverty and detachment from the world; and finally, follow Jesus. The path is clear – but like Bilbo’s adventure, it is anything but easy (even if we try to make it so).
When we allow the Word of God to wash over us and sink into our pores, there is more than nice feeling we experience. Rather, we are touched by that Word and we cannot shake that feeling that God is asking something of us – something more. Just like the man who approaches Jesus, we might think we’re doing alright: keeping the Commandments, showing up for church, not killing our husbands or kids. But that is not a positive life, is it?
St. Oscar Romero offered this thought: “I’m issuing a call: if we are truly Christian and come to Sunday Mass to ratify our faith, then let this word of God be like a sharp sword that pierces into the division between spirit and soul and into the most intimate junctures of our being. Let this word question us and prevent us from sleeping peacefully as long as we are not doing something for the kingdom of Christ and for his Gospel.
After all, this is what faith is, if it is to really be anything meaningful. I am intrigued by the current psychologist/philosopher, Dr. Jordan Peterson. I think he is a deeply thoughtful person. Sometimes we agree; sometimes not. However, he has been rather famously asked about his own belief – specifically whether he believes in God. His response is one to be expected from an intellectual; but I think it is worth exploring. Peterson said:
“I don’t like that question, so I sat and thought about it for a good while and I tried to figure out why. And I thought, well … who would have the audacity to claim that they believed in God? If they examined the way they lived, who would dare say that?... to have the audacity to claim that, means that you live it out fully. And that’s an unbearable task in some sense. …”
“To be able to accept the structure of existence, the suffering that goes along with it, and the disappointment and the betrayal, and to nonetheless act properly, to aim at the good with all your heart, to dispense with the malevolence and your desire for destruction and revenge, and all of that, and to face things courageously and to tell the truth, to speak the truth and to act it out: that’s what it means to believe. … It doesn’t mean to state it; it means to act it out. And unless you act it out, you should be very careful about claiming it.”
That’s a convoluted response from a professor, but in it I see a great respect for the act of belief. And it makes me examine the nature of my faith. Jesus said that if I had faith the size of a mustard seed, I could move a mountain. Maybe I haven’t created any earthquakes because my faith is too weak, too cowardly to let go of myself – as Jesus asks the rich man to do. But before we beat ourselves up too much, remember that loving gaze with which Jesus regards the man – and us. He is inviting us on a journey He will take too; one on which He will accompany you. The invitation is not just to “be good,” but to actually step out the door and down the lane.
Archbishop Romero responds for us too: That young man was right to be fearful about following Christ. He thought it was enough simply to avoid evil and to observe the commandments in a relaxed, even lazy manner. So also, today many Christians who judge others think that they are good themselves because they avoid evil. That’s not what Christ wants. Christ died for something more positive than that, and he taught us that he suffered for us even though he himself had no need to suffer. This he did, says Saint Paul, so that we would no longer live for ourselves but for the one who died for us.
Friends, we are always playing to an audience of One. Right now, even amid our shaky, weak faith, Christ is looking at you, loving you. I imagine the joyful expectation in Jesus’ eyes as He invites us on this adventure of discipleship. This “unexpected journey” will bring more gems, riches, and honor (and persecutions) than we can imagine. It is a journey that will change us – and it will change the world.
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