Month: November 2018

Daniel 7:13-14; Psalm 93; Revelation 1:5-8; John 18:33b-37

For the last Sunday of our year of Mark, Christ the King, the Lectionary gives us John’s account of the confrontation between Jesus and Pilate about true kingship.

We start with the famous “Son of Man” prophecy, the first vision of Daniel, when the visions begin in Daniel 7.  “I saw one like a Son of man coming, on the clouds of heaven.”  Jesus calls himself “the son of man,” and people make the connection.

Now, I’m not a Bible scholar, so maybe I’m missing something, but it seems to me that “son of man” is used a lot of places in the Old Testament, and it just means, “human,” maybe specifically, “weak human.”  Psalm 8, for example, asks, “what is man that you are mindful of him, and the son of man that you care for him?”

Here in Daniel 7, before our reading, the vision begins with four beasts, the first and fourth of which look like “a man.”  They are big and powerful and bad.  They are defeated not by man, nor by any earthly power, but by “the ancient of days.”  (I can’t find that phrase anywhere else in the Bible.)

The Son of Man “receives” power from the Ancient of Days.  This Son of Man doesn’t conquer, he lets God conquer.

Of course, Jesus is both Son of Man and Son of God—but if he’s referring to Daniel 7, it’s to make this distinction about who is powerful.  We cannot defeat the beasts, or the earthly powers they represent, by earthly power.  Before the power of Pilate, the Son of Man gets crucified.

***

Before Pilate, Jesus is almost evasive about kingship.  Pilate, the governor, rules on behalf of Caesar, the ultimate earthly king (who is in his own way called son of God and most high, etc.), and somehow cooperates with the local client king Herod.  Pilate knows—or thinks he knows—what kingship means.

So Jesus can’t be direct.  “Are you the King of the Jews?”  As Thomas Aquinas would say, “kingship can be said in many ways.”  Depends what you mean by “king.”

Jesus does claim kingship when he says, “My kingdom does not belong to this world.  If my kingdom did belong to this world, my attendants would be fighting to keep me from being handed over.”  It’s a delightful distinction: yes, I am a king—and no, I am not the kind of king you’re thinking of.

In Pilate’s world—in our world—kings fight.  Kings kill; they are king because they do not get killed.  In that sense, no, Jesus is no king.  But is that true kingship?

***

Another equivocation is about “the Jews.”  “Are you the King of the Jews?”  Well, yes and no.  Pilate says, “I am not a Jew, am I?  Your own nation [that is, the Jews] and the chief priests handed you over to me.”  Jesus turns that around when he says, “my attendants would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews.”  Did the Jews hand him over to Pilate, or is Pilate handing him over to the Jews, or what?  Are they “his own nation”?

Yes and no.  It seems to me John’s Gospel uses “the Jews” in a funny way—sort of like how he uses “the world,” which God “so loved” and for the life of which Jesus gives his flesh, but of which Jesus says, about his disciples, “They are not of the world, just as I am not of the world” and even “I am not praying for the world but for those whom you have given me.”  John’s Gospel does something similar with “the flesh”: good and bad, depending what you mean.

Pilate asks, “Are you the King of the Jews?”  And Jesus says . . . depends what you mean by “the Jews.”  “The Jews” can mean those who are handing him over to Pilate, who won’t go into the Praetorium so they won’t be defiled for Passover, but who ask Pilate to help them, because “It is not lawful”—according to Caesar’s law—“for us to put anyone to death”; they later say, “We have no king but Caesar.”  No, he is not their king.  But the Jews are his kingdom.

A lot of these words don’t mean what people think that they mean.

***

So too, “I came into the world, to testify to the truth.”  But Pilate says, “What is truth?”

These two are not speaking the same language.  Jesus is king, but not by earthly standards.  He is king not because he has the power of Daniel’s beasts, but because he bears witness to the Ancient of Days, the only real power.  “My kingdom is not here.”  Those are words we should say.  Yes, kingdom—but no, not that kind of kingdom.

***

“Behold he is coming amid the clouds,” says our reading from Revelation.  (I’m not sure why, but these final appearances always involve “the clouds.”)  “And every eye will see him, even those who pierced him.  All the peoples of the earth will lament him.  Yes.  Amen.”

Somehow, the final judgment will mean seeing the one whom earthly power has pierced, and knowing whose side we have chosen.

Is your kingdom of this world?

Daniel 12:1-3, Psalm 16, Hebrews 10:11-14, 18, Mark 13:24-32

In our Sunday Gospel two weeks ago, a scribe asked Jesus, “Which is the first of all the commandments?” and when he had answered, “No one dared to ask him any more questions.”  This week Jesus responds to one last question.

Our reading begins, “Jesus said to his disciples, ‘In those days after that tribulation.’”  Again the Lectionary alludes to a passage we didn’t read, which begins, “Peter and James and John and Andrew asked him privately, ‘Tell us, when will these things be, and what will be the sign when all these things are about to be accomplished?’”

This is our last reading from Mark: because Mark is short, this year we read from John, too, so for the last Sunday of the year, Christ the King, we will read John’s account of Christ before Pilate.

***

Our reading from Daniel tells of “a time unsurpassed in distress,” “there shall arise Michael,” “many of those who sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake.”  The prophets foretold a final day of wrath, and it is about that day that the Apostles ask Jesus.

But Jesus’ answer is subtle.  He begins, “when you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed. This must take place, but the end is not yet.”  The passage we read at Mass concludes, “But of that day or hour, no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.”  (Jesus speaks of his humanity: no creature, not even the angels, can see that day, only God knows.)

The Apocalypse is not about predicting the future.  It will come—but we don’t know when.  Don’t look for signs.

***

Here’s an important point in Catholic theology.  Protestants (and some Catholics) have a tendency to read the Bible as talking about other times.  For them, the most important part about Genesis is figuring out when and how the world was created back then; the most important part of the Apocalypse is figuring out when and how it will happen; even the most important part of Christ’s work on the cross is what happened then.

As Catholics, we believe all these things are true: God did create the world, it will end, and Jesus’ death on the Cross is the central moment of history.

But we believe all those things are important now, not just “then,” “in that day.”  Genesis, the Apocalypse, and the Cross all tell us how to live now.  They are of historical importance because they are also of moral importance, today.

***

Thus if we keep reading past this Sunday’s Gospel, Jesus says, “Be on guard, keep awake.  For you do not know when the time will come. . . . Stay awake—for you do not know when the master of the house will come.”  The Apocalypse is something that will happen—but it is important for how we live our lives today: as those who await his coming, not as those who have it all figured out.

Twice in the passage leading up to our Gospel Jesus warns about “false christs and false prophets.”  Instead of following new leaders, we need to hold on.

***

When it comes, our Gospel says, you will know: “the sun will be darkened and the moon will not give its light” (that’s a prophecy made many times) “and then they will see the Son of Man coming in the clouds with great power and glory.”  “Learn a lesson from the fig tree: . . . when you see these things happening, know.”  (A curious reference: he begins his final ministry in Jerusalem by cursing a fig tree for not being ripe before its time.  A complicated passage—but one point is, things have their proper time—and only Jesus can uproot the mountains.)

You will know!  No need to guess.

***

Our reading from Hebrews says Jesus made the “one sacrifice for sins, and took his seat forever at the right hand of God; now he waits until his enemies are made his footstool.”  We await that final victory too—and live in the in-between time, when we know Jesus will triumph but we have not experienced it yet.

“By one offering he has made perfect forever those who are being consecrated.”  Christ on the Cross gives us the strength to survive.  If we read on in Hebrews, we would find something similar to our reading from Daniel: “At that time your people shall escape . . . . Many of those who sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake; some shall live forever. . . . The wise shall shine brightly like the splendor of the firmament, and those who lead the many to justice shall be like the stars forever.”

Jesus is at work in our hearts even now.  We do not yet see the triumph of justice and wisdom—we do not expect to see that triumph until he comes.  But we know the triumph will be his, and we live in the in-between time, letting his Cross, made present to us through the sacraments, shape us into the people of the final age.

What difference does hope for the final triumph of Christ make in your life?

1 Kings 17:10-16, Psalm 146, Hebrews 9:24-28, Mark 12:38-44

This week’s Gospel is the widow’s mite: “she, from her poverty, has contributed all she had.”

Our reading about the prophet Elijah gives the story of another widow.  The prophet is demanding.  To a woman who is preparing her last meal before she starves to death, he says, “First make me a little cake . . . .  Then you can prepare something for yourself and your son.”  The Lord provides—but only to those who give him everything.

Our reading from Hebrews takes us into the priesthood of Jesus Christ.  The priest of the Old Testament could offer only a “blood that is not his own.”  To sacrifice something other than ourselves has no power to overcome our sins or to establish our relationship with God.  But like the widow, the sacrifice Jesus offers is his own life.  That is the only true and sufficient sacrifice.

The flipside is that when Christ “will appear a second time,” it will no longer be to offer sacrifice, but “to bring salvation to those who eagerly await him.”  That “eager awaiting” is the sign of our own sacrifice: do we, like the widow, long only for God?

Last week we read about loving God with our whole heart.  Now we see how demanding that love is.

***

Our Gospel gives two contrasting paragraphs, one about the scribes, one about the widow.  The scribes—those who know God’s laws and promises from the Old Testament—are a theme here.  Last week it was a scribe who knew that we should love God with our whole heart, and to whom Jesus said, “You are not far from the kingdom of God.”  To know is not far—but not there yet, either, until we love in fact.

Then the Lectionary skips a short scene where Jesus argues with the scribes, who misunderstand the power of the Messiah.  They know the command, they don’t fully appreciate the promise.

And this week, he condemns the scribes.  He says they “like to go around in long robes (in Greek, stoles) and accept greetings in the marketplaces, seats of honor in synagogues, and places of honor at banquets.”  Sound like anyone you know?

They have their fancy costume, and they go three places: the marketplaces, the synagogues, the banquets.  Everywhere, they want to be first.  But notice that all of this is very social.  One could imagine that they—as so many of us today—pass this all off as love of neighbor: how could I not love to greet people in the marketplace, and to go to parties!  We pass off a lot of self-indulgence in the name of love.

Then comes the stinger.  Jesus tends to slap us in the face, but here he is more like Paul, who likes to bury the sting.  “They devour the houses of widows and, as a pretext, recite lengthy prayers.”

“Devour” is literally “eat up,” and it comes right after the banquets.  I’ve only seen one scene from the Sopranos, but it’s on this theme.  How often, in the name of ministry, do we all—yes, priests especially, but all of us—claim to be piously enjoying hospitality, when in fact we’re just serving ourselves.  How often, in the name of love, do we justify self-indulgence?

***

The “widow” puts a point on it.  It’s still self-serving if you’re getting your steaks and movies from Carmela Soprano, who has plenty of money.  But the widow brings out the pure selfishness of the scribe who claims to be pious and eats away her livelihood.

Jesus then looks up to see a widow.  The last line is, she “has contributed all she had, her whole livelihood.”  In fact, the way Greek says this is, “her whole life”: what the widow put in the coinbox was, for her, life itself.

Elijah demanded all—but Elijah also had the miraculous power to restore that widow to life.  He gave more than he received, and his receiving was truly in the name of piety.  That’s not true of much that we do.  We are called to be like the widow, not like Elijah.

***

I like the contrast between those who “contributed from their surplus wealth” and she “from her poverty.”  The Evangelist introduces the widow as a “poor widow.”  In Greek, the word for “widow” already means, literally, “one in need”; it’s not just that her husband is dead, it’s that she has no provision.  But the word for “poor widow” here means “crouching,” and thus “begging”; it’s distinct from a word for poverty that means “toiling”: the “crouching” person is a beggar.

Then the contrast is built on two prepositions.  The word for “abundance” is a fun expansion of the word “around”: either it means, “people with a lot of stuff within arm’s reach” or “people giving the stuff that is nearby, but not really themselves”—like the Old Testament priests, who offered animals instead of themselves.  But when it says she gave “from her poverty,” it’s a similar expansion on the word “under”: either because she is the kind of person who is “beneath” everyone else, or because what she gives, what he next calls her very “life,” is not something just “nearby” her, but the very ground she stands on.

Like it or not, friends, when Jesus tells us to love with our whole heart, he doesn’t mean we go to parties and get fed.  He means we enter into the widow’s poverty—the poverty of Jesus Christ on the cross.

Where are your claims to love really a sham?

Deuteronomy 6:2-6, Psalm 18, Hebrews 7:23-28, Mark 12:28b-34

As we begin the last month of the liturgical year, our Gospel leaps ahead.  We had read a few consecutive stories leading up to the triumphant entry at the beginning of Mark, chapter 11.  Now we leap ahead to the middle of chapter twelve, where Jesus and a scribe agree that the “first of all the commandments” is to love God and neighbor.

Jesus is affirming the Old Testament.  Here, at the culmination of his teaching, in answer to the most basic, ultimate question, Jesus quotes Deuteronomy, the culmination of the five books of Moses.  First he quotes the Sh’ma, the most fundamental Jewish prayer: “Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God is Lord alone.”  “You shall love your neighbor as yourself” is not as obviously central, but it is a quotation from Leviticus (19:18), and it does indeed summarize much of the Old Law, the two poles of which are worship of God and love of neighbor, especially the poor neighbor, the one most in need of our mercy.

The scribe agrees with Jesus.  “Pharisee” and “Sadducee” are names of two particular interpretations of the Law (Pharisees looked for ways to maximize their religious life away from the Temple, Sadducees deemphasized everything but the Temple).  But “scribe” names not an interpretation, but an expert.  We don’t know what this guy thought, only that he knew his stuff.  The learned Israelite agrees with Jesus.

***

Neither Jesus nor the scribe quotes Deuteronomy exactly.  As our first reading shows, Moses says (both in the Hebrew original and in the classic Greek translation that Jesus often quotes), “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength.”  Jesus expands “all your soul” to “with all your soul, with all your mind.”  The scribe says “with all your understanding.”

These are friendly amendments: not changes, just interpretations.  But it shows that they are thinking about the meaning of Scripture, not just quoting mindlessly.

***

This is another story where the first and last words are important.  Now, the reference begins 12:28b—partway into the verse—and the English translation just dives in: “One of the scribes came.”  The Latin (the official version of the Lectionary) adds “In illo tempore: At that time, one of the scribes came.”  But both leave out the key words of the first verse: “Hearing them disputing with one another.”  There is a context for the scribe’s conversation with Jesus.

In the stories the Lectionary skipped over, since Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem, he has “disputed” about the cleansing of the temple (which Mark “sandwiches” with the strange story of the cursed fig tree), Jesus’ authority and the authority of John, the parable of the tenants who do not pay their master, paying taxes to Caesar, and the reality of the resurrection.

It’s worth reading through that list carefully.  What our story this week highlights is that in all of these things—in all of the “disputes” of Jesus with the Jewish authorities—his real principle is just the primacy of God.

This week’s scribe helps us focus.  What are you really talking about, Jesus?  Loving God above all else and loving our neighbor as our self.  That’s it.  There’s lots of disputes where that word takes flesh—but the central word is to love God and neighbor.

***

And so in the other direction, our reading ends, “And no one dared to ask him any more questions.”  In fact, they don’t.  In the rest of Mark’s Gospel, the only question about doctrine that remains is when the disciples ask, “When will these things be, and what will be the sign when all these things are about to be accomplished?”  We have reached the culmination of Jesus’ teaching.

It’s that simple: love—a demanding love, a total love, of God alone, and thus of our neighbor.

***

The scribe adds one key point.  He repeats Jesus’s teaching on love but adds, “is worth more than all burnt offerings and sacrifices.”

This too is a summary of the Old Testament.  In a sense, Jesus has summarized the Law, in response to the question about “the commandments.”  But the scribe has added a summary of the prophets: after Moses gives the Law, the prophets add, in a hundred ways, that God isn’t looking for the sacrifices themselves.  The sacrifices are there for the love.  (My concordance names Samuel, the Psalms, Proverbs, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Hosea, Amos, and Micah as places you can find that point, though we could multiply further.)

We could add that, just as this central teaching on love of God and neighbor summarizes all of Jesus’s disputes with the Pharisees and Sadducees, so it summarizes what all the prophets have taught: you don’t understand anything till you understand it is all about love.

***

Our reading from Hebrews shows how that teaching culminates in the death of Christ.  Hebrews is a complicated meditation on various Old Testament passages; this week’s reading, for example, ends with “the word of the oath,” because it is meditating on the profundity of Psalm 110’s saying, “The LORD has sworn and will not change his mind, ‘You are a priest forever after the order of Melchizedek.’” For the Lord to “swear” suggests there’s something important about this priestly order of Melchizedek, something greater and more fundamental than the Levitical priesthood of the Old Testament.

The key line from this reading in Hebrews, though, is “he offered himself . . . a son.”  The perfect sacrifice is not Temple worship, but the pure worship of life and death as a loving son.

That is the fulfillment of the Law and the prophets: Christ on the Cross, the perfect act of love.

Are there parts of your religious life that get detached from simple love of God?