I think it is clear from the first reading that, inasmuch as we seek God and the Wisdom of God, it will find us; we will be open to seeing in “at the gate.” Yet it is easy to think we desire to live within the wisdom of God, but not yet truly desire it. In the words of St. Augustine, “not yet.” But why not? Is it not because, as fallen creatures, we are still ruled by our own judgments, our own values, our own sense of inadequacy—our own envy? Indeed, what have we to lose if we live fully within the divine will? Our own way, the pursuit and reliance on those things we measure ourselves by. We are still caught up in a sense of inadequacy, a fear of losing what we have, a fear of losing the future as we envision it, and envy for those who have what we have not. We are not even teachable. Let us pray to be teachable, for “a sincere desire for instruction.”
I think we can put it in terms of Paul’s “seek[ing] the things that are above,” for the ways of God are not like our own. To truly seek God is to let go of our own ned to achieve and conrol and being willing to be led into a wisdom and a way of being greater than our own.
In the Gospel of Luke, the extraordinary springs from the divine into ordinary life. The sick is healed, the dead is raised, against all expectation of the natural course of things. And in the first story, Jesus’ healing power is unleashed by the faith of the must unexpected character, a member of the occupying Roman power. And the thing that made this man special was his sincere openness to the God of the Jews, even to the point of absolute faith in Jesus’ willingness and ability to heal his slave. Jesus is astonished at him, much as the townspeople are astonished—or rather frightened—at the raising of the dead man. The centurion expresses faith in the unlikely; the townspeople, whose very tradition spoke of a saving God, expressed fear. Perhaps the centurion illustrates a man seeking wisdom, “desiring instruction.” Do we identify with him? Or do we identify with the townspeople, who were frightened by that which violated their expectations. We must ask, then, is it enough to attend worship, read the scriptures, and observe religious rules? Or are we called to an open heart seeking instruction, trusting that God’s wisdom, though embracing us, still remains beyond us?
And how might this complex of ideas speak to being a Christian environmentalist today? First, I think we are cautioned not to settle for a status-quo, that is, not to resign ourselves to continuing to use fossil fuels because our energy needs are too high to meet without them. At the same time, we must not to stop further research. In fact, we must resist the temptation to believe that God will miraculously save us.
I believe that the Christian position lies between a cynical resignation to an increasingly impoverished natural world (and increasingly artificial living environment) and the childish trust that God will deliver us from our foolishness. Rather, it is a walk a constantly questioning and listening faith, as well as a willingness to surrender elements of our way of life (convenience and comfort) for the sake of something or someone greater than ourselves. Do we grit our teeth and persevere, or do we continually open our hearts and minds in the desire for instruction?
