Christ the King (Year B) Nov. 25 (Daniel 7:13-14; Psalm 93; Revelation 1:5-8; John 18:33-37)

Suffering, oppression and persecution form a fertile ground for dreams and visions. When hope begins to flicker out and faith starts to waver the Spirit often sends visions of deliverance and hope into the minds and hearts ofsensitive individuals. They usually should not be taken literally but as reinvigorating inspirations and messages of hope.

Written during the Maccabean revolt against the Syrian Greeks in the second century BC, the Book of Daniel spoke to the yearning of the hearts of Israel for a deliverer and saviour. The one “like a son of man” (human being) was to be given a universal and eternal dominion over all peoples, nations and languages — not a bad portfolio! In its original context it is unclear who this figure is — it could have described the archangel Michael, another unnamed figure or as many scholars believe, a collective symbol for Israel. To the suffering Jews of the time it meant only one thing: God had not forgotten them and would intervene to vindicate and save His people. The unjust exercise of power by the kings and rulers of the Earth was going to end as God asserted total control over the Earth.

Although no such heavenly deliverer arrived during that period Israel did shake off foreign control, at least for a brief period. Two centuries later the authors of the New Testament reinterpreted this passage and applied it to Jesus — Mark 13 and the second reading from Revelation are good examples. Apocalyptic literature such as Daniel and Revelation is easily misused and can often disappoint if we expect that they predict events in our own time. They were intended to give meaning to the life of the people during very difficult times and to exhort them to persevere in faith. Read as ringing affirmations of the majesty and sovereignty of God and the illusory and fleeting nature of evil these visions can continue to inspire us in our own difficult and uncertain times.

The Book of Revelation portrayed Jesus as a king over all the Earth and there was a fervent prayer that this glory and dominion last forever. Revelation looked forward to His return on the clouds when He would be clearly manifested and vindicated before all. This has not yet occurred, but there is no reason for disillusionment. The time that is expressed in this passage is divine rather than human time. God is the beginning and the end, the one who is and who was and who is to come — in other words, God and the Lord Jesus are always present. We need not feel that God is in the distant past or the far horizon for He is eternally present and active in our world.

As we saw in the first reading, it is best not to take labels such as “king” and “dominion” in the literal or ordinary human sense. Nowhere is this more evident than the trial of Jesus in John’s Gospel. A very nervous and fear-ruled Pilate questioned Jesus about His alleged kingship for that was the word on the streets of Jerusalem. Talk of kingship over Israel was dangerous in the volatile atmosphere of Jerusalem. Jesus turned the question back on Pilate and only accepted kingship if it was understood in a completely unique sense. By saying “not of this world” He does not mean “up there” somewhere but that the authority He exercised did not reflect earthly conceptions of power. He firmly rejected violence and force, for His authority consisted of unity and love. Pilate was unable to see or understand anything except through human and worldly concepts. He was not the likeable but weak character portrayed by the evangelists. Other sources portray him as a brutal, unscrupulous governor who was well-versed in Roman power politics and the use of brute force.

Jesus brushed aside Pilate’s focus on kingship and insisted that His only mission was to testify to the truth. The truth to which Jesus bore witness was a non-violent God in whom there is only light and love, manifested perfectly in Jesus Himself. In His witness Jesus challenged all earthy models of power and authority. Our violent and fearful world desperately needs to learn of the creative and healing power of this light and love when human hearts are open and in harmony with the divine source.

33rd Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year B) Nov. 18 (Daniel 12:1-3; Psalm 16; Hebrews 10:11-14, 18; Mark 13:24-32)

People have always yearned for the intervention of a super-human hero to save them from the chaos and suffering that the world dishes out. When the Book of Daniel was written in the second century B.C., the people of Israel were fighting for their very existence. The mad Seleucid Greek leader, Antiochus Epiphanes, was working overtime to obliterate Jewish culture and religion. The Jews fought back under the able military leadership of the Maccabee family but much of the land was devastated and many lost their lives.

The Book of Daniel was intended to encourage the people and assure them that God was preparing to intervene in the struggle and rout their enemies. What greater superhero can one have than the archangel Michael? The message was clear: stand fast, be courageous and patient, and above all, remain true to your spiritual convictions. Those who do so and lead others on the same path will not be disgraced but exalted and honoured by God.

No angelic champion or heavenly army showed up to save the Jews during their struggle, nor will one bail us out of ours. They defeated their enemies and went on to flourish by faith, hard work, dedication, courage — in other words, blood, sweat and tears. This is a timeless message — there have been many “times of anguish” and we are in the midst of one now. We cannot look for easy solutions or shortcuts because there are none. As well as being an opportunity, a time of crisis, chaos and struggle is also a time of danger. There is the temptation to cease thinking in a reflective manner and turn over our freedom, conscience and minds to demagogues, political or religious ideologies and authority figures. Even the successors of the Maccabees were not up to the task and degenerated into bloody power struggles and corruption. Our “time of anguish” calls for a recommitment to spiritual ideals and a refusal to be sucked into the darkness or to succumb to cynicism, fear and despair.

The author of Hebrews believed that the sacrifice of Christ ushered in a new age of human history. Violence and bloodshed, especially when associated with God, was no longer necessary or desirable. Not only that, the victory over sin had been won because Christ had assumed a place of power and glory at the right hand of God. Christ was now directing our salvation personally.

We might ask why sin and violence still are so very much with us. A careful reading discloses that although the victory has been won there remains a lot to be done. The world is in a process of being subdued and returned to the rule of God and we participate in this process. The transformation or sanctification that Jesus imparts to us is only effective when we co-operate with the mind, heart and soul in the midst of our everyday lives. Again, there are no shortcuts.

The passage from Mark describes an all too familiar theme: danger, disaster and distress. It refers to the destruction of the temple and Jerusalem in 70 and its aftermath. In typically apocalyptic terms Mark’s Jesus described the heavenly and cosmic signs of the endtimes. The frightening scenario was but a prelude to the apocalyptic climax — the return of the Son of Man and the final judgment.

Jesus said something puzzling, especially to first-century Christians: all of the things described would take place before the death of that generation. The delay of Christ’s return was a major problem for the first Christians because it didn’t happen. Two millennia have passed and it has not occurred. In fact, Jesus insisted that God the Father is the only one who knows when it will occur. Humans, the angels, even the Son are simply not in the loop with regard to the heavenly timetable.

Attempts to second guess God have caused turmoil and violence over the centuries. Perhaps it would be more helpful to focus on the second part of Jesus’ pronouncement: even if the heaven and Earth should pass away, the words of Jesus will remain. As in the first reading, a recommitment to the words of Jesus today will do us and the world immeasurable good. In that sense, the day and hour of Jesus’ return does not really matter.

32nd Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year B) Nov. 11 (1 Kings 17:10-16; Psalm 146; Hebrews 9:24-28; Mark 12:38-44)

The widow of Zarephath was an unlikely candidate for a prophetic visitation. She was not an Israelite, and she was certainly not someone of stature or importance. The Old Testament is filled with accounts of God’s agents seeking out the improbable and questionable — that is how God works. God works with a very different agenda and value system than human beings.

Why did Elijah seek her out among so many in the land? He was likely searching for a generous and compassionate heart that was willing to do God’s will — never mind the external label. God is always at work in the world in places and ways that we cannot imagine. The request that Elijah made seemed unreasonable and a bit calloused at first — the land was gripped by famine and the widow and her family were on the verge of starvation. She didn’t refuse Elijah but informed him of her precarious situation. Elijah reassured her by telling her not to fear. This admonition is given often in the Bible from God’s representatives. Fear is a constricting sort of emotion that can stifle the spirit and stymie the many ways that God tries to help us. The prophet also made her a promise. If she would put aside this fear and hold back nothing, God would provide for the widow and her family even while the rest of the land was in famine. The widow’s generosity and trust enabled God’s miracle. We can ask ourselves how many miracles we would enable if we let go of fearful grasping and self-protection.

The author of Hebrews viewed the life, death and resurrection of Jesus as a turning point in the history of the world and the way in which humans relate to God. Christ in a sense transcended all religion as He entered into the very sanctuary of heaven rather than anything bearing the marks of human creation. In that sanctuary He continues to intercede on our behalf. His sacrifice was meant to be the culminating and final sacrifice — from that point on, humans should not associate blood and violence with the worship or nature of God. Unfortunately Christians have not appropriated this part of the message well as the past two millennia bear witness. God does not delight in the spilling of blood nor does God ask or condone violence on our part. As the prophets of Israel always insisted, only a humble, loving and just heart is an acceptable sacrifice, as well as the giving of self for the sake of others. As we shall see below, not everything that calls itself sacrifice is worthy of the name.

Exploiting the generosity and piety of widows and the poor is nothing exceptional or new. Shady and manipulative TV evangelists have been known to tell elderly or poor folks that God will bless them abundantly if they put their rent money or living expenses in the donation basket and there are instances of financial malfeasance in our own Church as well. There are always some who use religion for personal profit and ego enhancement. Human nature is our constant and rather dismaying companion. Jesus pointed out the widow who gave a very small amount to the temple as an example of true sacrifice, devotion and generosity. Again, a nameless woman without prestige, influence or status was singled out as a moral or spiritual example. She gave what she didn’t have and felt the bite and sting of the sacrifice but it was something she did with love and devotion.

People often give what they can afford to give without feeling the effects. This does not apply only to money but to time and energy too. Large donations often have strings attached and public recognition can be part of the payback. We can wonder how generous people would be if tax receipts were no longer issued or if their donation would require giving up something that they enjoy or cherish. The example of the two widows does not call us to be reckless or excessive in our generosity but to be willing to step out of our comfort zone, away from fear and into the abundance and joy of living in God and for others.

A funeral draws us into eternal life that Jesus’ death made possible

A friend described a memorial service he’d attended. He was directed to a room with a video screen to watch images of the service happening elsewhere.

Increasingly, memorials occur with little or no physical connection to the dead. Last year, I searched the rooms of a funeral parlour for several minutes before realizing there was no body at the wake.

This approach to death may be enlightened and compassionate. We “celebrate” the dead person’s life; we remember their aliveness, and all that made them dear to us. We look around or over death as though it weren’t there. We make a toast, and carry on. It’s a determinedly cheery approach. Is it a Christian approach?

Varied, even competing, views of death abound. It’s seen as the final terminus of physical life, a passage to God, an illusion, a cure for suffering, the thing we all fear most, a glorious destiny, a means of punishment. Our attitudes to death speak about our attitudes to life.

Oftentimes memorials tell us “do not mourn,” “do not weep.” St. Paul, on the contrary, doesn’t tell us not to grieve, but urges, “do not grieve as those who have no hope” (1 Thessalonians 4:13). What is the Christian hope? That we’ll remember the good things of our beloved deceased? That we won’t have to mourn? That they didn’t really die? That we won’t die, or won’t suffer in dying?

An atheist I know says of death: “they close the lid, and that’s it.” He at least has the courage to confront nothingness. Such courage may have a better chance of moving God than pretending death doesn’t exist, or ignoring the questions and discomforts it presents. Entering the unknown requires a true letting-go. Jesus’ friends didn’t learn to forget Him after His death; they didn’t find closure. Following His lead on the cross, they surrendered into it, and this opened everything, including their hearts. They learned, and told us, that love is stronger than death.

The Gospels go to great lengths to show that Jesus really died. He bled. He suffered. His breath stopped. His body was broken. It was taken lifeless from the cross, and placed in a tomb. It was really there. He was dead. Like Lazarus before Him, so long dead that the smell of death hung around. Whatever the Gospels are about, they haven’t been passed down through 2,000 years to help us think death away.

Nor to seek death as an antidote — or a tool in the tool kit of physicians, or of the state. Death isn’t an answer to suffering, to mental illness, to sin or crime or disability or imperfection. It’s an implacable, irrevocable reality that applies equally to us all. Because sin entered the world, through human hearts and actions, therefore we are broken and divided by death. Death, remorseless and anguish-producing, is a witness of the rupture between ourselves and God, by which we also become enemies of one another.

Confronted by His friend’s death, Jesus was moved to tears, not to celebrating Lazarus’ life or telling the dead man’s sisters to look for their brother in the next room. He didn’t treat death as a balm or pretence. He acted against it, thereby foreshadowing the real Good News: that when He Himself lay dead in the tomb, it couldn’t hold Him. He was so alive that death itself broke.

We don’t get around death, but through it. Though it may be painful, we need to contemplate death — together, not alone; with Christ, not without Him; with all the helps the Church can give.

Especially in November, the Catholic Church invites us to spend time with the dead, and to stand at the edge of death. We don’t stand there alone: the veil between the living and the dead is thin. This truth is echoed in the back-to-back solemnity of All Saints and commemoration of All Souls which usher us into November. We pray to and for the dead, inviting them to be present to us. C.S. Lewis (The Great Divorce) suggests the reason we can’t perceive the dead isn’t because they’re insubstantial, like ghosts. It’s because they are super-substantial, so solid, so alive, that we seem insubstantial to them. They died; death is real. More real, more solid than death is love.

There is a communion between people through death. Universally, a funeral or memorial service includes eating and drinking. Food is the way we live communion. It helps us receive Eucharist, and deepen our communion with the One who has died, risen and broken the lock of death.

A Catholic funeral isn’t a celebration of a dead person’s life. It’s a eucharistic service which makes us present to Christ. It draws us into the eternal life-with-God that Christ makes possible. This is our hope, that in our surrender to death — the little deaths-to-self, the deaths of persons we know and letting-go into our own death — we meet Christ who conquered death.
(Marrocco can be reached at marrocco7@sympatico.ca.)

31st Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year B) Nov. 4 (Deuteronomy 6:2-6; Psalm 18; Hebrews 7:23-28; Mark 12:28-34)

A covenant is an unbreakable relationship, not an arrangement of convenience. It is characterized by loyalty, commitment, patience, forgiveness and, above all, love. In fact, all of those qualities are variations on the theme of love.

Modern culture has a great difficulty with commitment and loyalty, and yet it is the foundation of all genuine relationships. God’s covenant with Israel was permanent even though this relationship was definitely rocky, with its moments of glory as well as degradation. Human weakness is always with us, and all relationships, be they marriages, friendships or religious commitments, have periods of struggle and failure. Two things must be remembered: God never let Israel down, even when they brought disaster on their heads, and always granted new life and restoration. Secondly, the way that God blessed Israel was reciprocated by their fierce loyalty and love. The reading from Deuteronomy contains the shema — Hear, O Israel — that is and always has been the very heart and essence of Israel’s faith. It is a call and communal commitment to love God with all of one’s being. God is not to be treated as a concept, idea, convenience, stopgap or part-time consultant. Rather than a compartmentalized life one’s mind, heart, soul and all areas of human activity are to be centred on God.

Covenantal loyalty included loyalty to one another and to the community, as well as a commitment to serve and care for those who were weak, vulnerable or poor. Israel’s covenantal loyalty was not easy, especially when surrounded by competing claims and diverse forms of worship. This loyalty is still problematic in our own time and culture. Countless allurements compete for our affections and attention and threaten to lure us away from a wholehearted commitment to God. There are many things that seem
more glamourous or immediately useful. Sometimes the offending obstacle is nothing more than stress, worry and preoccupation with daily affairs. To sum up: for the people of God, faith and love of God were not something done in the head but with the whole person. There is no proper place for God in our lives but the very core and centre.

Covenants are always on shaky ground when human beings are involved for mortals often disappoint and wound. This was the case in ancient Israel and it has been so in the Christian Church. That is the bad news, but the author of Hebrews offers us a huge consolation. Our covenant is mediated by one who does not disappoint or wound and is not subject to the flaws and weaknesses that are so much part of our own experience. Jesus is our priest forever — He does not change and He is not going anywhere. He is the one who helps us on our journey with compassion and understanding, as well as interceding with the Father on our behalf. We are not alone nor have we ever been abandoned.

Love of God and neighbour is the golden thread that unites both testaments of the Bible. It is also the dynamism that urges salvation history onward. When the earnest scribe asked Jesus to identify which of the commandments was the greatest, Jesus merely repeated Israel’s “creed” — the shema. There was no need to make up something new. For clarity and emphasis he added another line from the tradition of Israel — from Leviticus — “your neighbour as yourself.” This was a very quick and spiritually perceptive scribe — he understood Jesus immediately.

Recognizing the absolute oneness of God and being devoted to Him above all and loving one’s neighbour as oneself is the essence of all revealed religions. Devotions, liturgies and religious gestures are of little use if these essential elements are missing. Jesus confirmed His insights by recognizing that He was not far from the Kingdom of God — living as a God-filled and inspired person. The brightest light that we could possibly bear within our minds and hearts is this great commandment. It will illuminate and transform our interactions with others and our daily activities, and in an age of much religious controversy, it will bring us together in what matters most. Loving God in the manner urged by the great commandment implies that we also love all that God loves — all creation and humanity without distinction or conditions.

30th Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year B) Oct. 28 (Jeremiah 31:7-9; Psalm 126; Hebrews 5:1-6; Mark 10:46-52)

Jeremiah was not the happiest of prophets. His anger, gloom and frustration pervade the book that bears his name — he was a bit over the top, even for a prophet.

In light of the stubborn and sometimes violent resistance that he faced, his reactions are understandable. He prophesied from 626 BC to the final destruction of Jerusalem in 587 BC at the hands of the Babylonians. During this time Israel was being continually bullied by two superpowers, Egypt and Babylon, so a catastrophe of some sort seemed inevitable. Among all of the predictions of disaster, however, was a beautiful promise of hope. Despite the destruction and disruption that Israel was going to undergo, God had not abandoned them. The image of a parent was used: parents stand by their children even when they do stupid things or make a mess of their lives. Love is not conditional on good behaviour or success. God’s promise to Israel was restoration and redemption, not a free pass to escape the impending tribulations. After Israel had passed through its purifying experience, God would lead them back — showing the scars of their struggle to be sure.

The promise makes it very clear that no one will be left out: the blind and the lame, as well as those bearing children will be treated exactly the same. It is far too easy to be swallowed up in the negative energy and fear of current events and to give up hope. Regardless of what happens, God is there and God is working unceasingly on our behalf. Jeremiah’s prophecies have much to tell us today about remaining faithful to God in the way we conduct our lives, but even more so about keeping faith and hope in a very scary world.

One of the most potent and dangerous drugs of all is power. It has brought many to ruin, both those who abuse power and those who are their victims. In the religious realm the potential for abuse is even greater for words and actions are cloaked in God-language and existential fear. The author of Hebrews pointed out that any high priest worthy of the name is deeply aware of his own weaknesses and faults — he stands with and on behalf of the people, not over them and above them.

Although He was sinless, the life of Jesus was a sterling model of how not to abuse power as well as the secret of being an effective and compassionate shepherd of souls. Jesus faced temptations and the limits of life in the body. His life was marked by struggle and suffering. This enabled Him to relate to us with empathy and compassion. The greatest abuses of religious power have occurred when individuals forget their own humanity with all of its flaws and imperfections. It is difficult to be harsh with others when we are aware of how much we are in desperate need of God’s grace and mercy.

God’s mercy was most evident in the story of Bartimaeus, the blind beggar who spent most of his time by the roadside in hopes of offerings from passersby. In the snatches of conversations that he overheard, one name seemed to be on the lips of many: Jesus of Nazareth. When he realized that the great man was nearby he began to shout and beg for mercy. His lack of physical sight was offset by spiritual insight as he recognized the Messianic credentials of Jesus as Son of David. There were many who tried in vain to shut him up: what right did he have, especially as a blind beggar, to bother someone of the stature of Jesus? The man would not be put off by the naysayers and guardians of propriety and he shouted all the more. His persistence was rewarded, for Jesus called to him. Jesus respected the man’s freedom by asking him what he wanted rather than imposing a solution to his problem, to which he responded with a request for restored sight. This was immediately granted but it was clear that faith was the deciding factor.

Throughout the New Testament, this faith is understood as absolute confidence in God’s compassion and mercy even in the face of resistance, suffering, darkness or obstacles. Praying boldly and persistently is both an act of faith and courage.

29th Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year B) Oct. 21 (Isaiah 53:10-11; Psalm 33; Hebrews 4:14-16; Mark 10:35-45)

Suffering is the world’s oldest and greatest mystery. Philosophers and theologians of all varieties have made attempts to explain it with limited success. Anything that sounds too glib or that serves some particular ideology should be viewed with great suspicion and caution.

Isaiah and his nameless prophetic colleagues had their work cut out for them. They had to explain to the people of Israel why their nation had been destroyed and the people exiled in Babylon. The bigger part of that question was why God — with whom they presumably had a special relationship — had allowed it to happen. Sin, idolatry and laxity in matters of the law provided an answer to the first part of the question. But they also insisted that God had a plan and continued to work for the restoration of the people and nation even in Babylonian exile. The suffering that they had experienced was for cleansing and renewal. There would have to be a collective conversion of minds and hearts and a commitment to follow the ways of God carefully and zealously.

There was a problem — a fair number of the exiles were not only resigned to their fate but were quite comfortable and content in Babylon since they did not suffer any significant degree of cruelty or oppression. The prophets worked overtime to rouse the exiled community and reignite the fire of devotion to Israel’s God. They may have been persecuted by their own for their troubles for the suffering servant figure appears as an anonymous exile who suffered greatly for his teachings and prophetic efforts. The important part of the prophecy was the assurance that the suffering was temporary and that the vision of light — a restored Israel — gave strength and courage to the servant. Things of lasting and noble value are worth suffering for and we have the witnesses of countless saints, visionaries, reformers and other leaders who have given their comfort and even their lives for the sake of others. Suffering is never good for its own sake but only when it has purpose and meaning.

Redemptive suffering was most clearly demonstrated in the life of Jesus. His exalted status and His ability to be our advocate and guide was based firmly on His life of sacrifice. Jesus “paid His dues” by becoming human with all of its limitations and being tested in every way. He experienced pain, loneliness, grief, betrayal, fatigue and disappointment. By standing firm in His obedience to the Father and practising unceasing love He rose above temptations and became our compassionate high priest.

Our culture, as well as our economic and political systems, thrive on promising people something for nothing. No taxes, instant weight loss without dieting and exercise and fabulous rates of interest on investments at no risk are fine examples of this mentality. Success without sacrifice is an illusion, and James and John fell for it. They were enamored with the power that Jesus seemed to wield as well as His talk of the kingdom of God. Visions of glory and fancy titles probably filled their heads as they anticipated basking in the Lord’s glory.

The two ambitious apostles approached Jesus and made a request that probably disappointed Him deeply — they wanted the places of honour at the right and left of Jesus in His state of glory. They clearly had not understood His teachings. He pointed out that status in God’s kingdom means being least in the human realm. The exaltation of Jesus was a consequence of His being willing to give His life as a ransom for many. Jesus went on to inform them that He was not in a position to hand out places of honour for it was entirely up to God. They had to be willing to follow in His footsteps with only love as motivation, even to the cross itself.

James and John were just a little too quick in their insistence that they were able to embrace the baptism of suffering that Jesus was about to endure and even then Jesus did not promise them glory. Perhaps they should have added, “With the grace of God.” True spiritual advancement only occurs when we are willing to let go of self-interest, notions of honour and status and selfish ego. Voluntary “downward mobility” is the path to the Kingdom of God.

28th Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year B) Oct. 14 (Wisdom 7:7-11; Psalm 90; Hebrews 4:12-13; Mark 10:17-30)

It would appear that gold, oil, stocks, natural resources and other precious commodities make the world go around. Indeed, people have been killing one another cheerfully for millennia in order to possess more.

Things that glitter can drive people to absolute madness. In the Wisdom tradition of the Old Testament, there is something that makes all of these things seem worthless in comparison and is more valuable than even health, beauty and power. This is wisdom, and it is not to be confused with knowledge or cleverness. There are those who have been educated far beyond their intellectual or emotional intelligence and others who use intelligence for immoral or evil ends. Wisdom, on the other hand, is something that most of us have fervently hoped for at times — the ability to know what is right, especially when there are many conflicting choices. The one endowed with the divine gift of wisdom remains focused on a path that combines justice, compassion, generosity of spirit and a God-centred mind and heart. We recognize these rare individuals as sages, saints, humanitarians and great statesmen and rulers. We probably know far more of them that are not in the history books, such as certain friends, relatives, teachers and others who have been influential in our lives. The wise person is often the one to whom we turn for advice or to ask the deeper questions of life.

Wisdom does not come easily — it requires humility, an open and seeking mind, thoughtful reflection and prayer. Life and its many experiences is the best teacher. Above all, wisdom will often urge us on a path of action that might be at odds with culture, traditions and the opinions of others. The most difficult part of gaining wisdom is not letting it be eroded or whittled away by the many pressures and negative voices that the world can exert.

A piercing and cutting two-edged sword is a strange metaphor to use for the Word of God. There is an obvious danger in violent and militant religious symbolism. But its uncompromising, levelling and unmasking qualities are certainly correct. “Word” means far more than what is written on a page. It is God’s communication with humanity and it can reach us by many paths. The recent pastoral letter Verbum Domini points out that God’s Word can be expressed in salvation history, events, inspired speech, messengers such as the prophets, art, music and, most of all, Jesus who was Himself God’s Word. A genuine expression of God’s Word does not confirm the status quo or allow hypocrisy and self-delusion. It can be painful and disconcerting but it also transforms and gives life and it is most effective when applied rigourously to our own life rather than used against others.

These qualities of the Word were evident in the story of the rich young man in the Gospel. Jesus the Word brushed aside the young man’s attempt at ingratiating flattery and pointed out that he already had the answer to his question concerning eternal life: he should practice the principles of his religion. The rich man had a nagging sense that there was something more. Jesus did not judge him — in fact, He looked on him with love while at the same time piercing through all of the man’s defenses and self-delusions. Jesus saw that the man derived his identity and security from his wealth as well as his ability to control his own destiny. Jesus invited the man — if he really wanted to move to a new spiritual level — to leave it all behind. By giving the wealth to the poor and following Jesus he would discover his true self and would really learn what it meant to rely on God and be led by the Spirit. It was too much for the rich man to handle all at once and he went away shocked and sad, causing Jesus to comment on how difficult it was for a rich person to enter the Kingdom of God.

Maybe the man had a change of heart later on — after all, with God all things are possible. Renunciation and discipleship is foolishness in worldly eyes, but as Jesus reassured Peter those who do so receive far more than they have given. Freedom, happiness and letting go are different ways of saying the same thing.

Questioning Faith

Once, a parish priest asked me and my brother if we would offer a Bible study in the nearby seniors’ home. We invited all residents to an afternoon series in their lounge. Two or three showed up regularly, but nobody else. What were we doing wrong? Why didn’t they like us?

Finally one of the attendees, who was Protestant, acknowledged to us: “They wanted to come because they like this sort of thing, but they couldn’t understand why anybody would send Catholics to do a Bible study.” This took the pressure off!

Though it cherishes a sacred book, Christianity is not a religion of the book. It’s a way, “the way,” to use one of its earliest names. It offers life through encounter with One who is the door to life. Why then does the Church have a special book (or rather, collection of books) that it considers sacred? Where did it come from, and what are we supposed to do with it?

The Church considers the Scriptures “inspired.” Perhaps this makes them seem distant, reserved for the learned few. We may want to get closer to them, without knowing the way (which, at times, is how we feel about God, too). On Oct. 18, we celebrate the feast of St. Luke, one of the four evangelists. Luke, tradition says, was a physician and knew the Mother of God. The first semester of my theological studies included a class assignment to read a Gospel from start to finish. Because the feast day was nearby, I chose Luke’s Gospel; the experience was moving and educational. I discovered somebody behind the Scripture texts. I’d always been taught God was behind them, but now I began to see and hear a human writer. Could it be that God and Luke were writing together?

What a combination — a collaboration between God and a human, in which I could join. It was like being part of a conversation and discovering that in the process, you were getting to know God. So I learned that if the Bible is inspired, that doesn’t put it far away from me, but brings it close. It’s for me, for all of us (including Catholics)!

But what does it mean to say the Bible is inspired?

The other day I saw a photograph of a nice-looking young man. A self-portrait, it showed him wearing a black, short-sleeved T-shirt and black shorts, sitting on a column like a Greek hero. His figure exuded strength and compassion. Noteworthy, but not dominant, was the lack of three limbs, though the bare scarred skin was unabashedly visible.

While on assignment in Afghanistan in 2011, photographer Giles Duley accidentally triggered an explosive device. He endured the amputation of both feet and one hand, and resumed his photography career. Differently. He explains there are things he can’t do any more, such as keep his balance while looking through a viewfinder, and some things he can do in ways he couldn’t before, such as “focus even more on the connection with people.”

Duley’s story was inspiring to me. I imagined how I might respond to similar losses, reflected on the strength of his spirit, the human capacity to transcend itself, how it often falls short but at times rises to glory. His story, his person, evoked a deep response in me.

There are degrees of inspiration. We wouldn’t say the photograph is inspired to the degree the Bible is. We hope the inspiration we get from many things will help us learn to encounter the Spirit in the Bible, where of all books He is most meetable.

The word “inspire” means to “breathe into.” For Christians, it’s a deeply laden word with profound meaning. It reminds us that God “breathed into (Adam’s) nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living being” (Genesis 2:7). It’s the truth of our humanness, that held within us like a treasure is the living Spirit of God. The Mother of God is the archetype of inspiration, so open to God’s Spirit that the Word can take flesh within her.

“Inspiration” is not a thing, but a relationship. God breathed into Adam, but Adam also started to breathe. Scripture’s authors were inspired by God, but we too, people who read, study and pray with the Scriptures, find God’s Spirit within us helping us to understand them — we, too, are inspired. That’s why the Scriptures are the books of the Church, though the Church is not a religion based on books. It’s based on a relationship between God and us.

We need this sort of inspiration in our day-to-day lives. Otherwise we get anxious, like a tiny child whose parent is out of sight. The Scriptures help bring us into the ongoing dialogue between God and humanity, in our present affliction and struggle. They’re a unique place of encounter with God. The dialogue between God and humanity becomes a person. It’s this person whom we encounter in the Scriptures, Christ who alone fills our hunger.

27th Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year B) Oct. 7 (Genesis 2:7, 15, 18-24; Psalm 128; Hebrews 2:9-11; Mark 10:2-16)

People have always asked “why,” “where” and “how” questions. Little children are great at asking these sorts of questions as any parent knows all too well. The ancient Hebrews asked the usual things: where do people come from, why are men and women different, and why do people unite in marriage and raise children? They borrowed freely from the creation and origin myths of the neighbours but always gave them a very different slant — one that emphasized creation as an act of love on the part of a unique transcendent God.

The description of the creation of the first humans does not fall in the realm of science and it should not be taken literally. It answers the “why” sort of question — it gives meaning to life and points to God as our origin. God is the author and giver of the life and breath that animates us. Naming things in the biblical world implies exercising power over them, but it also shows that humans play an important role in the story of the Earth. It also implies responsibility — exercising dominion does not mean exploitation, waste and wanton cruelty.

Bad exegesis makes for bad theology, and there has been more than a bit of dubious theology based on the creation of woman from Adam’s rib. Much of it was influenced by the ancient world’s view of woman as an incomplete or defective version of man and that view has played a part in the subjugation of women over the centuries. Looking at the passage from a very different angle we can arrive at a life-enhancing interpretation. Both the man and the woman are depicted as having a common origin and essence. Unity and harmony rather than subordination and dominance express our true nature. Ideologies and theologies that result in exclusion or domination usually do not stand up under careful, honest and informed analysis of traditions.

Hebrews is a rather difficult theological treatise that carries Paul’s name but was most likely not written by him. It is filled not only with beautiful imagery but challenging statements about Jesus and about us. Jesus voluntarily assumed the limitations of humanity on our behalf and was exalted because of His suffering and death. The author insists that God made Jesus perfect through these sufferings. This should be taken seriously and be understood as the development of the humanity of Jesus. Even more intriguing is the statement that both Jesus and those who follow Him spring from the same source and that Jesus was the “pioneer” — the trailblazer — preparing the way for many to follow. He did not come to be worshipped but to be joined by those He is not at all ashamed to call brothers and sisters. Our relationship with Jesus is one of friendship and solidarity.

The passage on divorce is one of those very hard sayings in the New Testament. Most people are in some manner acquainted with the pain of those who suffer from broken marriages. It was not intended to bind people to abusive partners or toxic relationships but to create conditions for a happy and fruitful life together. Perhaps it is fruitful to approach the reading from a different angle as with the reading from Genesis. Instead of asking what it prohibits we can ask what it affirms. The answer is simple: all people are equal in worth and dignity. No one may be used, viewed as property or treated in a calloused manner. This may sound obvious but to many long ago (and far too many today) it was new and unwelcome news.

Note that the initial question posed to Jesus revolved around the permissibility of a man divorcing his wife — not the other way around. Women were often treated as chattel and once dismissed from a marriage a woman’s place in society and ability to survive were precarious. Jesus was clear that marriage is a relationship between equals and highlighted its spiritual and unitive nature rather than contractual or utilitarian aspects. We can hope and strive to obtain this ideal. At the same time, human weakness and a host of other influences often stand in the way. In these instances, compassion and the insistence of Jesus, illustrated in His welcome of the children that no one be hindered from approaching Him, should be the guiding principles.