Preparing for what comes next

 This is my homily for yesterday, The Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe (aka Christ the King).  Yesterday's readings are here.

Most of us are pretty good at fooling ourselves.  We tell ourselves that most people like us.  We tell ourselves that, if we can just get our hair right today, and have a good hair day, it will make a difference in our lives.

One of the ways we fool ourselves is: we assume that, just because things have happened a certain way in the past, they’ll keep working that way in the future.    I assume that, because my car has gotten me to work every day last week, it will get me to work this coming week, too.  But that assumption, that everything will continue on in the future as it has in the past, is a fallacy.  In point of fact, my car may not get me to work tomorrow if I fail to put gas in it or properly maintain it.   Cars don’t just keep going on and on as they have in the past.

And although it’s not pleasant to contemplate, even though I’ve awoken from sleep every day of my life so far, there will come a morning some day when I won’t wake up.  My life will draw to an end, either gradually or suddenly.  Things on earth don’t actually keep going and going as they have before.  They come to an end.

This is all according to plan.  God knows that his creatures like you and me won’t live on earth forever.  Even though our lives here in this world are what we’re familiar with, God’s plan for us extends beyond this world and our lives in it.  

Do you know what our life on earth is like?  It’s like the overture to a Broadway show.  It’s a convention of musical theater that, before the curtain rises or an actor steps foot on stage, the orchestra in the pit plays an overture: an extended instrumental piece that introduces some of the show’s major musical themes.  Overtures can be satisfying and wonderful musical works in their own right.  But the overture isn’t all there is to the show; in fact, the overture really is meant simply to prepare us for the main event which is to follow.  

That’s what our lives here on earth are: they are overtures, meant to prepare us for what follows.  And that’s the imperative for our lives here: to prepare.  We must live so as to prepare ourselves for what follows.  That is what the Gospel readings of recent Sundays have been urging us to do: to prepare for our Savior’s Second Coming.  We must live like the five wise virgins who bought sufficient oil for the coming of the bridegroom, the time of whose coming is unknown.  We must live like the subjects of the king who had our wedding garments ready for his son’s wedding feast, even though we hadn't expected to be invited.  We must live like the master’s servants who traded the talents given to us, so that when he returns from his journey, we can give an accounting that shows we’ve used our talents as he expects – which is to say, to help build up his kingdom.

And so that’s the first point I wish to make today: everything we know on earth will come to an end; but our lives here are not all there is; and so our lives must prepare us for what follows.  

The second point is one that may make us feel a bit uncomfortable: when our lives end, we will be judged.  Yes, we will be called to account.  That’s the point that the Gospel readings of these recent Sundays have been trying to hammer home to us.  Either we will have sufficient oil to greet the bridegroom – or we won’t.  Either we will have our wedding garment ready for the wedding feast – or we won’t.  When the master returns, either we will have proven ourselves faithful in small matters, and ready for greater responsibilities – or we won’t.  

The things we need to do to be ready for our judgment are all laid out in today’s Gospel: we’ll be judged on whether we’ve fed the poor, or not.  On whether we’ve clothed the naked, or not.  On whether we’ve welcomed the stranger, or not.  And accordingly, either we’ll be grouped with the sheep, which is good, or with the goats, which is bad.  Either we’ll be ushered into the eternal joy and comfort of being with God, or the eternal torment of being separated from him. 

Now, this business of being judged may sound scary – and in fact, it is scary: it’s high-risk/high-reward.  But here’s the Good News: even if we’ve been slackers so far about preparing for our judgments, we still have time to prepare.  We still have time to pull it together.  If you know the game of golf, you might be familiar with the idea of the mulligan.  The mulligan isn’t really a rule of golf, but it’s a merciful custom.  The idea is, if I hit a drive that lands in the water, or if I slice it so badly that it flies over the fence and across the street, I might be given a mulligan.  That means my golfing companions will allow me to tee up the ball again and hit another drive, and not count the first drive.  It’s as if the first drive didn’t happen.  We mutually agree to blot it out of existence.

Jesus Christ our King is more merciful than anyone you’ve ever played golf with.   He allows us unlimited mulligans.  If we’ve lived unworthy lives so far, in which we’ve failed to do the things he is urging us to do, like feeding the hungry and welcoming the stranger – if we’ve been poor preparers so far, he’ll give us a mulligan.  He’ll let us tee it up and hit it again and try to do better.  And if we fail again, he’ll let us take another mulligan, and another and another.  He’ll even give us sacramental grace to help us hit the next drive straight.

I say we have been given unlimited mulligans, but in fact, there is a limit: once our lives come to an end, we don’t get the chance to tee it up anymore.  Our time of preparation will have come to an end.  We don’t have forever to get our lives straightened out.  And we know not the day nor the hour when that end time will come for each of us.  It could be sooner than we think.  So let me just suggest that today would be a really good day for us to take stock of our lives, and stop doing whatever makes us hit the ball into the water; and to start doing the things on which we’ll be judged, like feeding the hungry and curing those who are ill and welcoming the stranger.  We still have time to prepare.  Let’s not waste it.