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

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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

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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.^↩

Taking the Knee... Jeremiah Style

Perusing the library of Sacred Scriptures this summer, I decided to read through the book of the prophet Jeremiah. One of the most tragic and unnerving figures in Old Testament literature, I have found Jeremiah to be particularly relevant for our world today. In exposing sin and injustice, he confounded the comfortable and perturbed the presumptuous. He prophesied national defeat when others believed Jerusalem could never fall. They thought he was a blasphemous traitor, when, far from desiring Judah’s destruction, he hoped his country would be repentant and become a holier, more just kingdom. A recent message thread with my sisters about Megan Rapinoe got me thinking the other day about actions at sporting events that protest the status quo. I couldn’t help but think of Jeremiah and his own controversial signs he had performed. And I thought, might Jeremiah be a lens for interpreting and appreciating sporting arena protests? No doubt an unsettling (perhaps touchy) topic, so first, let’s take a look at our prophet from Scripture.

I don’t want to belabor you with too much about what a prophet is. One of my earliest, longest, and (not surprisingly) least viewed posts is all about the prophets. If you want, you can check that out by clicking here. I will, however, recycle a quote from scholar Victor Matthews. The prophet’s “role was to challenge the establishment and the social order, to remind the leadership and the people of their obligation to the covenant with Yahweh, and to warn the people of the punishment that would surely ensue if they violated this covenantal agreement.”[1] It’s no wonder prophets, like Jeremiah, were so unpopular.

Now there’s a lot of historical and political intrigue going on in Judah during Jeremiah’s career, but I’ll be honest, it gets really convoluted. Kings are killed in battle. Puppet kings are put on the throne. Egypt’s in control. Babylon’s in control. Judah’s allegiances flip-flop. There’s a smaller exile in 597 BCE, and then the really bad one happens twenty years later when Jerusalem and the temple are destroyed. And up until then, the people still thought that they couldn’t be defeated. Yeah. Little ol’ Judah… against Babylon. Really?

But “the temple of the LORD! The temple of the LORD! The temple of the LORD” – so the people thought to put their trust (Jeremiah 7:4). Indeed, Jerusalem, seemed to have miraculously survived a devastating siege by the Assyrians over a century earlier. But Jeremiah condemns the presumption that they would be safe because of the temple.

On top of Judah’s tumultuous political crisis, the religious reform begun by King Josiah never really came to fruition after his untimely death in battle - not long before the call of Jeremiah. So not only is Judah politically weak, they’re also morally bankrupt. They’re still worshipping false gods, their worship of the LORD is empty and insincere, and they do not keep the covenant commands of justice and love of neighbor. They have not protected the widow, orphan, and immigrant. In the midst of all this, Jeremiah is called by God to preach repentance and eventually to prophesy Jerusalem’s destruction and, with it, the temple as well.

 Only if you thoroughly reform your ways and your deeds; if each of you deals justly with your neighbor; if you no longer oppress the alien [sic], the orphan, and the widow; if you no longer shed innocent blood in this place or follow after other gods to your own harm, only then will I let you continue to dwell in this place…

But look at you! You put your trust in deceptive words to your own loss! Do you think you can steal and murder, commit adultery and perjury, sacrifice to Baal, follow other gods that you do not know, and then come and stand in my presence in this house, which bears my name, and say: “We are safe! We can commit all these abominations again!”?...

And now, because you have committed all these deeds—oracle of the Lord—because you did not listen…I will do to this house, which bears my name, in which you trust, and to the place which I gave you and your ancestors, exactly what I did to Shiloh. I will cast you out of my sight… (7:5-7a, 8-10, 13a, 14-15a)

What had become of Jerusalem and its temple? What had become of our ancestors in faith at this time in history? Had not the temple, a good and holy thing, become an idol? In their eyes, this edifice was an emblem that seemed to say, “God is on our side (whether we live justly or not) and therefore we can’t be beat.” And to them, Jeremiah’s denunciation of the temple was both blasphemy and treason. How dare he say that in the name of the LORD!

As with other prophets, Jeremiah did not just preach the message. He also performed prophetic actions to convey God’s Word. For example, in chapter 27 the LORD commands Jeremiah to place a yoke on his shoulders to signify that the people should submit to the yoke of Babylon or perish. One of my favorite passages in all of Scripture is chapter 13, when God orders the prophet to bury an unwashed loincloth near a river. After a while, Jeremiah is told to fetch the cloth, only to discover that it is rotted and good for nothing. And then God says, “So also I will allow the pride of Judah to rot, the great pride of Jerusalem” (v. 9). Not the most charming of stories, but I love how in verse 11 God says to Jeremiah, “So close as the loincloth clings to a man’s loins, so had I made the whole house of Israel and the whole house of Judah cling to me, says the LORD; to be my people, my renown, my praise, my beauty.”

What a profoundly intimate image of God toward his people! To think, this is how close we are to God! I mean, don’t overthink it, folks. This is poetry in action. But the point is that this is not a god who is distant and indifferent; this is the God who deeply cares for us and wants to be in union with us. And so you can hear the sigh of heartbreak when God then says: “But they did not listen.”

It’s prophetic signs like these that bring to mind certain actions of athletes at sporting events. Although there are many other kinds of symbols used in protests, there’s something about kneeling during the national anthem before a game or raising a fist on the medalist stand at the Olympics that strikes a powerful chord - whether people like it or not. For one, these are high-profile people on a vastly public stage. But I also think it has so much to do with the startling juxtaposition of criticism and dearly held national symbols. Consider the British suffragette, Emily Davison (not an athlete herself), who, it would seem, tried to pin a women’s suffrage emblem to, not just any horse, but the king’s horse! In any case, it was the king’s horse who crashed into her and killed her, and if that wasn’t a high-profile protest colliding with a national symbol, I don’t know what is.

Sit-ins and marches send a message, no doubt, but mess with people’s symbols, and you strike a well of emotions that runs inordinately deep. Anyone who knows me knows that I’m not a sports fan, but even I couldn’t escape the tidal wave of opinions in the news and social media about Colin Kaepernick kneeling during the national anthem. I hardly watched a lick of the Women’s World Cup, but I still heard about Megan Rapinoe’s public activism. And I was far from even being born when this photo of Tommie Smith and John Carlos was taken,

but the image still reverberates today. Symbolic actions like these send some people into tailspins, but honestly… they ain’t got nothing on Jeremiah.

One of Jeremiah’s most shocking prophetic signs is when he takes the elders and priests out to Jerusalem’s city dump (Ben-hinnom) and shatters before them an earthen vessel, saying “Thus says the Lord of hosts: Thus will I smash this people and this city, as one smashes a clay pot so that it cannot be repaired” (19:11). What makes this act so provocative is that when a king was installed, he was presented with pottery inscribed with the names of enemy nations, and the newly anointed king would break them with a rod, symbolizing his power over them. An echo of this is referenced in Psalm 2, a coronation hymn: “With an iron rod you will shepherd them, like a potter’s vessel you will shatter them” (Ps 2:9). To put Jeremiah’s action into context, imagine someone gathering congress at a garbage dump, burning the American flag, and saying “This is what will become of the United States!”

Jeremiah’s prophetic signs were intended to draw his people’s attention to God’s message of conversion. Likewise, the actions of athletes who take the knee during the national anthem, enter the field with heads bowed and arms raised, wear jerseys that say “Los Spurs” or “Los Suns” or shirts emblazoned with “I CAN’T BREATE” are calling us to examine our conscience about a message we’re not hearing with mere words – a message we perhaps don’t want to hear. Far from disrespecting the flag or country, and farther still from symbolic acts of treason as Jeremiah teetered on, these prophetic actions in our day are rather signifying injustice in our midst. That there are systems in our country that are broken. That racial prejudices have fueled police brutality against minorities. That our immigration laws and attitudes are unjust. Etc.

The leaders of Judah were outraged by the words and actions of Jeremiah. They denounced him as a liar and a traitor and they tried to kill him. Yet for all of the religious and social critique that he preached and all the devastation he prophesied, Jeremiah did not despise his nation nor his fellow countrymen. On the contrary, it tore him up inside that he was called upon to proclaim such a demoralizing message and that his people would suffer so much. He wished he could remain silent, but alas, he felt compelled to utter his warning (cf. 8:18-23, 20:7-9).

Moreover, he prophesied God’s judgment and Jerusalem’s fall not out of spite, but in sorrow for a people who could do better. There is hope in Jeremiah, and in chapter 31 he speaks of the new covenant God will make with Israel: “I will place my law within them and write it upon their hearts; I will be their God, and they shall be my people” (v. 33). Although he vehemently condemned their sins and foretold the dire consequences of their actions, ultimately Jeremiah believed that, by God’s grace and mercy, they can be a holier, more just nation. This, I believe, is what motivates prophetic actions in today’s world, not spite or contempt.

Jesus of Nazareth faced a similar experience as Jeremiah. He criticized the religious and social corruption of his time. He, too, challenged the authorities’ presumptions about the temple and was thought to be a blasphemer and a traitor. His words and actions defied the nationalism of his day (e.g. conversing with a Samaritan woman and pagan officials). Even his teachings regarding the family as those “who do the will of God”, or his pithy response of “Let the dead bury the dead” to the man who was going to have a funeral for his father were ways in which Jesus broke with the prevailing tribalism in favor of a far more encompassing kingdom than that built on bloodline or citizenship. But this does not mean Jesus hated his country or fellow Jews either. He wanted them truly to be a light to all the nations as they were called to be (cf. Is 42:6, 49:6, 60:3, and Mt. 5:14-16). Disappointment, criticism, or even anger toward the status quo are not reprehensible; they are catalysts for change toward the better.

By the time I write another post you can probably read the entire book of Jeremiah from beginning to end, but for this week I recommend 7:1-15, 13:1-11, and 19:1-15. These are not necessarily comforting passages, but then, the Word of God is not always meant to console. Oftentimes it calls us to task and cuts us to the quick. Jeremiah’s protests and signs disturbed and infuriated his audience, as sometimes the prophetic actions of athletes do today. Nevertheless, we are called to recognize that things are not right in the world. Things are not right in this country, where racial prejudice threatens the lives of black Americans. Where minorities and the economically poor are inhibited from advancing in society. Where bigoted remarks from the nation’s leaders are dismissed or, worse, defended. Where women do not receive equal pay for equal work. Where even a viable yet unborn infant is unprotected. Where the cries of our brothers and sisters seeking refuge from the violence in their homelands are being ignored. Families are torn apart; children are caged in detention centers; walls are raised, and tear gas is hurled.

Read these or other passages from Jeremiah and ask yourself: do we listen? Or do we let pride obstruct us from hearing the message to reform. Have good and honorable symbols become idols, as the temple had? Does a piece of cloth or a song mean more than a human life? Do we persecute the prophets among us because they look, speak, think, or believe differently than we do? Has nationalism turned our hearts into stone? And what future do we face if these things are so?

Until next time, 

Peace and all good,

Bro. Ian

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[1] Victor H. Matthews, The Hebrew Prophets and their Social World, 2^nd ed. (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2012), 19.

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!

All in the Family: The Genealogies of Jesus

           So I'm going to take a break from giving a tour of the Bible Library for a bit. So far, we've covered most of the Hebrew Scriptures, which – and I'm sure Jesus won't mind me saying this – I find more interesting than the New Testament anyway. I was going to write about the compilation and canonization of the Bible this week, but I discovered that I needed some more time to research that topic in order to do it justice. Instead, since we are drawing ever nearer to that joyous season of Christmas, I decided to write about the genealogies of Jesus. What!? That (seemingly) boring list of names at the beginning of Matthew and Luke? Aw yisss, that's right... because even though I can't pronounce half of those names, the lists are, in fact, rather significant and interesting pieces of work.

            If you watch much television, I'm sure you've come across commercials for genealogy websites like ancestry.com or familytree.com. There's even a program on TLC called "Who Do You Think You Are?" in which celebrities explore their ancestral past and learn fascinating secrets about their forebears. It is pretty natural for us to want to know where we come from. I can't count the number of times I've been in conversations about family backgrounds. Just yesterday, in fact, someone in the friary was playing German Christmas music, and much to my delight I could exclaim, "That's my people!" Knowing our origins tends to give us a sense of rootedness, belonging, and may even tell us a little about ourselves – or at least give an us an excuse for our idiosyncrasies. I, for one, like to attribute my anxiety about tardiness to my German side and my frugality to my Scottish side.

            Genealogies throughout Scripture function in a somewhat similar fashion. It wasn't so much that they were accurate lists of a biblical figure's ancestors or progeny – because I don't think that any of them actually were historically accurate  – but that they made a symbolic claim about origins and, especially in Genesis, underscored the interconnectedness of the human family.

            Now I must admit, looking at the genealogies in the Gospels according to Matthew and Luke opens up a big ol' can of worms. But this is one of the reasons that I wanted to write about the them today anyway. They're a good introduction to the subtle (and oftentimes not so subtle) differences among the evangelists' perspectives and theological emphases. If you haven't noticed, there are four different Gospel accounts, and each one is unique. There would be little reason to have all four in the Bible if they all told the same story in the exact same way.

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            If you have some time right now, peruse through the two genealogies of Jesus: Mt 1:1-17 and Lk 3:23-38 (click the links to find them on Biblegateway.com). You don't have to read them too closely; just get a sense of each one.

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            Great! So if you had a chance to take a look at them, you may have noticed some obvious differences. Matthew's goes from Abraham and works his way down to Jesus. Luke's, on the other hand, starts with Jesus and goes all the way back to Adam. And if that isn't enough, the two lists hardly agree on the names of Jesus' ancestors. They can't even agree on the father of Joseph! What the frankincense is going on? Just remember what I had said earlier; genealogies weren't created to point out historical facts about someone's ancestry. Their purpose was to make a theological – or otherwise symbolic – point about the person to whom they refer.

            This all has to do with differences in the evangelists' communities and theological point of view. Matthew was writing to a Jewish-Christian audience. His Gospel is the most "Jewish" of the four and is constantly making parallels to the Hebrew Scriptures. Since his audience was made up of Jewish followers of Christ, they had to defend the legitimacy of their belief in Christ against fellow Jews who did not believe Jesus was the Messiah. Thus, Matthew's Gospel is emphatic; in both verse 16 and 17 he calls Jesus the Messiah. And in the very first line of Matthew's whole Gospel he asserts that Jesus is the son of David and the son of Abraham. The latter roots Jesus in the Jewish heritage, for Abraham is the father of the people of Israel and the father of the promise (Gen 12:1-3). Matthew's Gospel is adamant that Jesus was a good Jewish man; he was born a Jew and died a Jew.

            Matthew's emphasis on Jesus being the son of David legitimizes Jesus' royal lineage, for it was a requirement that the Messiah be part of the Davidic line. In fact, Matthew's Gospel uses the phrase "son of David" 10 times, whereas Mark and Luke use it only three times each, and John doesn't use it at all. Interestingly enough, Matthew seems to go out of his way to craft his genealogy into three periods of 14 generations each. One theory is that the number 14 is the value of David's name. In Hebrew, his name is דוד, and the letter dalet, ד, is the fourth letter of the Hebrew alphabet. The letter waw (or vav), ו, is the sixth, thus 4+6+4 = 14. This little numerical word trick is known as gematria, and use of it is made in the Book of Revelation (as in the number 666 equaling Emperor Nero's name). Some have proposed that Matthew's crafting of Jesus' genealogy into three sets of 14 is another way that the evangelist draws a connection between King David and Jesus, almost as if to say that Jesus is the "David-est" or the "most David of persons," and therefore the Messiah par excellence.

            Incredible, right? Yeah, other biblical scholars think so too – that it's too incredible. In his commentary on Matthew, Daniel J. Harrington concludes that this is probably not what is going here with the number 14, and instead suggests that the significance of the number 14 in this case has to do with it being a multiple of the perfect number seven.[1] That's a far more boring explanation, but it may likely be the more accurate one. In his commentary, M. Eugene Boring notes that "dividing history into periods of fourteen appears elsewhere in Jewish tradition," but he doesn't dismiss the connection between 14 and David's name either.[2] Whatever the reasoning behind the number 14, it is clear that Matthew took pains to make sure that that was the number of generations, for he even leaves some names out in the process.

            As for Luke, he is writing to a Gentile audience, so asserting Jesus' Jewishness or his Davidic patrimony, while still important, are not on the top of his priorities. Luke's Gospel still grounds Jesus in the patriarchal lineage – Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob – but his genealogy goes all the way back to Adam, a common ancestor to all. The theme of universality is typical of Luke's Gospel. In his commentary on Luke, L.T. Johnson notes that "the significance of Jesus is not only for the 'children of Abraham,' but for all the descendants of Adam, all the nations of the earth."[3] Furthermore, Luke's genealogy is situated directly after the narrative of Jesus' baptism, in which the voice from heaven pronounces of Jesus "You are my beloved Son..." This theme is repeated in verse 38 of Luke's genealogy, for we hear Jesus' lineage going all the way back to Adam who is "the son of God."

            This is about all I'll say on Luke's genealogy, because Matthew's is far more interesting. If you've taken a look at Matthew's genealogy, you may have also noticed that he names four women other than Mary in his list. Each of these women is a fascinating character. The first is Tamar. I won't go into her whole story, but you can read it for yourself in Genesis 38. Trust me; it's a good read. Lots of drama, just like a soap opera. What I will say of her is that she broke a sexual taboo in having intercourse with her father-in-law, Judah.  But she is declared righteous in the end, for Judah failed in his duty to give her a son that would give her children in her deceased husband's name. I'm telling you; it's a juicy story, that Genesis 38.

            The next woman, Rahab, is a foreigner – a Canaanite from Jericho who is said to be a "harlot." Yet this woman is also righteous, for she rescued the Israelite spies and thus aided the success of the their campaign against Jericho. Perhaps she was a Benedict Arnold for her own people, but for the Israelites she was a saint. You can read her story in chapter 2 of Joshua.

            And then we have Ruth. For a people who hated the nation of Moab so much, it's impressive that they would have a whole book dedicated to a Moabite woman. Not only that, but this woman is an ancestress of King David... the King David! Her story is one of a widowed foreigner who is faithful to her widowed mother-in-law, Naomi (an Israelite woman), and marries Boaz. By doing so he saves Naomi and Ruth from their poverty, since he is a close kinsmen of Naomi's deceased husband. It can be difficult to grasp what all is going on in the narrative, for the cultural context is very remote to modern-day readers. I will say, however, that chapter 3 is resplendent with Hebrew double entendre, and it is unclear whether the interaction between Ruth and Boaz is completely innocent or implying something else. Phrases like "uncover a place at his feet," "Spread the corner of your cloak over me," or even the fact that the couple encountered each other at the "threshing floor" (a place associated with prostitution) all can carry some sexual connotations. That being said, Ruth is the third righteous woman in the list, the second foreigner, and she may or may not have a bit of a sexual taboo associated with her too.

            Lastly, we have Bathsheba, but the evangelist doesn't even use her name in the genealogy. Instead, he refers to her as "the wife of Uriah," almost as if to emphasize the adulterous relationship that King David had with her. The story of David and Bathsheba can be found in 2 Samuel 11. Bathsheba was the wife of a Hittite, which, even if she was originally an Israelite, thus made her a foreigner. David covets her and has relations with her even though he knows she is married. Personally, I do not find Bathsheba very culpable in the whole affair, but there is no indication of her willingness or lack thereof in the narrative. The real schmuck in the story is David, who, upon learning that Bathsheba is pregnant tries to cover up his scandal. When he finds that he can't, he arranges for Bathsheba's husband to die in battle. David eventually marries Bathsheba, and she becomes the mother of Solomon, another well-admired, though not entirely virtuous, king of Israel. Bathsheba thus shares in the characteristics noted in the women discussed so far: somewhat of a foreigner, associated with questionable sexual behavior, but nevertheless honorable – in her case by being the queen mother of King Solomon. As for David, he, like so many other heroes and patriarchs of the Hebrew Scriptures that are included in Jesus' genealogy, is both righteous and flawed.

            So why does Matthew's Gospel go to such lengths to include these women in Jesus' genealogy? Scholars offer several reasons. According to Daniel J. Harrington, "in their own distinctive ways they prepare for and foreshadow the irregular birth of Jesus that will be described in Matt 1:18-25."[4] Luke and Matthew both agree in their infancy narratives that Jesus was born of the virgin Mary and that Joseph is not the biological father of Jesus. Matthew's audience may very well have received a lot of taunts for believing in the strange circumstances of Jesus' birth – What kind of Messiah is born to a woman who became pregnant before marriage? But the inclusion of these women seems to answer back: Look at the ways God works through people, even the most unlikely. As for Matthew's defense of the virgin birth, both he and Luke treat that in more detail in their infancy narratives.

            So yes, the genealogies can seem boring, and yes, their historical authenticity is rather dubious. We can't even get the two genealogies of Jesus to agree! Don't try it either; it's a futile and unnecessary mission. Nevertheless, to loosely quote my biblical hermeneutics professor, Fr. Stephen Sherwood, the Bible, "is about formation, not information." So we must ask ourselves how are the Scriptures forming me?

            One of the things I think we can take from these genealogies, especially Matthew's, is that Jesus enters into the messiness of humanity. Just look at the people in his family tree! They're not bad people by any means, but Abraham, Jacob, David, and Solomon, and many others all had their issues. Even the women mentioned above, although certainly righteous in their own respects, each had a bit of a shadow side. But we cannot pretend that this isn't exactly what humanity is. We all have our faults, our brokenness, our shadow sides, and Jesus enters fully into that. The Jesuit, Fr. James Keenan, defines mercy as "the willingness to enter into the chaos of another,"[5] and this is precisely what Jesus does and one of the things to which Matthew's genealogy points.

            Another message we can reflect upon in the genealogies is that of inclusion. Matthew may have been bent on asserting Jesus' Jewishness, but three of the four women which he lists were outsiders. Just the fact that Matthew includes women at all breaks somewhat from the traditional genealogy schema. Luke doesn't even include women, even though he talks about women more in his Gospel than the other three! Although Matthew is writing to a very Jewish Christian audience, he seems to be declaring that "the messianic story is inclusive, extending to women and men of all nations."[6]

            Oftentimes the ones on the outside – the forgotten, excluded, or despised – are the ones who need to be shown mercy the most, to have someone enter into their pain or problems and include them into that mystery of salvation. I think the theme of mercy, given the chaos and messiness into which Jesus enters, is a perfect point of reflection as we soon enter into the Christmas Season. Not only that, but let us also consider how God uses ordinary and flawed people to be part of a bigger story of salvation history. God is calling each of us to help build up that messianic kingdom – a kingdom of peace, and justice, and mercy. What role do you think you play in that mission? Do you believe that those whom society has cast aside are part of this mission too? How can we reach out in mercy, and what can we learn from those whom others hate, dismiss, disdain, and cast aside?

            My scriptural recommendations for this week as you reflect on these things are simply the genealogies in Matthew and Luke  and, if you get a chance, to also read one or more of the accounts of the four women named in Matthew's genealogy: Genesis 38; Joshua 2; Ruth; and 2 Samuel 11. As always, I welcome comments and questions. You can post something on the Bible Codega page on Facebook if you prefer, or you can also e-mail me at biblecodega@gmail.com.

Until next time, Advent blessings!

             

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[1] Daniel J. Harrington, The Gospel of  Matthew, Sacra Pagina 1. (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1991), 30.

[2] M. Eugene Boring, “The Gospel of Matthew,” in vol. VIII of The New Interpreter's Bible,  ed. by Leander E. Keck. (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1998), 129.

[3] Luke Timothy Johnson, The Gospel of  Luke, Sacra Pagina 3. (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1991), 72.

[4] Harrington. 32.

[5] James Keenan & Daniel J. Harrington, "Paul and Virtue Ethics: Building Bridges Between New Testament Studies and Moral Theology," (Lanham, MA: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2010), 126.

[6] Boring, 132.