A Homily for the Twenty-fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time
Readings: Amos 8:4-7  1 Timothy 2:1-8   Luke 16:1-13

What am I going to do with the Pine Wood Derby trophies? Who cares, except for me? And why do I care?

My brother and I won them as Cub Scouts, racing hand-carved toy cars. And like so many childhood mementoes, they were retained by our mom in the unknown berth that mothers find for such things. 

My mother died 10 years ago, just as I was coming home to pastor my home parish. There is some unwritten rule that the child closest to home inherits the treasures no one else wants or needs.

A few days ago, I was suddenly reassigned and given only days to pack. No argument or complaint. It comes with the vocation, and this is not the first time in more than four decades that this has happened. But now I have 10 years of books, papers, projects and added family memorabilia. Those Pine Wood Derby trophies have been on my office shelf since they emerged from the recesses of my mother’s storage. I stare at them. What was once a forgotten blessing is now an impending burden. As I move, is it time for them to go? How long before someone else will be burdened with their disposal?

Each of us lives in a unique world of care and concern, though we seldom pause to ponder them until they pass. To change jobs or to move represents the death of one world and the birth of a new one. Small wonder that both events are considered among the chief stresses in life.  

All the things you were going to do—clean out that closet and the utility drawer—are suddenly shoved in front of you. It is “now or never,” and you are not doing this on your own terms. A world you took for granted must end. And who can count the “goodbyes” that must be said, relationships that need attention. Such changes can leave us wondering who we are and where we are going.

Moving, changing jobs: These are pale images of the transformation we call the Gospel, the call of Christ to radically reorient our worlds. Our Lord compares us to stewards—note that well—because we do not own the worlds we inhabit, though we certainly convince ourselves that we do. In the eyes of God, we are all renters, day laborers who must move on. All that we have, all that we are, comes from another. 

All things pass. When it comes to our own lives, how do we manage to forget the most fundamental truth of the world we see around us? My Pine Wood Derbies came and went half a century ago. Trophies trick us into thinking that victories are somehow enduring, something we have rightfully earned and can righteously store. But you cannot store life any more than you can catch water with your hands, which is why so many ancient wisdoms speak of all things being an illusion. 

That is ancient wisdom. Here’s the Gospel: Life is not a fantasy. Yes, all things pass, but not the person who toils among these things. Our worlds of care and concern will cease, but what does not end is who we become as we respond to them.

If those trophies helped me to remember that, if they played some prominent role in who I became, they could come along on this move. But I will let them go, along with so much else. I will, however, pack the statue of St. Joseph I received as a boy. He helps me to know who I am. Sooner or later, someone will discard that as well, but by then it will not matter to me or to Joseph.

The Rev. Terrance W. Klein is a priest of the Diocese of Dodge City and author of Vanity Faith.