Apocalyptic Hope

     Ever since the start of the pandemic, each morning our friary has been celebrating a conventual Mass (i.e. Mass with just the friars of the house). We've continued this communal celebration even after public masses were reinstated later in the spring, and the ordained friars take turns presiding. Although I'm a brother, and thus do not preside at Mass, I offer a reflection on the Scriptures in lieu of a homily on Fridays.

    Not accustomed to delivering memorized or off-the-cuff speeches, I prefer to write out my reflections. It's not the most riveting style of preaching, but then this is yet another reason why I appreciate my vocation to the brotherhood. I have, however, garnered much more respect for my confreres who are ordained priests. Preparing homilies is a lot of work, and they preach more than just on Sundays. Moreover, preaching is only a fraction of what they do as priests, so have some gratitude for your local pastors. They do quite a bit that goes unnoticed.

    Anyway, since I write out my reflections, and since today's readings were apocalyptic in nature, I thought I would post what wrote up for this morning's Mass. It seemed fitting, given that my last couple of posts from early this summer were about apocalyptic literature. That, and we come to the end of a liturgical year this weekend and begin a new one with the season of Advent. This tends to be a time when the Church's liturgy has a bit more of an eschatological bent. So, without further prelude, my reflection from the Friday of the Thirty-fourth Week in Ordinary Time (November 27, 2020).

Revelation 20:1-4, 11-21-2; Psalm 84:3, 4, 5-6a and 8a; Luke 21:29-33

Here we are at one of the climactic, final scenes in the book of Revelation. We have the capture and imprisonment of the dragon (a.k.a. Satan); the martyrs and faithful ones enjoying the reign of Christ; the final judgement; death and the underworld are at last destroyed, and there’s a completely new creation, with a new  heaven, a new earth, and a new Jerusalem. In just these few verses, this section covers most of the major themes in apocalyptic literature: cosmic upheaval, the kingdom of God, judgment, and renewal. But is this about the past, the future, or times concurrent with this book’s composition? The answer is, “Yes.”

               In the book of Revelation past, present, and future are sort of fused into one, but ultimately, though there are cosmic battles, and earthly disasters and suffering, Christ is always triumphant and the members of the Church enjoy and are actively a part of that new creation. Yes, Christ was definitively victorious over sin and death on the cross and in his resurrection, but this victory is an enduring reality, for Christ lives on in his Church. Just as our ancestors in faith struggled against the all-pervasive political and cultural system that was the Roman empire in the ways that it opposed Christ, so too do we today struggle against a culture of indifference, consumerism, individualism, hate, and injustice.

Personally, I find the dualistic character of Revelation rather off-putting. I’m wary of a cut-and-dry, black-or-white worldview, and yet we can’t deny that things are not right in the world, and there really never has been a time when truth, justice, and goodness reigned entirely. One of the values of Revelation is that, though the battle has already been won in Christ, and Christ is indeed King - as we celebrated this past Sunday - we are still part of that living story. There are still forces and prevailing attitudes, both outside of ourselves and within us as well, that stand against the work and the Spirit of God. We might not use the same imagery as apocalyptic authors, but the Paschal Mystery is being lived out in the members of Christ’s Body - in those who are crucified when profit is prioritized over human life, when power is chosen over people. We do continue to fight against evil in our world today. But evil is not so much a thing in and of itself; rather evil gets its nature from its opposition to God. I certainly would not say that there are evil human beings, but there are human actions and inactions that are in conflict with goodness, peace, charity, self-control, and the like.

Naturally, the wrathful violence of the apocalyptic narrative can be a bit unnerving for many folks. But we also know that history, from the stories of the Old Testament even until now - have shown us that destruction, disaster, war, and death give way to renewal, resurrection, and new life. It’s a shame that we live in a world in which we needed a civil rights movement, but where would we be without those men and women who risked their dignity and their lives for equality under the law? But, of course, we still have a long way to go. Even as we look back on this 2020 year, we remember those awful deaths that reignited the Black Lives Matter movement - these killings were unjust tragedies and should not have happened, yet I think we are seeing a new creation of sorts being formed in a movement striving for a more just society. I’m reminded of the words of Archbishop Oscar Romero, who said, “If they kill me, I will rise in the Salvadoran people.” The mystery of dying and rising is written into the fabric of the human story and is very much at the core of our faith where Christ is always victorious - and even death itself has no power over us. This is why we need apocalyptic, not because we look forward to war, death, and destruction, but because it gives us a lens with which to view the human story, and it reminds us that, after enduring the travail of pursuing goodness and righteousness, Christ will reign.

 

In today’s Gospel we are told to consider the blossoms on the fig tree. We know this is a sign that summer is near, so likewise we should read the signs of the times to recognize that God’s kingdom is at hand. I think with so much that has transpired in the last several months, not least of all the pandemic, we are experiencing a God-moment in our world - a nearness of God’s kingdom. I don’t think it’s the linear end of the world or signs of Jesus' second coming, for we’ve experienced rays of God’s kingdom like this before in history and in our own lifetimes. God’s Word, both spoken and incarnate, has endured all kinds of risings and topplings of kingdoms, nations, movements, philosophies, and technologies. And now, with everything that has been going on, I have apocalyptic hope that new life is budding forth - though not without challenges and forces of opposition. I don’t know what it might look like or even how long the struggles might last, but I believe that Christ and his kingdom will prevail.

Why So Apocalyptic? Part II: To Wipe Away Every Tear

A good friend asked me what I was up to during this time of quarantine, and I told her that I had been writing about apocalyptic literature. In typical self-pitying fashion, I lamented to her that my earlier posts did not generate as many pageviews as I thought such a compelling topic would. To this she responded, "Duh, Ian! People don't want to read about the apocalypse right now. They want to read something happy. They want to hear some good news." Yet in my mind I was thinking, But apocalyptic literature is all about good news!

In my last post I wrote about how different biblical traditions dealt with the nagging question of why good and faithful people suffered so much. One reason why apocalyptic thought developed was because it provided a sense of God's justice. For them, even though the righteous suffered now under the weight of oppression, they would be rewarded for their fidelity while the persecutors and backsliders would get their comeuppances in the end. Judgement is a common denominator in nearly all apocalyptic literature, because those who wrote it lived in a world where justice was not realized. But there was another reason why these books with frightening imagery and allusions to cosmic destruction captured the imaginations of their audience. As strange as it may seem, apocalyptic literature offered comfort, hope, and consolation.

Apocalyptic thought feeds on oppression. Sometimes that oppression is merely perceived, like when Hellenism was slowly eroding away Jewish culture. It wasn't overt persecution, but it gave rise to apocalyptic books, like The Watchers, in which apostasy and foreign influences are the enemy. The temptation to compromise one's religious values or cultural identity spurred a movement that clearly delineated how God's justice would be served. Today, however, we look at the impact of conflict - deadly conflict - because when the trauma becomes real, and people are dying all around you, it feels like the freakin' end of the world. And if that isn't a recipe for apocalypticism, I don't know what is.¹

I left off in the Greek period of Jewish biblical history with mention of Antiochus IV Epiphanes. We're looking at the years 175-163 BCE. The empire of Alexander the Great had long since been divided up among his successors after his death. Palestine originally fell under Ptolemaic control (based in Egypt) but was later usurped by the Seleucid kingdom, which controlled Asia Minor, Syria, and Mesopotamia. Antiochus was a Seleucid ruler who was kind of an egomaniac. (I mean, his self-given title, Epiphanes was akin to God Manifest.) A failed campaign against the Ptolemaic kingdom left him in financial straits, so he stormed the temple in Jerusalem and stole from the treasury. Naturally, the Jews rioted and rebelled, which provoked a mass slaughter. As a result, Antiochus basically made Jewish religious practice a capital offense. On top of everything else, he even desecrated their temple by erecting in it an image of Zeus and sacrificing pigs on the altar.²

1 & 2 Maccabees chronicle, among other things, the events of Antiochus' reign and the Maccabean revolt led by Judas Maccabeus. Prior to the Jewish revolt's surprising success, the two books of Maccabees describe the horrific plight under Antichocus' anti-Jewish policies. For example, "Whoever was found with a scroll of the covenant, and whoever observed the law, was condemned to death by royal decree... In keeping with the decree, they put to death women who had their children circumcised, and they hung their babies from their necks; their families also and those who had circumcised them were killed (1 Macc 1:57, 50-61). The second book of Maccabees details the gruesome torture and martyrdom of a woman and her seven sons, many of whom offer last words that indicate a growing belief in the resurrection of the dead. (I highly encourage you to read chapter 7 of 2 Maccabees.) Now regardless of the how historically accurate these accounts are, it's clear that they were inspired by the bloody reign of a Gentile king bent on crushing all who did not succumb to his forced Hellenistic assimilation.

It's conditions like these that propelled apocalyptic thought forward. For wisdom literature, suffering was just a part of God's larger mysterious plan or, if nothing else, simply an inevitable part of life. But anyone who has experienced extreme sorrow and loss knows that such pious rationalities don't cut it when you're feeling that much pain. For the prophets, suffering was either merited for breaking the covenant or would be resolved at some point in the vague future. For the apocalyptist, though, people were dying for the sake of the covenant, and the time for their affliction to end had to be coming soon! Things had gotten so bad that God had to radically intervene and hit the reset button on the world.

Think of the game Mario Bros. There's no need to start the game over when things are going well, but when you're down to one life, and you've failed to beat Bowser twice already, it may just be time to press Reset and start fresh. In the end, that beast will be defeated once and for all. A more biblical example would be Noah and the ark. Basically, humanity had become so sinful that God wiped everything out with a massive flood and started over again with a renewed earth. This is one of the reasons that allusions to the flood story are common in apocalyptic writings. God had restored creation to paradise once before, and he could do it again.

 You might think that there is nothing consoling about the destruction of life on earth, but those writing or listening to apocalyptic texts felt that they were already approaching or in the midst of the end times. Remember, the basic principle of apocalypticism was that God was in control. So where was God's sovereignty whenever their world started falling apart and it seemed like chaos and bloodshed reigned? For them, it meant God's great reset was coming. Like the peak of a heatwave or a tumultuous storm just before the cool relief of a cold front, God was about to act in some definitive way. For those who died there would be resurrection (as with the mother and her seven sons in 2 Maccabees), and for those who survived they would see God's glory and his reign established firmly on the earth. This is what gave hope and consolation in times of such crisis.

One of the more fascinating characteristics of apocalyptic literature is ex eventu prophecy. Apocalyptic texts, like Daniel or the apocryphal (i.e. non-canonical) books of Enoch, were not actually written by those men or even around the time when they supposedly existed. They were written much later. Daniel, for example, is a figure from the Babylonian exile. He sees a vision of beasts that represent four historical kingdoms beginning with the Babylonians and ending with Greeks. He specifically points out a horn on the fourth beast's head that speaks arrogantly and wages war against the holy ones. This is a symbol of Antiochus IV. But the character of Daniel is from several hundred years before Antiochus. So while fundamentalists would say that Daniel foresaw the reign of the Greek empire, what is really going on is ex eventu prophecy. The author of the book retrojects historical events that he's familiar with into the the visions of his protagonist.

Whether or not the original audience believed that Daniel, Enoch, or whoever else is cast as an apocalyptic visionary actually foretold various periods of history is not as important as what this literary technique did to comfort those in crisis. Using ex eventu prophecy to give a bird's-eye view of time emphasized God's authority over history. It also helped them to process time into distinct periods, which meant that, just as with all the other chapters of history, their age of consternation and suffering would come to an end. 

Furthermore, the visionary "prophesies" events leading right up to the situation in which the author and audience presently find themselves, but then he sees a little further than their current lived experience into a new and glorious period of God's reign. This gave the impression that God's intervention was close at hand. If the author and audience believed they were living in the penultimate period of tribulation and devastation, then the ultimate period of God's reign and renewal would naturally follow. Apocalyptic literature, though weird and at times frightening, usually ends on a happy note.

But when the court is convened,

and his dominion is taken away

to be abolished and completely destroyed,

Then the kingship and dominion and majesty

of all the kingdoms under the heavens

shall be given to the people of the holy ones of the Most High,

Whose kingship shall be an everlasting kingship,

whom all dominions shall serve and obey. (Daniel 7:26-27)

Ten-horned beasts, ravaging he-goats, seven-headed dragons, and monstrous locusts may be the stuff of nightmares for us. But ancient Jews (and early Christians) between 200 BCE and 200 CE were already living their worst nightmares. They experienced the chaos of mad kings and emperors, religious persecution, internal corruption, apostasy, and even death for living their faith. Mere words and pious platitudes were not going to satisfy. They needed symbols as extreme as the reality they were facing to meet them were they were in the midst of their turmoil. As I write this, it makes me wonder: is this why The Tiger King became so popular during this covid-19 pandemic? I mean, think about it. Isn't it a relief to know that, as insane as our world feels right now, it's not quite as crazy as the likes of Joe Exotic and Carole Baskin? Something to think about.³

But whereas Tiger King might hold our attention because its mayhem and madness are cathartic, apocalyptic literature didn't stop with the terrifying beasts and cosmic catastrophes. The terror and destruction always gave way to the manifestation of God's glory. God's kingdom would finally be inaugurated, the dead would be raised to new life, and heaven and earth would be recreated. This is why apocalyptic literature was so consoling. Yes, to those who compromised their faith and moral values, the fearsome imagery and prospect of God's judgment was meant to wake them up from their laxity. On the other hand, to those who were enduring persecution even unto death, the promise of God and his heavenly forces bringing an end to oppression brought hope. The assurance that the faithful who had died would be resurrected gave them comfort and strength.

He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there shall be no more death or mourning, wailing or pain, for the old order has passed away. (Revelation 21:4)

I know that this pandemic has been a crazy and difficult time to say the least. Every day thousands of people are dying from covid-19. Unemployment is in the millions in the U.S. alone. And even as stay-at-home orders are being eased, there's too much fear and uncertainty to take much advantage of it. Moreover, the tension that society is experiencing in this country is hitting a boiling point - at it's worst, manifesting itself in armed protests. And if all of that wasn't enough, the probability of a second wave looms heavy over all our heads.⁴

It's no surprise that my friend thought that I should be writing about happier things than the apocalypse. Yet while a viral plague is obviously not the same thing as, say, a hostile overlord destroying a race's religious and cultural identity, people have been asking if this pandemic is an apocalyptic event. Like our Jewish and early Christian ancestors, who experienced their own tribulations and sought comfort in a revelation that God was in control, would be victorious, and would raise up the faithful, we too want to know that God is still with us. The answer apocalyptic literature gives is a resounding Yes, and he will wipe every tear from their eyes.

My scriptural recommendation this week is Revelation 20:1-21:7. Don't overthink the symbols, but simply let this passage fill you with consolation. Though I do not think that the covid-19 crisis is a sign of the end times, we are nevertheless experiencing a challenging period in history that is rapidly changing our world. Apocalyptic literature was written to meet people in the midst of such crises, to give them courage and to remind them that God was more powerful than even death itself. So maybe we can take away some good news from it too. Until next time...

Peace and all good,
Bro. Ian

---

1 The idea of compromise and conflict as major influences on apocalyptic literature derives from Gregory Stevenson, A Slaughtered Lamb: Revelation and the Apocalyptic Response to Evil and Suffering, (Abilene, ACU Press, 2013), 74-87.^↩
2 Stephen L. Harris and Robert L. Platzner, The Old Testament: An Introduction to the Hebrew Bible, (Boston: McGraw Hill, 2003), 361.^↩
3 For the record, I haven't watched The Tiger King... as of now, anyway.^↩
4 Oh yeah, and Murder Hornets now makes Apocalyptic Bingo.^↩

Let's Talk Apocalypse... Seems Appropriate, Right?

Have the four horsemen of the apocalypse come to rove the earth in recent days? One might certainly get that impression with the onslaught of the Covid-19 pandemic. Although confirmed cases are (for now) low in Indiana where I write this, the entire country is in a state of emergency. Obviously this is a global crisis, with many other countries facing much more severe predicaments. And let's not even get into the toll this will take on the world market and the long-term economic ramifications. Here in the States alone, schools and colleges are closing, events are cancelling, businesses are taking a hit, grocery stores have lines half-way into the parking lots and are selling out of toilet-paper. Toilet-paper, though? Seriously? I mean, hand-sanitizer I understand, but I would have thought there'd be a run on vitamin C or something like that. Revelation 6:6 talks about a ration of wheat for a day's wage, not a pack of bathroom tissue.

Anyway, I was recently informed that this month's deanery young adult gathering, at which I was to be the presenter, has been cancelled. What a coincidence that I had been preparing for weeks to talk about the Apocalypse! Fortunately, all that brushing up I've been doing on apocalyptic literature need not go to waste. For though I won't be speaking about it at Theology Uncorked anytime soon, I can at least write about it on this poor, neglected blog. And hey, if I'm hunkered down to write, I'm guessing you're hunkered down to read. What else is there to do?

So let's begin with a little quiz. What is an apocalypse?


a.) A cataclysmic event resulting in massive death and destruction
b.) A literary genre
c.) The Greek term for the conclusion of a comedy or tragedy
d.) The end of the world

Despite how the word apocalypse is typically used, an apocalypse is not an event - neither the end of the world, nor a global catastrophe, nor even the Coronavirus. An apocalypse is far less outrageous or dire, though I still think it's pretty extraordinary. If you chose option C, you're half right. Apocalypse does derive from the Greek word apokalupsis (ἀποκάλυψις) for "unveiling" or "revelation," but it has nothing to do with the ending of Greek dramas. Think of pulling back the curtain from a window or a piece of artwork; that would be an apokalupsis. We'll get into the significance of this "unveiling" later. However, if you answered B, hooray for you! An apocalypse is a particular form of literature, a genre.

Now scholars can get very technical about what constitutes an actual apocalypse and what writings should be classified as apocalyptic. You might ask if there is even a difference between an apocalypse and literature that is simply apocalyptic. Take for example the mystery genre. To be considered a mystery, a book normally has some standard elements: a crime, a protagonist who will solve the crime, clues, and an ending in which the perpetrator is revealed. Naturally though, some books might have strong mystery attributes, but they are not branded as mysteries per se. Think of Harry Potter. One of the things that makes Harry Potter books so captivating is that they're very akin to mysteries: who's trying to steal the Sorcerer's Stone; who opened the Chamber of Secrets; who put Harry's name in the Goblet of Fire; who is the Half-Blood Prince, etc. But you're not going to find Harry Potter next to Murder on the Orient Express at Barnes & Noble, and not just because J.K. Rowling isn't near Agatha Christie alphabetically.

So what's apocalyptic, and what makes an apocalypse an apocalypse? Let's start with the latter. Many scholars classify an apocalypse more or less as "a narrative in which supernatural beings mediate a revelation to human beings that discloses a spiritual reality."¹ There are only two books in the Bible that are apocalypses: Daniel and Revelation (a.k.a The Apocalypse, since it's Greek name is simply Apokalupsis ).² If it's not a narrative, it's not an apocalypse, so most of the books of the prophets - apocalyptic though some may be - are not apocalypses, because they're poetic in style. In an apocalypse an angel (or some heavenly being) will relay the vision to a human. Sometimes they mediate the revelation by asking questions and explaining what the different symbols mean, and sometimes they act as a tour guide of realms like heaven or hell. Basically an apocalyspe is a book about a dude that has supernatural visions directly from or explained by an angel.

There is more to an apocalypse than that, but that's kind of what one boils down to. Some apocalypses are sort of allegorical history books, kind of like Orwell's Animal Farm. In others, the visionary takes an otherworldly journey with an angelic sidekick. However an apocalypse is written, though, the author is definitely influenced by his apocalyptic worldview. So what does it mean for something to be apocalyptic?

Remember that apocalypse comes from the Greek word for "unveiling." You might ask, then, "What is being unveiled?" In his book, A Slaughtered Lamb, Gregory Stevenson writes, "apocalyptic pulls back the veil between the spiritual and the physical and, in so doing, exposes the physical world to a divine perspective."³ An apocalyptic worldview presumes that there is a close connection between the world we experience and the spiritual world. This is very important to remember. Literature and ideas cannot be apocalyptic if they don't hold that God and the powers of heaven and hell have some kind of influence or effect on earth. Ultimately, the essential apocalyptic theme is that God is in control! And for as frightening as the apocalyptic imagination may seem to be on the surface, this one guiding principle is very good news! If God is in control, even if things appear awful on earth, then there's hope and consolation for the present and future. So take that, Coronavirus!

Stevenson identifies four apocalyptic characteristics. The first is transcendence, which I already touched upon. An apocalyptic worldview presumes that reality extends beyond this mere physical world that we experience. There are also angels and demons, heavenly beings, and the throne of God aside from what we take in with our five senses. However, we can't access this spiritual reality without some kind of disclosure from a heavenly being. Thus the need for an apokalupsis, a revelation⁴.

The second characteristic is determinism. Like I said, God is in control. While human beings have free will, God has an ultimate plan for creation, so even the cataclysmic events are not beyond God's power, but rather extend from God's sovereignty over time and space. It may seem to paint an unflattering picture of God in some ways, but for the apocalyptic thinker, an aloof and indifferent God would be so much worse!⁵ There is a lot of exploration and interpretation of the past in apocalyptic literature, which demonstrates that God had been present and active in the events of history and thus is present and active now as God will also be in the future. Determinism acts, then, as a consoling concept.⁶

Stevenson next speaks about symbolism in apocalyptic literature.⁷ If you've stuck with me thus far, you might be wondering when I'm going to talk about dragons, beasts, fire and earthquakes, trumpets, and plagues (*cough* like the one we're experiencing now). Well... not today. But it is important to note that an apocalyptic outlook needs to employ symbols. I have a real issue with biblical fundamentalism, so when it comes to apocalyptic texts, like Daniel or Revelation, I internally eye-roll when folks start earnestly drawing one-to-one connections between symbols in the passages and events or people of recent history and today. Just because Revelation speaks of plague, does not mean we are living in the end times.

That all being said, I love delving into symbolic worldviews, because the use of a symbol is so much more powerful than verbose description. Think about our meme culture: a scant caption and an image say a lot! Moreover, that same image can be used to convey so many different messages! Symbols are even more compelling than memes because people experience a visceral relationship to them. Think of the cross, the flag, the Statue of Liberty, the peace sign, a rainbow, the Star of David, etc. Symbols tap into the values, philosophies, emotions, and histories of a people. They engage and overwhelm the whole being of their audience. And since apocalyptic literature is conveying a message about spiritual realities too ineffable for human minds, the audience needs to be wholly enveloped by it. Symbols, similes, and metaphors are the closest approximation to what the authors are striving to relate.

...or what a symbol is for that matter.

The fourth characteristic is dualism. In an apocalyptic worldview, the lines between good and evil are clearly drawn; there's no gray area. Personally I find this component a little unnerving, because if one takes this concept to the extreme it can spawn moral elitism and disastrous, self-righteous us vs. them conflict. But there is a reason why a sharp distinction between what is good and what is evil was important to a person who saw the world from an apocalyptic perspective. Their lived experience was so turbulent and chaotic that dualism helped to bring a sense of order and justice. God was not only in control, God was omnipotent and was going to be victorious over his enemies!⁸

Besides these four, scholars have identified other motifs of apocalypticism. Some scholars speak about an apocalyptic movement in the ancient world which influenced such literary works. A few of the characteristics of this apocalyptic worldview included an "urgent expectation of the end of earthly conditions in the immediate future" and that this end would involve a "cosmic catastrophe." There would certainly be some kind of judgment at this end time, but there would be a "new salvation, paradisal in character." God's kingdom and glory would be manifest, and there would be some sort of royal mediator between heaven and earth.⁹ A lot of these concepts are what come to mind when people think of an apocalypse today, but we are far removed from the experiences of those people who generated apocalyptic thought in the last few centuries B.C.E. and into the first few centuries C.E.

Why was there an apocalyptic movement? Why did people write apocalypses? What was the point of literature that reads like an acid trip? These are questions I hope to answer in my next blog post. In the meantime, here is my Scripture recommendation for the week: Daniel 7. It's a classic example of apocalyptic writing. If your Bible has explanatory footnotes, I highly recommend checking those out. As you read it, consider how the elements of an apocalypse feature in the passage, but more importantly think about how this obscure vision ultimately offers a message of hope and consolation. As my Apoc. Lit. professor said, "Like good preaching, apocalyptic literature should comfort the afflicted and afflict the comforted."¹⁰

Peace and all good,
Bro. Ian

---

1 Gregory Stevenson, A Slaughtered Lamb: Revelation and the Apocalyptic Response to Evil and Suffering, (Abilene, ACU Press, 2013), 91.^↩
2 For the record, it's Revelation singular, NOT Revations plural. There is only one revelation. Trust me. I watched a man miss that question on Jeopardy because he added an s to the end of The Book of Revelation as his answer.^↩
3 Ibid., 93.^↩
4 Ibid., 92-94.^↩
5 And frankly, I agree.^↩
6 Ibid., 94-96.^↩
7 Ibid., 96.^↩
8 Ibid., 98-102.^↩
9 John J. Collins, The Apocalyptic Imagination: An Introduction to Jewish Apocalyptic Literature 2nd Ed., (Grand Rapids, Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1998), 12.^↩
10 Timothy Milinovich, Class Lecture, April 8, 2010.^↩

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]

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

[2] Ibid.

Here We Go Again

            Let me begin by apologizing for not writing on this blog for over a year. I could offer several excuses, like how crazy-busy my life has been, but none of that really matters. The point is that have returned to writing and will hopefully be less infrequent. We’ll see.

            During my hiatus, a number of post ideas percolated in my mind. Our socio-political climate no doubt calls for a prophetic voice, and I had thought of writing about the prophet Jeremiah – a man who was persecuted because he dared to preach that Jerusalem and the Temple were not as invincible as people believed. His message was not “Make Judah Great Again” but rather “Make Judah Humble Vassals of Babylon Now, Lest They Kick Our Butts Later.” Spoiler alert: They didn’t listen to Jeremiah, and Babylon did kick Judah’s butt.

            Another post I considered was a reflection on the Golden Calf and nationalism with some attention drawn to the American flag, but I thought that might be too contentious. Perhaps another day. There are, however, crises in our society that we need to face. In the midst of disturbing atrocities against humanity, xenophobia, injustice, prejudices, and systemic racism and sexism, one cannot be silent, and fears of dissidence must be put aside.

            That being said, I don’t believe the answer to the evils from which the world suffers is found in antagonizing one another. I love as much as the next person a good joke, meme, or comedic video that pokes fun at ideologies, parties, and candidates which I oppose. And we can all laugh and kee-kee, but it doesn’t really bring any healing to our broken world or the divisions which tear us apart. Nor do I think that it changes the minds of those with whom we disagree. If anything, it just makes them dig their heels even firmer into their convictions (misguided and perhaps corrupt though I believe them to be) and just perpetuates the cycle of animosity. Even now I have to restrain myself from posting a Golden-Calf-related political cartoon.

            I’ve been asking myself what kind of biblical wisdom we can invest in that rises above the hotbed of social and political antagonism yet still challenges all of us to change our hearts. But the thing about the Scriptures is that, as the Pontifical Biblical Commission states, “… the Bible does not necessarily contain an immediate answer to each and every problem.”[1] The Bible doesn’t tell us how to vote; it doesn’t tell us what to do about automatic rifles; and it doesn’t employ the same legal proceedings regarding citizenship and immigration as our contemporary laws do. This isn’t to say, however, that we cannot look to these sacred texts to find guiding principles and moral direction in the choices we make or the way we live our lives.

Moreover, the Scriptures can and have been abused to justify some of the worst crimes against humanity – everything from systemic injustice against women and the economically poor, to slavery and the holocaust! The devil, himself, manipulates the Scriptures when he tempts Jesus in the desert. Therefore, one must tread carefully when approaching these sacred texts, and personal predispositions– both the morally just and the morally wrong – should be consciously examined and maybe even checked at the door. The Bible is certainly a source of wisdom for our private and common moral living, but it is one that must be discerned prudently and kneaded with faith and prayer, one that should be digested so that it nourishes and challenges us – not unlike the scroll which John of Patmos eats. It is sweet as honey to the taste but turns the stomach sour (Rev 10:10).

            So as I pondered what part of Scripture is most needed in our times – and surely many cases can be made for any number of biblical passages or themes – I felt moved toward the Beatitudes (Matthew 5:3-12 and Luke 6:20-26).

            These verses of the New Testament are at once some of the most familiar and the most obscure. I can think of several common hymns which invoke the Beatitudes, and surely I’m not the only who gets these songs stuck in their head. Yet, for as much as we hear them, say them, or sing them, how well do we understand them – or better yet, understand their significance?

            There are two collections of Beatitudes in the Gospels: Matthew’s version and Luke’s. They definitely bear similarities to one another, but there are pointed differences as well. Matthew’s version is longer and more general; Luke’s is more direct and is contrasted with a list of woes. These sayings are at the beginning of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount/Plain (Matthew/Luke). As such, they hold a primary place in both Gospels’ greatest collection and summation of Jesus’ ethical and religious teaching. That makes them pretty darn important!

According to New Testament scholar, Raymond Brown, “For Christians, next to the Ten Commandments as an expression of God’s will, the eight beatitudes… have been revered for expressing succinctly the values on which Jesus placed priority.”[2] Particularly in Matthew’s version, in which Jesus delivers his famous sermon on a mountaintop, Christ is depicted as a new Moses, the great lawgiver. So it’s not without reason to say that the Beatitudes form a sort of new law – or better yet, the perfect fulfillment of the law. St. Augustine says of the Sermon on the Mount that one “will find in it, so far as regards the highest morals, a perfect standard of the Christian life.”[3] He then treats the Beatitudes as a road map for his moral theology. With this in mind, I wonder why there isn’t more talk about the Beatitudes as a standard of morality today. It appears that they bear as much (if not more) significance as the Ten Commandments in terms of how we should be conducting our lives.

Perhaps it is because it’s easier to do or avoid specific, concrete actions as articulated in the Ten Commandments. Honoring one’s father and mother and not stealing, killing, or committing adultery seem, if nothing else, a little clearer than being poor in spirit or clean of heart. Whereas the Ten Commandments are presented to us as just that, commandments and laws about what we ought to do and not do, the Beatitudes offer vaguer statements about the kind of people who are truly blessed (i.e. happy, which is the ultimate goal of morality). The people who have attained or are at least closer to attaining their moral end of happiness are the poor in spirit, those who mourn, the meek, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, the merciful, the clean of heart, the peacemakers, and those who are persecuted for righteousness or for the sake of Christ. Not surprisingly, Jesus has flipped our assumption about what brings us true happiness on its head.

Now, I am not a moral theologian, nor am I an expert on the Beatitudes, and I don’t nearly have as much time or as many resources to do a lot of research as I did when I began Bible Codega. However, I believe that a concerted effort to ponder and reflect upon these poignant verses of Christ’s teaching is needed in our times. So consider this a preamble to what I hope will be a series of posts on each of the Beatitudes.

There probably aren’t any immediate answers to the ills of our world, and so many of them seem insurmountable anyway. But we shouldn’t feel discouraged. It is within each one of us, in our universal call to holiness, to daily take up the mission to be light and dispel the darkness… beginning with our own lives and in our own hearts. In this, living the Beatitudes might be the slow, maybe even painful, but nevertheless healing remedy we need.

I think you know what the Scripture recommendation is for this week: Matthew 5:3-12 and Luke 6:20-26, of course. I would encourage you, not only to read and meditate on them, but to also memorize at least one version of the Beatitudes. They, like the Ten Commandments, are a great way to frame an examination of conscience the next time you celebrate the sacrament of reconciliation. Allow these verses to permeate your heart. See what kinds of questions they provoke. How do they challenge you? How do they confuse you? How do they comfort you?

I can’t say I’ll bring any clarity to your questions. I hope, however, that as we journey with the Beatitudes over the next several posts – assuming I stick to the task I have made for myself – that our hearts might be turned more closely to God.  It is already within us to confront the hatred, violence, fears, and lies which perennially plague humanity - not with more antagonism, but with a spirit of poverty, humility, justice, peace, and mercy.

Until next time (whenever that will be),

Peace and all good!

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[1] Pontifical Biblical Commission, "The Interpretation of the Bible in the Church," The Scripture Documents: An Anthology of Official Catholic Teaching, ed. & trans. by Dean P. Béchard (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2002), 275.

[2] Raymond Brown, An Introduction to the New Testament, (New York: Doubleday, 1997), 178.

[3] St. Augustine, Our Lord’s Sermon on the Mount, Book I, Chapter I: https://www.ccel.org/ccel/schaff/npnf106.v.ii.i.html

(By the way, I’m really sorry footnote 3 is not in MLA format.)

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!