The Thirty-Second Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year A)
Stay awake and be ready!
For you do not know on what day your Lord will come.
—Entrance Antiphon for the 32nd Sunday in Ordinary Time,
based on Matthew 24:42a, 44
For many people today, the eschaton—the Second Coming of Christ and the Final Judgment—is an uncomfortable topic. How often have we dismissed religious leaders and self-appointed “prophets” who have declared that Jesus will return at a specific time and place or who twist complex biblical texts (think of the vivid and dark imagery in the prophecies of Daniel or the Book of Revelation) into portents of doom and destruction?
And yet, each Sunday, in the Nicene Creed, we declare our belief that “he will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead.” The Catechism of the Catholic Church develops this fundamental Christian belief even more when it says, “Since the Ascension Christ’s coming in glory has been imminent, even though ‘it is not for you to know times or seasons which the Father has fixed by his own authority’ (Mark 13:32). This eschatological coming could be accomplished at any moment, even if both it and the final trial that will precede it are ‘delayed’” (§ 672).
All of this leaves us waiting because the unfolding story of salvation is not yet finsihed. And so, we find ourselves living in a sort of “time between” the comings of Christ. But this tension is nothing new. In fact, the reality of the “time between” has been experienced by Christians since the Ascension of Jesus. This is because, as Scripture scholar Diane Bergant, CSA, reflects, the expectant waiting of the first disciples and the reality of human death raised significant questions for our spiritual ancestors:
Do the dead experience the loss of life? Is life really lost? Or is death a transition from life to another form of existence? Do we have to die before we are able to realize what death really is?
The early Christians thought these questions had been answered with the resurrection of Jesus. Having entered into his death and resurrection through baptism, they believed they would now share in his victory over death. When loyal Christians began to die, not only did the old questions come back, but the community was plagued with new and difficult ones. Was it possible that those loyal Christians had not been loyal after all? Or worse, were the promises made by Jesus empty promises? Had his death been as final as have been all other deaths, and was the report of his resurrection an illusion?
We can see answers to these questions being worked out in the writings of Saint Paul (e.g. in the Second Reading of this Sunday’s Mass) who reminds us that what the Christians had come to believe is all true: Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again and all the faithful will be joined with him. We also recognize that the Evangelist Matthew and his community struggled to reconcile the hope Jesus’ return with their disappointment that it had not yet happened. These believers were trying to understand how to live out their faith in Jesus in the world, even as they looked toward his future coming.
If we look closely at the First Reading and the Gospel proclaimed in this Sunday’s liturgy, we are given a wonderful insight into this experience of watching and waiting, particularly in the symbol of the darkness.
The First Reading describes the Wisdom of God in poetic terms (and in this sense we can understand “Wisdom” as being the embodiment of God’s Revelation and even as an image of Christ, the “Wisdom of God”). We are reminded that our entire lives should be spent seeking Wisdom, who “hastens to make herself known… Whoever watches for her at dawn shall not be disappointed, for he shall find her sitting by his gate” (Wisdom 6:13-14). The seeker looks for her in the darkness of night only to discover, when dawn comes, that Wisdom has been waiting for the seeker all the time.
The image of darkness and night is even more pronounced in Matthew’s account of the Parable of the Ten Bridesmaids. Here, as the bridesmaids watch for the arrival of the bridegroom—who is late for the wedding banquet, which can’t begin without him—night descends, and the women are left dozing. Their lamps begin to flicker and go out, but only half of them had the foresight to bring extra oil, despite the inconvenience and expense that would cause. When the bridegroom finally arrived, those wise women were able to greet him and were welcomed into the wedding banquet. Those who were unwise and unprepared bridesmaids were left out in the dark.
Reflecting on the image of night found in these two texts, liturgical scholar Adrian Nocent, OSB, wrote, “The bridegroom comes at night. In the Scriptures, the night is the time of God’s comings… When the New Testament looks forward to the return of Christ, it regularly thinks of it as occurring in the night (cf. Luke 12:39-40; Matthew 24:43-44; Mark 13:35-36, etc.). Those who wait must not sleep but keep vigil, for the bridegroom comes unexpectedly” (from The Liturgical Year).
“Faith in Christ has never looked merely backwards or merely upwards, but always also forwards to the hour of justice that the Lord repeatedly proclaimed. This looking ahead has given Christianity its importance for the present moment.”
—Pope Benedict XVI in Spe Salvi, 41
As we consider these cold, dark days of autumn, as nature enters into its winter rest and the days become shorter with the dying of the light, the cold and darkness of the natural world act as a symbol of the cold and dark that are present in so many places—and in so many hearts—today. We continue to wait, to watch, to hope for the coming of the Light in all its fullness.
Recognizing the reality of the darkness that envelops us, the readings this Sunday remind us of two important points:
First, we aren’t made for darkness and can never simply surrender ourselves to the dark of night. Rather, we are asked to watch and wait.
Second, we trust that the darkness is not the end. The dawn will come and, with it, the Bridegroom who will invite us into eternal wedding banquet of the Reign of God:
Thus will I bless you while I live;
lifting up my hands, I will call upon your name.
As with the riches of a banquet shall my soul be satisfied,
and with exultant lips my mouth shall praise you.—Psalm 62:5-6
Almighty and merciful God,
graciously keep from us all adversity,
so that, unhindered in mind and body alike,
we may pursue in freedom of heart
the things that are yours.
Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,
who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
God, for ever and ever. Amen.
-Collect for the Thirty-Second Sunday in Ordinary Time
