Nova’s Ordo: A Scriptural Reflection for the 17th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Nova’s Ordo: A Scriptural Reflection for the 17th Sunday in Ordinary Time 2017-05-03T19:02:35-05:00

Matthew 13: 44-52

Jesus said to his disciples:
“The kingdom of heaven is like a treasure buried in a field,
which a person 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
searching for fine pearls.
When he finds a pearl of great price,
he goes and sells all that he has and buys it.
Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a net thrown into the sea,
which collects fish of every kind.
When it is full they haul it ashore
and sit down to put what is good into buckets.
What is bad they throw away.
Thus it will be at the end of the age.
The angels will go out and separate the wicked from the righteous
and throw them into the fiery furnace,
where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth.

“Do you understand all these things?”
They answered, “Yes.”
And he replied,
“Then every scribe who has been instructed in the kingdom of heaven
is like the head of a household
who brings from his storeroom both the new and the old.”

What is a parable?  We often just assume that they are the kind of story Jesus told, but that is to put the cart before the horse.  If Jesus “spoke to them in parables,” he was speaking in a way that already had a definition.  Otherwise we would more likely have named the manner of speaking after Jesus himself and not a geometrical idea.

That’s right, a geometrical idea.  Parables are called such because they are parabolic.  (Incidentally, for the etymologists out there, parabol, from paraballein, to throw alongside, is in a word group with symbol, to throw together, and diabol, to throw apart.)

So, what does it mean for a story to be parabolic?

Well, one thing it means is that it opens outward.  Another is that it does not resolve itself completely.  As such, parables are very good things to put in Holy Books.  They have a long shelf life in the storeroom.

But the first chunk of today’s reading looks fairly easily resolved.  The Kingdom of Heaven is of great worth.  Such great worth, in fact, that it is worth everything else.  Furthermore, we see the fate of those who do not understand this calculus.  We seem not to have a parabola, but a circle.

But then Jesus breaks it open.  “Do you understand all these things?”

“Yes.”

“Then every scribe who has been instructed in the kingdom of heaven is like the head of a household who brings from his storeroom both the new and the old.”

Sorry, what?

How does this last passage relate to the previous analogies?  On my first read through, I did not see any connection.  But, with time, a pattern started to emerge, as they are wont to do when one considers parabolas.

The Kingdom of Heaven, it occurred to me, is, in each case, something hidden.  It is not out in the open, but must be sought, found, caught, brought forth.  But the scribe, the head of the household, is in a different position.  He is not seeking.  Rather, he already knows.  He has been instructed in the kingdom of heaven.  With him it is not a matter of finding and of committing, but of discerning.

Like Solomon in today’s first reading from 1 Kings, both scribes and heads of households are emblematic as wise persons.  While the fisherman catches what he can and sorts it later, the householder knows what is in his cellar and brings forth what is necessary when it is necessary.

Being a teacher of the faith or being in a role of leadership in the Church is as much a matter of discernment as it is of knowledge and enthusiasm.  What does this situation require?  What does this person need to be brought closer to the Lord?  Wisdom always touches the ground.

In every generation the Church must learn to speak to the people of the day.  The truth given to her is ever ancient, ever new.  The scribe instructed in the Kingdom knows how to reveal this often hidden truth.  The householder knows which guests need which goods from the storeroom.

May we resist the impulse to force feed our guests everything in the cellar.  Let us rather offer them a good meal and invite them back.  May we resist the impulse to tell a self-enclosed story.  Let us rather tell a story that opens outward and does not need immediate resolution.  There is much, old and new, still waiting in the storeroom.


Brett Salkeld is a doctoral student in theology at Regis College in Toronto. He is a father of two (so far) and husband of one.


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