In our first reading, the term “earthen vessels” is particularly poignant. A hymn written by Father John Foley, S.J., incorporates the great mystery of the Eucharist and presence of God within our very human package in a way that always resonated with me. God created us in His image and likeness. Despite the sinful choices of our first parents (and of our own doing), His redemptive love extends so powerfully into our world that He truly became one of us in the incarnation, lived among us while bearing all of the hardships that travel with human frailty, and showed us how to love the Father and live truthfully in the face of resistance and even brutality.
Our earthen vessels are flawed and fragile, but the One who created us values us nevertheless. At the last day, He will raise us into an incorruptible form, but we will still be ourselves – fearfully and wonderfully made and bearing a unique image of our Creator. Until that day, we must endure paradoxes and conflicts, including the ultimate paradox that sources of pain and suffering – even death – are part of the path toward life and essential to forming us.
Today’s psalm reminds me of another hymn, “Bringing in the Sheaves,” which I recall from the country church of my youth. Farmers know that a harvest requires suffering and sacrifice. If the earth brought forth all we needed without us, we would merely be hunters and gatherers, not farmers. The hope of future harvest motivates us to persist through hardships and opposition. Sheer grit may support us when our hearts betray us into losing that hope, which is a theological virtue that keeps us trusting in God’s goodness to sustain us through all things.
Today’s gospel presents another example of flaws revealed in these earthen vessels, even among those who are closest to our Lord. Our desires for recognition and approval are partly rooted in truth. We possess uniqueness and talent, but they are “on loan from God.” God in His wisdom gave us mothers, who are usually the first ones to tell us we are special, a counterweight to messages from the world of conformity. How wonderful for the sons of Zebedee to have a mother who truly believed that message! But perhaps even her motives were not quite so pure. Her request for places of honor to be reserved for her sons would surely reflect well on her, too. I can almost see her proudly saying to her fellow saints, “Those are my boys!”
Pride can muddle this truth of our uniqueness, especially when we tell others we are more special than they are! This can be a source of laughter. We are, after all, walking jokes. Choosing laughter over anger would be better for our constitution. And perhaps that laughter would draw us closer to God, who is also probably laughing.
The other disciples found this prideful display off-putting. It offended their own need for recognition! Our Lord’s response -- essentially that we’ll see how great you are when you are presented with suffering and model servanthood -- diffused their clamoring for a time. They would learn that they would not always pass the test, but that God’s loving mercy was still there for them, probably with the knowing smile of a wise teacher.
Lord, help us to view ourselves rightly and in a way that is ordered toward your great love and mercy toward us, which you pour out to us in our earthen vessels. And help us to laugh with you when our earthen vessels sometimes leak out pride.
Edward Morse
Ed Morse is a professor of law who holds the McGrath North Endowed Chair in business law at Creighton. University School of Law. He and his wife Susan are Catholic converts. Together, they operate a family cattle farm in rural Western Iowa.
Writing these reflections over the past fifteen years has helped me to learn and grow in faith. Sometimes it has also chastened me by reminding me of the constant need to practice what we have learned as we live out our faith journey together. I am grateful for feedback and encouragement from my fellow travelers.
