Words on the Word
19 Sunday C
Wisdom 18.6-9: That night had been foretold.
Hebrews 11.1-19: They are in search of their real homeland.
Luke 12.32-48: There is no need to be afraid, little flock.
The diminutive is an engaging figure of speech. Some languages use it more than others. In Polish, Szymon becomes Szymek; Teresa in Spanish merges into Teresita; German can turn a menacing Hund into an endearing Hündchen. The diminutive makes a thing seem smaller, formally speaking, but is in fact a way of saying how large it looms in our affection. You wouldn’t use the diminutive to refer to something or someone you despise. The diminutive usually expresses intimacy.
We should take note, therefore, when Jesus addresses his disciples with the exhortation, ‘Fear not, little flock’. By that turn of phrase he embraces them fondly, having just spoken to them of the Father’s providential care for very little creatures: young ravens seeking food, lilies of the field in their fragile glory.
Jesus affirms the disciples in this way in order to prepare them for austerity. He goes on to outline the terms of discipleship: ‘Sell your possessions’; ‘Stand ready’; ‘See that you are dressed for action’. Christians must be ready for persevering work, patient attention, long watches in the night. They must not give in to discouragement, distractions, arrogance, or superficial comforts.
The courage we require to live in this way will only endure if we are aware that he who instructs us also loves us, and that our fidelity will serve a purpose of love.
A man or woman may embrace a heroic way of life for a season to prove their mettle to themselves or others; but they are unlikely to stick to it unless some desirable finality motivates them. In this discourse Jesus spells out in concrete detail what it means to take up one’s cross. He fully expects his disciples to do just that, but he lets his expectation be imbued with the sweetness of the words, ‘Fear not, little flock’.
In those words, each of us can hear the resonance of our own name, spoken softly, in a diminutive form: ‘You, my dear, be not afraid!’
The prevailing image in Jesus’s teaching is that of night. The servants in the parable await their master’s return at night, ready to receive him in the second or third watch, or in another night altogether. Interior souls have always recognised themselves in this imagery. What force in Isaiah’s cry: ‘My soul yearns for you in the night, my spirit within me earnestly seeks you’ (26.9). St John of the Cross expounded the soul’s maturing as a nocturnal vigil, admitting the night’s gloomy aspect to the unaccustomed eye while stressing the grace inherent in it. The more our vigil is alive with love, the more we shall delight in it: ‘Oh night that was my guide!’, sings John: ‘Oh darkness dearer than the morning’s pride’. He does not idealise soul-murk; he tells us that a time of blindness may be needed for our eyes to learn to see differently, as when Paul in Damascus, awaiting Ananias, spent three days, three nights without sight (Acts 9.9).
If the light about us seems eclipsed and night has become our habitat, provided the darkness is not of our making through some collusion with sin, we ought to be spiritually alert. God may be leading us into a new phase of perception. Following his lead we shall at the opportune time (which may not be yet) make ours the Psalmist’s praise: ‘even the darkness is not dark to you, the night is bright as the day; for darkness is as light with you’ (139.12).
Our reading from Genesis evokes a particular night ‘made known beforehand to our fathers, that they might rejoice in sure knowledge of the oaths in which they trusted.’ This night is that of the exodus, a liberation for Israel. It was also, though, the night during which, as a consequence of Pharaoh’s hard heart, Egypt’s firstborn died, ‘and there was a great cry in Egypt’ (Ex 12.30).
The light shining in darkness is not visible to all; some choose the dark, and lose themselves in its phantasies and revels. The fruit of such an option is death. To say this is not to uphold a supposedly Old Testament harshness untempered by Christian mercy. Jesus pronounces judgement on the faithless servant who did not watch: ‘The master will cut him off and send him to the same fate as the unfaithful’. Before us is the prospect of ‘fires of endless woe’.
How vital, then, for those of us who have glimpsed the light to hold it up as a torch in others’ darkness, to infuse our time’s hopeless torpor with hope! God ‘desires all men to be saved’ (1 Tim 2.4). Why should we be less ambitious? The Lord entrusts us as stewards to give his household, the people of this world, all of them, ‘their allowance of food at the proper time’, right now.
We are summoned to watch on our own behalf and on others’, preparing a great rejoicing as the lost are found, the rebellious reconciled, the frightened consoled, and ‘the night will be no more’ (Ap 22.5). However small a flock we may be, let’s not be afraid. It has pleased our Father, who looks on us kindly, to give us the kingdom. It pleases him, through us, to open it to others.
And remember: Of those to whom much has been entrusted, much will be asked.
Amen.
