Blessed Are The Poor: A Christmas Post

Well, it’s Christmas, and I promised I’d write a series of posts on the Beatitudes. How fitting, then, that I should begin my attempt to fulfill that pledge during this sacred celebration of Christ’s birth with today’s reflection on the poor and poor in spirit!

In recent years, Christmas has become a season I look toward with a bit of trepidation. I know; as a friar that seems rather counter-intuitive, but I’m sure there are many folks (maybe even a few who are reading this) that can relate. I’m grateful and delighted when I have the opportunity to spend part of the season with family and friends, as I do this year. But regardless of whatever yuletide festivities or even prayerful pursuits I take part in during Advent and Christmas, I always feel like there is something deeper I’m missing. Perhaps it’s a Charlie Brown syndrome – a despair in the artificialness and commerciality of the season. The remedy to Charlie Brown’s melancholy was his friend Linus’ recounting of Luke 2:8-14. He famously concludes his speech with, “That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.”

I have to give Linus credit; he makes his point simply and clearly. Moreover, it’s the truth! Granted, the incarnation of Christ in our world is a mystery, and like all mysteries, it is infinitely knowable. We can never exhaust our understanding of it nor plumb its depths. That being said, perhaps my own Charlie Brown-esque angst over Christmas cannot be satisfied by hackneyed slogans like, Jesus is the Reason for the Season or Keep Christ in Christmas.

I think most of us, at least in the back of our minds, realize that Christmas, first and foremost, is about the birth of Christ. But what Jesus’ coming into the world means… well, that’s a mystery – a boundless and immeasurably deep ocean. And while I can swim with my head above the water among the ornaments, garland, and nativity figurines floating about on the surface, I have this relentless urge to dive a little deeper. I'll admit, however, that I'm sometimes nervous to do so, because I'm afraid of how I might be challenged.

In this vast sea there are endless facets of the Christmas mystery to explore and meditate upon. One might ponder Mary’s humility in becoming the mother of God. Another could reflect on the self-emptying of God in becoming not only human but a tiny, helpless infant! Perhaps it is God’s great act in salvation history that moves a person’s heart – the bright dawn of our redemption shining upon us! Maybe the awesome change our world has undergone in the incarnation of the Son of God is what elicits sober contemplation. There are metaphors of Christ as shepherd and king. There are messages throughout of peace and mercy. It could simply be a word, or a phrase, or an image from the Scriptures: Glory; Good news; Savior; Messiah; Salvation; Joy; Emmanuel (God is with us); Newborn King of the Jews; Jesus, lying in a feeding trough; Gentile visitors from afar offering homage.

Indeed, one could go on and on about all the rich aspects of our faith which issue from the infancy narratives. Countless hymns draw from such imagery and conjure up riveting lyrics to expound upon those mysteries: And Heaven and nature sing; God and sinners reconciled; Thus to come from highest bliss/Down to such a world as this; Glorious now behold him arise/King and God and Sacrifice; etc.

You don’t need me to tell you what wondrous feature of the Christmas mystery to meditate on. There are so many on which to look. So please, take time for yourself in quiet this holiday season to contemplate whatever speaks to you. However, I promised I would write about the first of the Beatitudes in this post. Therefore, I invite you to consider how the infancy narratives – and much of the rest of Scripture for that matter – take up this theme of God’s favor toward the poor.

Now, I don’t want to glorify poverty for the same reason I don’t think it’s proper to glorify suffering. Anyone who is in desperation of any kind most likely would rather not be in that situation, and there is nothing glamorous about not having shelter, or enough food or clothing. But in Luke’s Gospel, Jesus is very plain spoken: Blessed are you who are poor, for the kingdom of God is yours… But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation (Lk 6:20b, 24).

Matthew’s Gospel does not include a list of woes to contrast the Beatitudes. Furthermore, Matthew uses the expression “the poor in spirit” instead of “you who are poor.” Some scholars suggest that, although Matthew probably precedes Luke, it is actually Luke’s more direct version of the Beatitudes that follows more closely to Jesus’ original preaching. In any case, it’s clear that, according to Luke, Jesus is speaking of the economically and materially poor. The question, though, remains: why are the poor so blessed?

In the spirit of Christmas, I defer to Charles Dickens’ beloved A Christmas Carol for some insight. When the Ghost of Christmas Present takes Scrooge onto the streets of London on Christmas morn, he sprinkles incense from his torch onto the meals of poor revelers. Scrooge inquires about the Spirit’s spice and asks if it would go with any kind of dinner on Christmas. The Spirit replies, “‘To any kindly given. To a poor one most.’

‘Why to a poor one most?’ [asks] Scrooge.

‘Because it needs it most.’” The Spirit answers.[1]

Why are the poor afforded the blessings of God? Because they need it the most! Consider Luke’s, Woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. It isn’t quite a curse, but it seems to say, “You already have what you need. Your wealth and comfort appear to be enough for you, and you have no room for further blessings.” However, the one who is in need is more open to receiving! By contrast, maybe there’s a message in the inns which were too full to receive Mary and Joseph. I don’t know. Yet those who don’t have anything have that much more space to be filled with God’s love. Think of the Blessed Virgin Mary, for instance. Here’s a poor girl from a backwater town, who has never known a man, and who has no expectations of living anything different from a rather ordinary life with her future husband. She was someone most receptive to the monumental grace of being the mother of God’s own Son.

Mary’s Magnificat (Lk 1:46-55) epitomizes what “Blessed are the poor (and poor in spirit)” is all about: For he has looked upon his handmaid’s lowliness… The Mighty One has done great things for me… dispersed the arrogant of mind and heart…thrown down the rulers… lifted up the lowly… The hungry he has filled… the rich he has sent away empty. It mirrors, sometimes almost verbatim, another canticle from the Hebrew Scriptures - that of Hannah, who was an aged and barren wife blessed with a child, the prophet Samuel (cf. 1 Sam 2:1-10). Both the Old and the New Testament repeat this theme of God’s favor toward the poor and the lowly, toward widows and orphans, foreigners and barren wives. These are the ones most in need of it and most receptive to it. To whom was the birth of Christ announced by the angels, but to poor, wretched shepherds, who were among the lowest classes in first-century Palestine. Who could be more receptive to the birth of a savior? Who would look forward to God’s action of “lifting up the lowly” and “filling the hungry with good things” more than these?

Even Matthew’s Gospel illustrates the receptivity of those on the fringes. The Magi are Gentile foreigners, yet they are the first to accept the Good News of Christ’s birth, knowing that it is the dawn of salvation for all peoples, regardless of nationality. Matthew also uses the theme of the blessed outsider when the Holy Family has to seek asylum in Egypt from the threat of Herod. In part, this scene is to identify Jesus more closely as a new Moses, yet one cannot help but recognize that Jesus, Mary, and Joseph - God’s own Son and his highly favored ones – are all, for a time, refugees in a foreign land! I may surmise that the Bible does not always offer immediate answers to every problem, but I believe that the correlation between the flight into Egypt and today’s refugee crisis is obvious. No one whose life has truly been touched by the Gospel can look upon those risking their lives to find refuge in another country and not see the blessed poor of God, the beneficiaries of God’s kingdom!

Not only are the poor in need and most receptive to God’s grace, but having less often leads to an increased sense of gratitude. When one is accustomed to so little, even the smallest blessing is something to be wildly thankful for. Moreover, when one has nothing to give in return, gratitude is the greatest gift that can be offered. There’s something quite humbling about that, in fact. Oh, but how much God delights in a grateful and humble heart! Think, again, of Mary’s Magnificat. “…from now on will all ages call me blessed. The Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name.” Mary gives God all the glory, and she will be called blessed, not because of her own merits, but because of what God has done for her! Gratitude and humility go hand-in-hand; you see? As for ourselves and our relationship to God, we should all be immensely grateful, because all we can really call our own are our sins. All good things come from God.

So while there are certainly diverse explanations as to why the poor are so favored by God, I draw attention to three things: they are in need; they are most receptive; and they are inclined toward humble gratitude. But that does not mean that there is no hope for experiencing God’s blessings if one is not economically poor. God’s grace is abundant! How much God would love for everyone to be a part of his kingdom, to enjoy his bountiful feast! God doesn’t withhold anything from those who are well off, and having means is not, in and of itself, a bad thing.

That being said, regardless of our economic status, we are all called to be poor in spirit. We live up to this calling when we empty ourselves of those things we don’t need, especially those things that clutter up our lives. It might be material possessions, but it may also be things such as time or spiritual matters, like a grudge, or pride, or worries. When we empty ourselves of these things, then we become open vessels just waiting to be filled with God’s grace! And lastly, when we realize that everything we have is from God, all we can do is be thankful for all that we have been given.

Furthermore, since we cannot call what has been given to us our own, everything we have is for us to share with others. It is not, then, impossible for those who are well off to be poor in spirit. Although they may not be in need of much, theirs is to acknowledge with gratitude and humility that they are already unworthy recipients of God’s manifold grace and to be stewards of the good things they have received, giving generously from what has been freely given to them. Think of Scrooge after his encounters with the three spirits, not before. For related Scripture passages, see Mark 10:17-31; Matthew 25:31-46; Luke 3:10-14; and Luke 19:1-10.

Undoubtedly, there is much more that can be said about this Beatitude of the poor and poor in spirit. Indeed, deep and wide is this mystery! However, I shall wrap things up here – it’s Christmas, after all. Hopefully you have a chance this week to read one or both of the infancy narratives (Mt 1:18-2:23 & Lk 1:5-2:40), especially if you suffer from Charlie Brown-like blues at this time of year. As you read them, see what mystery of Christmas speaks most deeply to you. Like Mary, ponder these things in your heart. I invite you, though, to consider what aspects of these stories relate to God’s loving care for the poor. How might you imitate God’s concern for those in need, and how might you become poor in spirit this new year – self-emptying, receptive, humbly grateful, and giving?

“‘And so, as Tiny Tim observed, ‘God bless us, Every One!’”[2]

---

[1] Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol, (1843).

[2] Ibid.

For When I Am Weak, Then I Am Strong

                This Sunday, November 20^th, the Church celebrates the Solemnity of Christ the King. How appropriate it is, given the events that have recently transpired in the United States, that at this time we should be reminded of God's sovereignty. For those that bear the name Christ, indeed, Christ is our king. So it was with little surprise that on the night of November 8th, I saw several posts on social media declaring that, regardless of the election results, Jesus is king. But just what sort of king do we claim to put our faith in? This Sunday's Gospel reading tells us plainly.

                Luke 23:35-43 paints a portrait of a reviled, mocked, crucified man, of one suffering the death penalty, and of one who is silent in the face of persecution. Three times his scoffers needle him to save himself if he is the Messiah, and the last, another damned to the cross, even demands that he save them as well. All the while the reader knows that, despite being intended as a jeer toward Jesus, the sign above the accursed savior's head is, in fact, true – This is the king of the Jews. I wonder if this is the kind of king people imagined when they made their allegiance known on Facebook.

                For all of the ways in which religious values and beliefs influenced voters, I am baffled by how much the notion of making America "great" swayed so much of the population. Oh, don't get me wrong. There were many, many ironies and social phenomena in this election that caused me to make this face:

but I'll restrain myself to one.

                It may come as a shock to some, but the sacred Scriptures are not a code of moral law. There are laws and commandments contained within them, for sure, but the Scriptures are so much more than that. If we truly want to allow God's word to nourish our hearts and consciences, then we must realize that they reveal to us, more than anything else, God's self and the relationship God has with humanity and vice versa. This relationship was ultimately made manifest in the Incarnation – in Jesus, the Word made flesh. Therefore, the Christian tradition is not a set of dogmas, doctrines, and moral obligations. The Christian tradition is an encounter with a person, with Jesus Christ.

                I find it amusing that, when we step back and look at the Scriptures as a whole, we see a God in relationship with really not-so-great people. Abraham and Sarah were too old to have children. Jacob was a deceptive momma's boy. Moses was poor of speech. The prophet Jeremiah even says of himself, "Ah, Lord God! I know not how to speak; I am too young." Samson and Samuel were born to barren women. Rahab was a prostitute. Ruth was from an enemy nation. David was the youngest (and presumably scrawniest) of his brothers, yet he was the one who slew Goliath. David then goes on to supplant King Saul, the man who "stood head and shoulders above the people." And let's not forget that enemy commanders were brutally dispatched by women, that demographic of society thought to be far too weak and powerless.

                Time and again in Scripture the Lord favors the poor and the humble over the powerful and strong. Addressing the Israelites before they cross into the Promised Land, Moses says,

"It was not because you are the largest of all nations that the Lord set his heart on you and chose you, for you are really the smallest of all nations. It was because the Lord loved you and because of his fidelity to the oath he had sworn to your fathers, that he brought you out with his strong hand from the place of slavery." (Deuteronomy 7:7-8a).

And that is just the Old Testament.

                Whom does Jesus choose for his inner circle of disciples? A motley crew of fisherman; men who never seem to understand what Jesus is saying; men who make mistakes but usually learn from them. Who were the ones to whom Jesus first appeared after his resurrection? Women, again that oft dismissed sector of society. Who were the most receptive to Jesus? The sick, the blind, the deaf, the poor, the public sinners and outcasts. Who was chosen to be the mother of Jesus? A poor, young girl from a backwater town; a girl with a heart receptive enough to be filled with the grace to say, "May it be done to me according to your word," and to cry out in the spirit of her ancestors,

"He has shown might with his arm,

dispersed the arrogant of mind and heart.

He has thrown down the rulers from their thrones

but lifted up the lowly.

The hungry he filled with good things;

the rich he has sent away empty."

                At the heart of the Scriptures – I would even venture to say the key that unlocks the whole of the Scriptures – is the Paschal Mystery, the saving death and resurrection of Jesus. Oh, how that mystery of dying and rising permeates the Scriptures in both Testaments. Life emanates from the barren. The flood waters destroy, and a new earth is made. A people are enslaved, and God leads them through the waters to freedom. They are led into exile, and a highway is made in the desert for their return. The Word of God humbles himself and takes on our humanity, even so far as  becoming a mewling, puking infant. Though innocent, he willingly lays down his life and accepts death – a most humiliating death at that! He hardly says a word at his execution, and when he does it is one of mercy. And it is by dying that he becomes the first born of the dead; through him we have new life, and, indeed, all things are made new: "By his stripes we were healed" (Isaiah 53:5)!

                What is the sign that Christ gives to his disciples of his presence among us? Bread, broken and shared! His flesh as fractured bread, gnawed and eaten together. His blood as wine, poured out and shared among a communion of people. What images does Jesus give of the way of life to which he calls us? A grain of wheat that produces much fruit, if only it falls to the ground and dies; the challenge to take up one's cross; selling all that you have and giving it to the poor; the master washing the feet of his disciples; the first being last and the greatest becoming the least. Who conquers the beast in the book of Revelation? What symbol for Christ does the visionary see? Not just any lamb, but a slain lamb! Even in his glorified body, Christ, risen from the dead, still bears the wounds of the nails and lance, continuously revealing his total self-emptying for the human race he loves so much and with whom he desires to be in relationship. He has given his whole self to us, made himself vulnerable and broken, that we might become whole! That, my friends, is power! That is a true king! That is what it means to be great!

                All this talk about greatness in our times. All this desire for security, to hold onto power. All of these assertions of certainty and self-justification; beliefs that God is on our side because we open up the Bible and follow the rules. Do we, who bear the name of Christ, who have died and risen with Christ in our baptism, allow the Paschal Mystery to continue to work in us today?  Have we traded the wider narrative of the Scriptures for a gospel of wealth? Have we sacrificed an encounter with the crucified and risen Christ for a collection of dos and don'ts? Can we learn from the apostle Paul, who time and again admitted his faults, who recognized that he was a sinner, who repeatedly confessed that he once persecuted the Church?  Paul, the man who exclaims, "I will rather boast most gladly of my weakness, in order that the power of Christ may dwell with me. Therefore, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and constraints for the sake of Christ; for when I am weak, then I am strong" (2 Cor. 12:9b-10). That, my sisters and brothers, is the power of Christ at work in a man humble enough to be receptive to how much our generous God wants to fill us with his grace! As it was revealed to Paul, "My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness" (2 Cor. 12:9a)!

                I invite you to watch this TEDx Talk by Brené Brown and consider, as the title suggests, the power of vulnerability. Meanwhile, let us ask ourselves, do we have the humility to admit when we have made a mistake, to be like the so-called "good thief" and recognize that we have done wrong and are in need of mercy? Do we have the meekness to let go so that others may have enough, or as Mahatma Gandhi said, to live simply so that others may simply live? Do we have the vulnerability to say, "I don't know your native language, but I want to understand you better because you are my brother, my sister"? Do we have the heart to hope in the midst of fear? Do we have the honesty to say, "I can't do it all"? Can we empty ourselves so that we might be open to encountering Christ in 'the other'? Will we allow ourselves to be free rather than comfortable, to be generous rather than secure, to be totally self-giving and broken rather than unloving and superficially intact?

                For this week I recommend simply reading this Sunday's Gospel passage from the Solemnity of Christ the King: Luke 23:35-43. Read it, and reflect on what it really means to be great. Read it, and consider what true power is. Read it again and again. Read it until you weep. Weep for all the misconceptions our society has of power! Weep for all those who hold onto power by stepping on the necks of minorities, the poor, and immigrants! Weep for our own hands that hold on, white-knuckled, to the things that give us security! Weep for the self-righteous! Weep for those who think the only way to win is to speak loudly, to have a biting comeback for every rebuke! Weep for those who will never know that true victory is in dying – dying to self and emptying yourself totally for others!

Peace and all good!

Praying with Laments and... Steel Magnolias

One of my favorite movies of all time is Steel Magnolias.* I must have seen it for the first time when I was four or five years old and have loved it ever since. If you have not seen this film, I’m not sure why you’re reading this insignificant, little blog and not searching for it right now on Netflix. Be fair warned that there will be spoilers in this post.

One of the best scenes of the film is when M’Lynn, so brilliantly portrayed by Sally Field, is at the cemetery with her friends after the untimely death of her only daughter, Shelby. Her grief is immeasurable, and she breaks down in one of the most gripping and visceral expressions of human anguish to which anyone who has experienced a tragic loss can surely relate. Human suffering such as this, I believe, is inevitable. We only need to turn on the news or read the front page of the newspaper to recognize that there is terrible brokenness in our world and people are hurting – be it from death, war, hunger, natural disasters, abuse, prejudice, or persecution. What help, then, might Scripture offer in times of great sorrow?

I find that the Scriptures contain many comforting messages of hope and salvation and promises of a better future. Christ’s very death and resurrection stands preeminent among them as we grapple with the mystery of suffering. But I am wary of pushing certain hopeful parts of Scripture upon the grieving soul. At the gravesite in Steel Magnolias, M’Lynn’s friend, Annelle, tries to comfort her by expressing how good it is that Shelby is now with her King in Heaven. Not surprisingly, her well-intentioned, though inopportune, sentiment is met with sharp bitterness. Although bringing up the joy and hope of eternal life can be healing in its own right, when it comes to our pain, whatever the cause, we need to acknowledge it, not move it along. We need to sit with it, feel it, exclaim it. And we have a precedent for this in the Scriptures.

The book of Psalms is a collection of ancient, lyrical poems from a wide range of periods in Israelite history. They run the gamut of human emotion and reveal just how personally this people related with their God. In Hebrew, the Psalms are called Tehillim or "praises," and indeed most of the Psalms offer praise in some form or another to God. Some are distinctly hymns of praise, others are of thanksgiving, some refer to the monarchy, to God's anointed, or to the sovereignty of God, and others offer wise instruction. But the largest category of Psalms are the laments, hymns either individual or communal that express deep sorrow and pain, remorse, a dire plea for rescue, or even accusations against God.

There is a Yiddish word that describes perfectly the tone and tenor of many laments, a word we should integrate into our own spirituality and everyday vocabulary: chutzpah (the "ch" as in Chanukah not Cheetos). Defined in Merriam-Webster as "Personal confidence or courage that allows someone to say or do things that may seem shocking to others," this is the kind of boldness that the people of Israel had when speaking with their God in these laments.

You hand us over like sheep to be slaughtered,

            scatter us among the nations.
You sell your people for nothing;

            you make no profit from their sale. (Ps 44:12-13)

And why shouldn’t Israel have the audacity to speak this way? In one of my favorite Scripture passages (Jeremiah 13:1-11), God describes his chosen people as being as close to him as underwear is to a man’s loins! When you are that close and intimate with someone, there are no masks; there are no pretenses. You can say exactly what is on your heart. Personally, I think that the freedom to appropriately argue with an intimate friend or loved one is a sign of a healthy relationship. If God is so near to us, why not have a little chutzpah? Shocking though it may be, it’s okay to be mad at God! At least you're being honest. And as a fellow friar once remarked, “What? You think God can’t take it?"

In that same scene with the grieving mother and her friends, M’lynn screams in desperation. “Oh God, I want to know WHY!!! Whyyy?!” Perhaps it is a cry we are all familiar with. Why did my baby die? Why did our house flood? Why did that man kill all those people? Why did he hurt me? Why did she leave me? Why am I terminally ill? It is no different in the Psalms:

Why, God, have you cast us off forever?

            Why does your anger burn against the sheep of your pasture? (Ps 74:1)

Why have you broken down the walls,

            so that all who pass by pluck its fruit? (Ps 80:13)

Why do you reject me, Lord?

            Why hide your face from me? (Ps 88:15)

The Psalms are not afraid to question God. They are not afraid to wrestle with God and the mystery of suffering. Incidentally, the meaning of the name Israel given in Genesis 32 suggests “one who struggles with God.” But for all of the articulations of misery, anger, and regret in the laments, for all the cries demanding God’s assistance and all the anxious fears of imminent death, there is usually found within them pronouncements of utter trust in the Lord and, quite frequently, irrepressible praise to God.

Psalm 22 – the one Jesus quotes as he is dying on the cross – begins with a cry of despair: My God, my God, why have you abandoned me? And while the psalm has some excruciating verses – But I am a worm, hardly human, scorned by everyone, despised by the people (v. 7), Many dogs surround me; a pack of evildoers closes in on me. So wasted are my hands and feet that I can count all my bones (vv. 17-18) – it is punctuated by stanzas with complete confidence in God’s power to save and concludes triumphantly with the sufferer's exultation of God because of his hope for future vindication: Then I will proclaim your name to the assembly; in the community I will praise you (v. 23).

More often than not, the laments approach God in this way. They may be poems of great anguish, and they certainly don’t mind doling out the chutzpah, but they usually give to God due praise. There are a few laments, however, that do not mitigate their complaint against God. Psalm 44, for example, at first gives the impression that God is to be praised for all of the former blessings and victories God had bestowed upon Israel. And while it stands that such were all praiseworthy deeds, the psalmist only uses the examples of God’s past favors to set up his argument that God has now rejected them, that God has unjustly left them desolate. The Psalm does not end in praise of God but in demands, sorrow, and accusations:

Awake! Why do you sleep, O Lord?

Rise up! Do not reject us forever!

Why do you hide your face;

why forget our pain and misery?

We are bowed down to the ground;

our bodies are pressed to the earth.

Rise up, help us!

Redeem us as your love demands (Ps 44:24-27)

Similarly, the composer of Psalm 88 pours out a heartbreaking prayer to a seemingly silent God. There is no praise of God, only desperate supplication and the belief that the lamenter is suffering for God’s sake and, at times, by God’s own hand. It ends hauntingly: Because of you companions shun me; my only friend is darkness (v. 19).

  As tragic as these laments may seem, the very fact that the psalmists are crying out to God shows that they have some faith, some smidgeon of hope that God will indeed rescue them in their time of need. Though the authors’ circumstances may be different than our own, we can still pray with the Psalms in the midst of our own sorrows, because hopefully, even when everything else is utterly lost, we still at least have a God to cry out to… even when we’re angry with God.

But how does God answer us in our pain? Is there any fulfillment to the pleas in the Psalms for God to rescue us? Sometimes, very much so! Sometimes we are able to see how God has come to our aid. We are healed. Our loved ones are safe. We secure employment. We are reconciled. Sometimes justice, charity, and peace prevail. And I haven't even touched on the notion of Christ's death and resurrection, which is ultimately our salvation!

Yet even still, there are those moments when we are like M'Lynn at her daughter's grave, so grief-stricken, so disconsolate. In anger and sorrow she hollers, "I just want to hit somebody 'til they feel as bad as I do!" – a very honest and human response, no doubt. Isn't it true that in our own moments of suffering it is oftentimes a comfort to be met with empathy, to be near to someone who knows something of our pain? Isn't that why we have support groups? Isn't that why we seek help from those who know what it's like to lose a loved one, who know something about living with depression, or who have gone through a divorce?

God does not always answer our laments and supplications the way we hope. At some point, we and those we love will die. Sometimes we are left with scars that won't heal. I think, however, that God's answer to these Psalms is not always immediate rescue, rather it is that God knows what it's like to feel as bad as we do. God's answer was to become human and live these very Psalms, to be betrayed, to be mocked and abused, to be abandoned, to die. God knows the depths of human suffering, and in Jesus we do not pray the Psalms alone. God is with us in our suffering. God has indeed shown us his face, as the psalmists so desperately demand, and it is the face of the Crucified One.

Naturally for this week, I recommend reading and meditating upon any of the laments from the Psalms. A couple of my favorites are 22, 38, 42-43, 44, 51, 69, 74, 80, 88, 102, 137. Feel free to thumb through your Bible to find a Psalm that you like, one that resonates with you, or one that makes you cringe. Sit with the pain of the psalmist, or meditate on the sufferings of Christ. If you are struggling with something, then make the psalmist's words your own. Cry out to God, and don't be afraid to have a little chutzpah. God is listening. Maybe you're not really feeling too sorrowful at the moment yourself, but pray with the Psalm knowing that there are people out there who are in desperate situations. Pray with it for the sake of their pain. Pray that they may not feel alone in their suffering.

As always, you may post comments or questions to my e-mail, Facebook page or the comment box below. You can share your own thoughts on the Psalms or tell me which is your favorite. I would love to hear feedback. You can also follow the Codega on Twitter. Until next time...

Go watch Steel Magnolias!

And peace & all good.

* Steel Magnolias, directed by Herbert Ross (1989; Culver City, CA: Columbia Tristar Home Video, 2000), DVD.

Word Up!

            Since the end of January, I've been writing about how human beings wrote the words of Scripture as well as how they compiled and canonized those texts. Most people, I think, are aware of this reality; they recognize that the Bible didn't just drop from Heaven. Yet for some, there's still something a little unnerving about the human origins of something considered so sacred. How can we say this is the "Word of God" when clearly humans were generating and sanctioning these texts?

            To approach this, I must appeal to the Vatican II document, Dei Verbum. In 1965, the Church officially put forth this document (a.k.a. The Dogmatic Constitution on Divine Revelation) which explains the Church's long held – and sometimes not so well clarified – understanding of Sacred Scripture and Tradition. It asserts that the Scriptures "have God as their author" but that "in composing the sacred Books, God chose and employed certain men, who, while engaged in this task, made full use of their faculties and powers..." (DV, paragraph 11). Now I'll admit, that does sound rather convenient to simply say, 'well God is still the author, but he used men kind of like scribes to get his message across.' If that was the case, you'd think the Scriptures wouldn't have so many embarrassingly violent laws, prophecies, and stories in them. But that isn't what Dei Verbum is getting at. The Scriptures were inspired, yes, but I don't think it means the human authors had the Holy Spirit whispering to them the exact words to write.

            One of the first things I think we need to understand is that God's Word is more encompassing than mere words on a page. God's Word is powerful. Consider that in ancient times when a king spoke, his word alone had the power to effect change. The king spoke, and schtuff got done. Sure, maybe the action was carried out by other people, but it was only because the king said it – as Pharaoh iconically says in the movie, The Ten Commandments:  "So let it be written. So let it be done." Likewise God speaks, and schtuff happens: "'Let there be light.' And there was light" (Genesis 1:3). God's Word is effective and creative! As it says in Isaiah: "Yet just as from the heavens the rain and snow come down and do not return there till they have watered the earth... So shall my word be that goes forth from my mouth; It shall not return to me empty, but shall do what pleases me, achieving the end for which I sent it" (Isaiah 55:10-11).

            Interestingly enough, I find that urban and prison slang has a better sense of the term "word" for our purposes today. In such contexts word can mean an "affirmation" (yep, mm-hmm, I agree), "approval," "truth," or "to speak the truth."[1] For example:

Me: That moment when Edith finally tells off Mary on Downton Abbey was priceless!

Fellow D.A. Enthusiast: Word!

            I would put a link to UrbanDictionary.com, so you can get an even better sense of the slang usage of "word," but there's some inappropriate language on that page, and I wouldn't want to scandalize my mother who I'm sure is reading this right now. (Hi, Mom!) You can type in the web address and can check it out at your own risk if you want, or just take my word for it. (No pun intended.)

            The point, however, is that 90s urban slang has its finger on the pulse of what "word" in the biblical sense is about, because in both cases it means more than just human language. From the perspective of Urban Dictionary, God's Word is like a resounding "Yes!" permeating all that is – "God looked at everything he had made, and found it very good" (Gen 1:31). God's Word is Truth. God's Word is positive. God's Word is living!

from www.worldofdtcmarketing.com

            Both the Greek and Hebrew terms for "word" have multiple meanings. The Greek word, logos – from where we get our word logic – can mean a lot of things: "reason," "divine utterance," or an "expression of a thought" being some of them.[2] Likewise, the Hebrew word dabar can mean a matter, event, or affair and also has a connection to reason.[3] God's Word isn't just the words that God speaks or those written down in Scripture; it's all of the reason, truth, thoughts, and ideas that are behind and communicated through those words. God's Word is God's self-communication! And what Dei Verbum is saying is that God used human beings, in a particular time and place, and of a particular culture with its own limited language, to communicate God's self in the Sacred Scriptures.

            Admittedly though, the fact that human beings were so closely involved in the process of divine revelation might drive some people nuts. With so much human particularity how can the scriptures communicate such an ultimate and universal message like the Word of God? But then – oh, and I just love this – this is precisely what happens in the incarnation, for Jesus is the Word made flesh (i.e. the Incarnate Word)! Jesus Christ is God revealed to us in a particular and limited time (early first century CE), place (Palestine), culture (Palestinian Jewish), gender (male), and age (I don't think Jesus lived much beyond his early thirties).

            One of the greatest and most delectable mysteries of the incarnation is that the infiniteness and universality of God was willingly emptied and made limited in time and space in the person of Jesus of Nazareth. Who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God something to be grasped. Rather, he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, coming in human likeness... (Philippians 2:6-7a). So just as Jesus is God's self revealed in a human way (in weakness and with limitations), so too the Scriptures are divine revelation communicated in limited human language and culture. Or, as Dei Verbum so beautifully puts it, "For the words of God, expressed in human language, have become like unto human speech, just as the Word of the eternal Father, when he took on himself the flesh of human weakness, became like unto human beings" (DV, paragraph 13).

St. Francis in Prayer Before the Crucifix, El Greco, 1585-1590

            By the way, as a Franciscan and a graduate of the University of the Incarnate Word, incarnational spirituality is a particular fancy of mine almost by default.

Chapel of the Incarnate Word at UIW. Go Cardinals!

            I guess the bottom line of what I'm getting at is that God's word is fleshy business, and the Word of God is revealed to us in two very human ways: obviously in the human person of Jesus, but also in the very human language and culture of Sacred Scripture. Either way, though, the word of God is more than the words on a page. It is living, and God wants to write it on our hearts. As a biblical studies nerd, I am fascinated by all of the humanness of Sacred Scripture, and I'm eager to learn more about its historical, anthropological, and literary context. Yet for all of its human qualities and limitations, I do not criticize it as irrelevant or even dated. I know that the Word of the Lord continues to speak the Truth; It continues to reveal God's self. But in order to listen to it, I must look upon and accept the human face of Scripture, and, likewise, I must look to the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, who is the human face of God.

            I know that this week is Holy Week and that it would be all the more appropriate to recommend to you readings from the Passion or Resurrection narratives of the Gospels.* So, if you have the time, by all means please sit with those passages! Of course, I also recommend attending the liturgies of Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter where you will also hear those readings. However, it makes sense, given today's topic of word, to read John 1:1-18. Yes, I agree, this reading seems out of place for Holy Week, but whatever. I've got to run with the inspiration I'm given. It's a short passage, but as you read it meditate for just a bit on that profound mystery of the very Word of God becoming flesh. Consider how God spoke through the Law and Prophets, yet finally in Jesus was fully revealed. Consider also how Jesus fulfills the Scriptures and is the very lens for interpreting them. Contemplate, especially as we enter deeply into the sacred mysteries of Christ's passion, death, and resurrection – what we call the Paschal Mystery – how these events in the life of Christ reveal God's grace, truth, and glory.

            As always, I welcome questions and comments on Facebook, Twitter, e-mail (biblecodega.gmail.com), or in the comment box below. I pray that you all enjoy these high holy days of the Christian calendar and have a blessed Easter. I leave you today with the words of St. Paul to the Thessalonians for you to consider the next time you hear the lector at Mass say, "The Word of the Lord."

           "We too give thanks to God unceasingly, that, in receiving the word of God from hearing us, you received not a human word but, as it truly is, the word of God, which is now at work in you who believe" (1 Thessalonians 2:13).

Word!

* Passion and Resurrection Narratives:

Matthew 26:1-28:20

Mark 14:12-16:20

Luke 22:1-24:53

John 18:1-21:25

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[1] Urban Dictionary, "Word," last modified October 14, 2005, accessed March 20, 2016. http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Word.

[2] Bible Hub, "3056. Logos," accessed March 20, 2016, http://biblehub.com/greek/3056.htm.

[3] Bible Hub, "1697. Dabar," accessed March 20, 2016, http://biblehub.com/hebrew/1697.htm.

Where Did the Bible Come From? Part I

           In the fall I asked some friends and family what kinds of questions they had about the Bible, and one of the topics that came up the most frequently had to do with the composition, compilation, and canonization of the Bible (Yay, alliteration! I think I'll refer to these as the Three Cs). In short, people want to know how the Bible came to be. Most folks are well aware that it didn't just drop into the lap of some ancient religious leaders by the Holy Spirit. But a lot of people still aren't really sure about the Bible's actual origins.

            As I have insisted in my earliest posts, the Bible is not really a book, but more like a library of books. It is a whole corpus of literature composed over a period of a thousand plus years or so, and its content concerns events that range over two thousand years of history (delving into some undatable, legendary periods as well). The books of Bible are compiled somewhat according to the order of the over-arching narrative – where there is a narrative to follow – but certainly not according to when they were written. Some of the older books of the Hebrew Scriptures predate some of the books of the Torah (those first 5 books). Matthew's Gospel precedes Mark's in the New Testament, but Mark was almost certainly written first – not to mention the letters of Paul before any of the Gospels. And Romans is the first letter to appear among Paul's epistles, but it was likely one of his later letters. Basically, the ordering of the books in the Bible has little to do with the date of their composition.

            The who and when of biblical authorship is a rather complex issue. Regarding the Old Testament alone, most of the books were not composed by single authors but were more so the product of collaboration "– collaboration of a special kind because the various authors were widely separated in space and time, had no knowledge of one another, and certainly had no conception of the form that their work would finally take."[1] The Hebrew Scriptures had a slow development that included various authors, sources (both oral and written), editors, and compilers. This is especially true for the Torah, which brings me to source analysis and the "Documentary Hypothesis." (Exciting, right?) As technical as these sound, they're really just fancy terms for talking about how the Torah is a compilation of several sources with varying origins and points of view.

            Personally, I am a fan of the concept of the Documentary Hypothesis, and I have no problem believing that the Scriptures were developed from various sources. As with many things in academic disciplines however, it's a theory, and scholars continue to debate and dispute the dating and nature of the proposed sources. However, as Michael Coogan concedes, "the data must be explained, and almost all scholars agree with the general principle that underlying the present text of the first five books of the Bible are distinct sources."[2]

             One way we can think about the use of various sources in the formation of the Torah is to imagine writing a book on your family's ancestry. You might have heard family stories from your grandma Dorothy, but then you also have a diary written by your great-aunt Bertha. Maybe you find a few legal documents that have to do with your great-grandfather Robert on ancestry.com, so you decide to add those to the mix as well. And then there are always those family legends – the ones that have been passed down from generation to generation with a few variations here and there. You're not sure if they actually happened in the same way that they've been related, but they reflect an important part of your family's character and identity, so you put them in too. Some of the materials may seem to contradict each other. Perhaps Dorothy tells a story that disagrees with Bertha's diary, but you choose to put it all together anyway and try to make a somewhat homogenized story of your family.

            All analogies fail at some point, of course, but I hope this kind helps to put in perspective what I mean by the use of sources in the Torah's composition. Just as the family stories were passed down orally before writing this book from the example, the oral traditions which influenced the biblical texts also had a long-standing history before they were committed to writing. But just like Bertha's diary or Robert's legal documents in the analogy, it wasn't only oral traditions that were used as sources in the development of the Torah. Some written material was produced as early as the monarchy, which began around the 10^th century BCE (the 900s).These sources, both oral and written, would eventually would lead to the formulation of parts of the Torah.

            With some confidence, scholars can point to the reign of Josiah of Judah (640-609 BCE) as a datable period for an early edition of what would become the book of Deuteronomy. At that time, a so-called "Book of the Law" was "found" in the Temple (see 2 Kings 22:1- 23:30). Later, with the experience of the Babylonian exile and the threat of their religious faith disappearing altogether, there was an unprecedented need "to fix [their] traditions permanently as canonical documents."[3] So by about the 4^th century, a good while after the exile, the material that made up the Torah was collected, compiled, and redacted to form more or less what we know as the Torah today.

            So, okay, by that time we pretty much have the Torah, and it evidently was an authoritative text for its readers (i.e. canonical), since the post-exilic Judahites needed to preserve and pass on their religious faith. But what were those sources that made up the Torah? Here is just a bird's-eye view of the four classical sources and some of their characteristics.

J (Jahwist): This source, pronounced YAH-wist (because them Germans have the market on biblical scholarship, and they pronounce Js like Ys, as in Jägermeister) is so named because when referring to God this source uses the Divine Name, YHWH. English Bibles typically never use the Divine Name, and rightly so out of respect. Instead, whenever the Divine Name appears it reads the LORD, and in fact, whenever Jewish people read from the Scriptures and encounter the Divine Name in Hebrew they instead say Adonai, which more or less means "Lord." J is probably the earliest of the traditions, and it likely developed in the southern Kingdom (Judah). God is depicted as more humanlike and speaks more directly to human beings rather than through messengers.

E (Elohist): This source is so named because it uses the Hebrew word elohim to refer to God – at least up to the revelation of the Divine Name in Exodus 3. Elohim is usually simply translated as "God" in English Bibles. In E, God is more distant and communicates through dreams and messengers (angels). Geographically it has a more northern perspective. The term "prophet" is favored in this source, for even Abraham is called a prophet. Also, the mountain known as "Sinai" in J is here called "Horeb" (as well as in the D source, but I'm not there yet). Since E is very fragmented and intertwined closely into the J source, the two are sometimes indistinguishable.

P (Priestly): The Priestly source gets its name because it deals so much with religious matters and instructions: rituals, sacrifices, Sabbaths, etc. It was likely the last of the four sources to develop – probably during 6^th century, given the need to preserve the traditions in the midst of the turmoil that occurred in that period (destruction of the Temple, exile, return and reconstruction; let's face it, the 500s were a trying and pivotal century). Almost all of Leviticus is from the P source, but P is interlaced in all of the books of the Torah. God is more remote in P than any other source. The light-filled cloud described in Exodus is an example of P's distant and transcendent depiction of God's glory.

            If you're wondering how all of these sources got pulled together, you can thank the P source for at least being the final editors of the source materials, which is why their contributions  are found in all five books. In fact, chapter 1 of Genesis and the last chapter of Deuteronomy are from P, so it basically bookends the  whole Torah. It may have been a later source, but the Johnny-come-latelies got the final say.

   

D (Deuteronomic): You can thank the Deuteronomists for a good chunk of the Hebrew Scriptures. A type of religious/intellectual movement which scholars refer to as the Deuteronomic School developed as early as the 8^th century in the northern Kingdom (Israel). That school later moved to Judah after the fall of Israel to the Assyrians. Surprise, surprise, the Deuteronomic source was responsible for most of the book of Deuteronomy (from which the D source gets its name). But the Deuteronomists were also the authors of Joshua, Judges, Samuel, and Kings. These books make up what is known as the Deuteronomic History. They also edited and possibly collected material from a number of the earlier prophetic books, most particularly Jeremiah, who himself may have been part of the Deuteronomic School. Obviously this school of thought didn't have much to do with what we mean by "schools" today, but if it did and had I lived back then, I would have had a closet full of their T-shirts and gone to all their games with a big foam finger. I am that much of a fan of their accomplishments. Go Deuteronomists!

            This is merely a rough sketch of the four main hypothetical sources originally proposed by Julius Wellhausen (1844-1918).There were indeed other source traditions in existence. For example, chapters 17-26 of Leviticus probably derive from a separate source known as the "Holiness Code." And the book of Numbers is a patchwork of not just J, E, and P, but of other folklore, laws, lists and accounts that were passed down.[4] Some of the books of the Old Testament even refer to non-biblical textual sources (e.g. the Book of Jasher) which have since been lost to us.

            Lastly, we cannot pretend that the literature and oral traditions from the surrounding cultures and nations had no effect on biblical writings. The Israelites settled among Canaanites and were under Egyptian, Assyrian, Babylonian, Persian, and Greek domination at different periods of their history. Naturally, some of the literature and lore of their neighbors and captors would have rubbed off on them. It's no surprise, for example, that multiple flood stories occur in ancient Near Eastern literature. But comparing biblical and other ancient Near Eastern texts is a topic for another day. The point is that the formation of biblical literature was a rather organic process and consisted of much more than just a handful of individual authors. Even the Documentary Hypothesis can be critiqued for oversimplifying what was certainly a complicated development.

     

            But why does any of this matter? What sort of effect will it have on our biblical reading? Why am I going into a whole rant about source analysis? One reason is simply because I find that people are hungry to know where the Bible comes from. How did this anthology of books come about that has had so much influence over history and our lives today. The best way I could think of to approach that question was to write a bit about the ever-enthralling Documentary Hypothesis. The other reason, however, is because I am edified and mystified by the wondrous way in which God communicates God's self. As I said in my previous post, the Truth has a way of making itself know to us. The fact that multiple sources and traditions – some of which differ greatly in perspective from one another – can all be brought together to proclaim the word of God says something about God's infinite greatness and inclusivity. We find that God is more "both/and" than "either/or." Some lament the apparent contradictions in Scripture. I prefer to see them as an example of the fine tension in which all things are held, tempering extremism and giving us the freedom to stretch our arms out wider to embrace even more of the mystery of our faith.

            For this week, I recommend reading chapters 1 & 2 of Genesis. They're a perfect example of two separate sources at work. If you compare these creation myths, you'll find distinctive and differing characteristics between them. Gen 1-2:3 is from the P source, and in it there is more of a sense of bringing order out of chaos. It orders creation with the perfect number, seven, and concludes with Sabbath rest. God is more distant in chapter one; God speaks, and creation is made. On the other hand, Gen 2:4-24 is from the J source. God is more humanlike, forming a man out of the earth like a potter, planting the garden like a gardener, building up a woman from the man's rib. The narrative is much more story-like with explanatory asides and a developing plot which will unfold in the following chapters. You don't have to try to pick out all the differences in the two accounts, but I would encourage you to see how each one is unique but at the same time speaks a truth about God, humanity, stewardship, the goodness of creation and the preeminence of relationship.

            Since this post is only Part One of a series of entries on the Bible's origins, I hope to go over other areas of the Three Cs in subsequent posts. Today's has only covered a tiny speck of what is certainly a topic best explored in a lecture series with an actual professor. Nevertheless, I welcome questions and comments via e-mail, Facebook, or this blog page. And now you can even follow the Codega on Twitter (@biblecodega). Come back next week for more about the origins of the Bible, and until then...

Peace and all good!

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[1] John B. Gabel and Charles B. Wheeler, The Bible as Literature: An Introduction, (New York: Oxford University Press, 1986), 9.

[2] Michael D. Coogan, The Old Testament: A Historical and Literary Introduction to the Hebrew Scriptures, (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 28.

[3] Ibid., 76.

[4] Ibid., 145 & 153.