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All Scripture stories, on some level, have to do with faith, but these three scripture readings, given to us today, clearly speak to me of faith. Faith isn’t just saying, “I believe this or that.” Faith asks us to be much more risk-takers than that. Faith is never something I feel I have much of until a test comes or a “leap of faith” is required of me. And if I come through the test, and I’m still standing on the other side of it, it’s then I know my faith, more than anything else, got me through. 

Faith is never just served to us on a silver platter. It wasn’t so for Jesus. It wasn’t so for the saints. Why would it be any different for us? I think faith has much to do with holding fast to the promises of God even though you can’t see where God is leading you; you can only see where you have been led. And maybe that is why they say faith starts by looking in the rear-view mirror. By looking back on our lives and seeing all the ways that God has been faithful to us, all the ways God has seen us through yesterday’s difficulties—that we were certain we would never get through, but we did—this allows us to have faith that we will get through today’s struggles. If God was faithful then, why wouldn’t God be faithful now? 

So, when I speak of faith, I’m speaking more of God’s faithfulness towards us than our inconsistent faithfulness toward God. Back in the 1970s, Carey Landry wrote a song entitled “Only A Shadow” in which we find the lyrics, “Our own belief in you, O Lord, is only a shadow of your faith in us.” How true that is!

The opening line of the first reading, from the Book of Wisdom, is a faith statement about our ancestors. It says, “The night of the deliverance from Egypt was made known beforehand to our ancestors…” Some 1500 years before the birth of Jesus, God called Moses to lead our enslaved ancestors in faith out of slavery from Egypt. Nothing was guaranteed them as they took their few personal belongings and headed out into the vastness and barrenness of the desert. Every step they took, in that 40-year trek through the desert to the Promised Land, was an act of faith. They did not know exactly where they were going, but Moses held those peoples’ feet to the fire, and constantly reminded them that God was with them every step of the way. If God was with them through the difficult years in Egypt, why wouldn’t God be with them now in their struggles in the desert? 

The opening line in the second reading is also a statement of faith. The author of the Letter to the Hebrews defines faith this way: “Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” If we could see it, we would not have to hope for it. The older I get, the more I am convinced that it is best I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. That way, each day becomes a walk of faith. Each day becomes an act of trust in God who assures me, “I have plans of hope for you, Phil, not disaster.” Plans of hope are God’s plans for all humanity.  

The opening line in the gospel, like the opening line of the first two readings, also speaks of faith and hope. Jesus says to his disciples, “It’s your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.” It pleases God to give us the kingdom, not to earn it, not to merit it, but to receive it as a gift. Unfortunately, many see this as an offer too good to be true. We want to earn it, and show how deserving we are—anything but receive it freely, which makes God’s gift almost impossible for God to give away. 

The tipoff, that our image of God is distorted, comes in the figure of a servant or a slave. You may have noticed there are two servants in this story, as well as an unusual role reversal. Jesus says for us to be ready like servants are who are awaiting the return of their master. In one translation it says, “faithful servants have their loins girded, belts around their waists, and are ready to serve at a moment’s notice.” They are going to do all these things for God. They have said all their prayers, they go to church every Sunday, they give financially, they profess their faith in well-defined credal statement, and they have pretty much engineered their own salvation. They have checked off all the correct boxes. But here comes the role reversal. When they open the door to their master, they are shock to find God with his loins girded, with a belt around his waist, and ready to serve them at a moment’s notice.

In our walk of faith, which is at best three steps forward and two steps backward, we never know what tomorrow will bring. We never know what is behind the next door. What we can know for certain, that is if we have the courage to risk going through the door, is that our Lord always goes a little bit ahead of us and is already occupying the room we were so reluctant to venture into. There we find the Lord, not only accompanying us, but setting a feast for us and hosting us into all that we were always meant to be. On the other side of the door sits not a judge but a gracious, merciful, all-loving host who says, “I’ve been patiently waiting for you. Thanks for taking the risk; welcome to the feast.”

The dinner invitation to the feast of God will not be delivered to you by a courier dressed in a top hat, full-length coat, and white gloves. The dinner invitation is served by God dressed as a burglar, a thief who comes in the middle of the night scheming on how to break into your life and give you something you could never have earned or deserved on your own merits. Accepting the invitation is your act of faith.

Thomas Merton, the great spiritual master, wrote this about his own faith journey towards the end of his life.

O Lord God, I have no idea where I am going,
I do not see the road ahead of me,
I cannot know for certain
where it will end.

Nor do I really know myself,
And that fact that I think
I am following Your will
Does not mean that
I am actually doing so.

But I believe
That the desire to please You
Does in fact please You.
And I hope I have that desire

I hope that I will never do anything
Apart from that desire to please You.
And I know that if I do this
You will lead me by the right road,
Though I may know nothing about it.

Therefore I will trust You always
Though I may seem to be lost
And in the shadow of death.
I will not fear,
For You are ever with me,
And You will never leave me
To make my journey alone.
In all that I am doing.

Fr. Phil Mulligan