Wonder Woman vs. Jonah

What do Wonder Woman and Jonah have in common?

Not much, actually. The two characters could hardly be more different. The former so enthusiastic to accomplish her mission that she refuses her mother’s wishes to stay put, and the latter a reluctant schmuck. One matures in her understanding of divine justice, while the other pouts over the ethic of mercy. Yet both stories explore the themes of salvation and human nature with surprisingly similar conclusions.

            Normally, I am not prone to viewing super hero flicks in theaters, but a friend asked me to see Wonder Woman with him, and I was pleasantly delighted by the film. (Thanks Mario!) Not surprisingly, the movie integrates moral and religious concepts. Such is typical of the super hero genre, which grapples with questions about justice, goodness, evil, and love. What!? A secular work of fiction that plays on theological truths!? Sure. “There’s nothing new under the sun” (Ecclesiastes 1:9). See my post on Truth, Mystery, the Bible, and... Harry Potter.

            In one scene of the film, Diana’s ragtag companions drunkenly toast, “May we get what we want; may we get what we need; and may we never get what we deserve!” Clearly, the posse either doesn’t deserve much, or, for some reason or other, they deserve punishment for their transgressions – at least in their minds. But who of us can say that we’re blameless, anyway? Without giving away too much of the movie – nobody likes spoilers – Diana learns an important lesson about who is worthy of salvation. Ultimately, everyone shares in the responsibility of the ills of this world. No one is entirely blameless, and humanity probably does not deserve a hero or savior. But that is precisely why we need one; we’re helpless. And rather than getting our just desserts, we are offered love and mercy instead – even those thought least deserving of it.

            Jonah is taught a similar lesson, although his character sharply contrasts to that of Diana’s. The Book of Jonah is a unique text of the Hebrew Bible– one of my favorites, in fact. It’s short, funny, easy to read, yet deceptively deep and profound. With only four brief chapters, you can easily pick it up after reading this post and enjoy it for yourself. Or better yet, you can read it now by clicking on the link here. As for Wonder Woman, well, you’ll just have to see it theaters or wait until it comes out on DVD or Blu-Ray.

            Jonah may seem like an endearing story to us today, and we probably relish the message of God’s abundant mercy. But this narrative was likely a hard pill to swallow for many in its original audience – as much as it would be today if, say, the U.N. pardoned ISIS of all human rights abuses (assuming its members repented in sackcloth and ashes like the Ninevites). The ending of the story is as startling as it would be if the Boston Red Sox came back from a 10 point deficit in the ninth inning and won the World Series against the Yankees… at Yankee Stadium. I mean, if you’re a Yankees fan or just really hate the Red Sox.

            Jonah was written after the Babylonian Exile, which up until that point was probably the most devastating experience in Israelite history. The Babylonians were merciless to the people of Judah, deporting most of Jerusalem’s population to Babylon and destroying their sacred Temple. Nearly a century and a half before that, the Assyrians had conquered the northern kingdom of Israel, scattering many of its peoples. After the fall of the north, the Assyrians laid an excruciating, but ultimately unsuccessful, siege on Jerusalem in the southern kingdom. The suffering they had inflicted, however, would never be forgotten.

            Naturally, Assyria, Babylon, and their allies were venomously hated for their ruthlessness toward Israel and Judah. The returnees from the Exile had nothing but spite for their enemies, even the memory of those who no longer existed. A lot of biblical ink was spilled in order to hurl curses at these nations. As tends to happen after a country experiences unspeakable trauma, a gross, exclusive sort of nationalism developed among returnees trying to reestablish their religious and political identity in Judah. This party was unforgiving toward foreigners and disdained those who had remained behind after the deportations and inter-mixed with their conquerors. They had a narrow concept of YHWH’s favor, believing that only the pure race of God’s chosen people, Israel, was worthy.

            To critique this mentality, Jonah is presented as a satirical figure, a kind of mirror to be held up to the faces of those who subscribed to the postexilic ideology of exclusivity. Yet for all of Jonah’s zealous contempt for the Ninevite pagans, he proves to have only passive faith in YHWH. When God charges him to preach against Nineveh, Assyria's capital, he goes AWOL, wanting nothing to do with the mission. Twice in the same verse the author stresses that Jonah was getting “away from the LORD.” He sets sail for what might as well have been the farthest corner of the world, and later falls asleep in the depths of the ship. Jonah may be a believer in YHWH, but his actions show that he prefers death over engaging his God with whom he seems at odds. So desperate to get away from the LORD, he apathetically volunteers to be thrown into the sea, an ancient symbol of chaos and death.

            This action only highlights his hypocrisy even more, for even though he just confessed that the LORD is “the God of heaven, who made the sea and the dry land” (1:9), he doesn’t seem to realize that the deep isn’t going to hide him from the creator of the seas. By contrast, the pagan crew shows amazing faith in YHWH, begging for his forgiveness, offering sacrifice, and making vows to him.  

            The fish episode, like the sea itself, conjures up more imagery of primordial chaos and death. Jonah wants to get as far away from the LORD as possible, and God takes him to the brink. There is no farther place from God than death and the netherworld. Yet even there God’s saving power cannot be held at bay. There in the belly of the fish Jonah represents perhaps all of Israel, who knew that they had sinned against the LORD in the past and, as a result, had been brought to the edge of death in the experience of exile – almost total alienation from their God. Yet their time of exile came to an end, as would Jonah’s time in the sea creature. Jonah’s prayer of thanksgiving is ironic, though. “Deliverance is from the LORD,” he says, but as we see in the end of the story, he’s infuriated that God extends that deliverance to the Ninevites too.

            So Jonah is spewed out on shore, and he preaches throughout Nineveh that they will be destroyed, and, in a shocking twist of events, evil Nineveh repents of their sins in an extravagant display of penance, from the king on high right down to the animals. God relents of the violence he was going to inflict, but this only pisses Jonah off. At first the reader might guess that he’s angry because his prophecy of calamity didn’t come true – a dilemma that might have labeled him a false prophet and cost him his life. But no! He’s mad because God is merciful, and he even admits that that was the real reason why he fled in the first place. Nineveh doesn’t deserve God’s forgiveness! So blinded by his vindictive nationalism is Jonah, that he goes off to brood over the unscathed city.

            But God teaches him a lesson. He provides a plant to grow over Jonah’s head to give him shade, and this makes Jonah happy. But then God sends a worm to kill the plant, and Jonah, being just a tad over-dramatic, becomes so outraged at this point that he prays for death! And with that the LORD nails him with a rhetorical question: You didn’t do anything to merit that plant you liked so much, yet you’re so upset that it died. So why shouldn’t I be concerned about these thousands of pitiful people? Oh and let’s not forget their animals too.

Now, put that in your pipe and smoke it, Jonah!

            Though different in their approaches, it seems that both Wonder Woman and Jonah must grapple with this issue of divine justice. Maybe Nineveh didn’t deserve God’s mercy, and perhaps humanity didn’t merit Diana’s heroic assistance – at least, not in the eyes of Jonah or Diana’s adversary. But, thankfully, this isn’t the way God’s justice seems to work. God's love is universal. The "God of heaven, who made the sea and the dry land" extends his care and concern for all of his children, even the seemingly least deserving. This isn’t to say that we are excused from having remorse and contrition for our sins. Salvation is as difficult for those who think they can attain it by their own righteousness as it is for those who cannot humble themselves to ask for mercy with contrite hearts. We can never earn God’s mercy, though. That is what makes it so abundant and free. We can, therefore, only receive it.

            This is the kind of good news we like to hear, but sometimes, like Jonah, we’re faced with applying this ethic of mercy to those persons or groups of people we don’t like. It’s all warm and fuzzy until we realize that God cares as much for our enemies as he does us. God loves those we think, for whatever reason, deserve God’s wrath. Maybe we secretly hope that one day they’ll get their comeuppance, just like Jonah wanted the Assyrians punished. These so-called just desserts may or may not come, but in the meantime, who’s really suffering – your enemies, or you who are brooding over your resentments?

            My reading recommendation this week is, of course, the Book of Jonah. As you read it, though, think of a person or a group of people you might have some bitterness towards. It could be a political figure or party, a co-worker or boss, maybe it’s a national, cultural, or religious group. Or maybe it's the Red Sox. Read the Book of Jonah, and when you get to the last question posed by God, insert that entity you’re thinking of in place of the Ninevites. Pray for that person or group, and open your heart to loving them too. Remember, God loves them as well, and they are as worthy of God’s mercy and protection as you.

Until next time,

Peace and all good!

Word Up!

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

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

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

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

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

Fellow D.A. Enthusiast: Word!

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

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

from www.worldofdtcmarketing.com

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

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

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

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

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

Chapel of the Incarnate Word at UIW. Go Cardinals!

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

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

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

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

Word!

* Passion and Resurrection Narratives:

Matthew 26:1-28:20

Mark 14:12-16:20

Luke 22:1-24:53

John 18:1-21:25

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

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

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

Making the Cut: Where did the Bible come from? Part V

            Two weeks ago I wrote up a whirlwind tour of the books of the New Testament (NT) and just barely scratched the surface of who wrote these texts and when. The big question that has often been asked of me, though, is Who decided what got in? How did these 27 books become the NT? I'll be honest, the answer to these and similar questions is complex, but, since I'm ready to move on from this "Where did the Bible come from?" series, I'll try to be as succinct as possible. (I hear a sigh of relief.)

            First, a couple of things to keep in mind:

1.) Faith in Jesus Christ preceded the writings of the NT.

2.) The Church, (i.e. the community of believers and followers of Christ) existed before the Christian Scriptures were composed.

3.) Most, if not all of the books of the NT were written for audiences that already believed that Jesus was the Christ – albeit, these audiences probably needed some theological clarification about their beliefs and how they should live, which is what prompted many of the NT writings to begin with.

            A fine example of some of the above points are the early Christian hymns and creedal statements that were incorporated into the Scriptures. If you take a look at Philippians 2:6-11 (one of my favorite passages in Scripture, by the way) you have what appears to be a hymn about Christ that was possibly used in community worship. What it says about Jesus is so fitting and true, that Paul integrates it into his letter to the Philippians. Whether it was sung or not is beside the point, but try to imagine this as a song, short and catchy enough for people to learn it and sing it by memory. Of course, memories were probably a lot more adept back then because people didn't have buttons, phones, and Google remembering everything for them. Thus a profound truth about Christ issued from the community of believers and was passed down orally through this lyrical poem before it ever became "Scripture" as we know it today. In effect, this Truth was handed down to believers through the inspiration of the Holy Spirit by means of *drum roll* Sacred Tradition.

GIF from www.yorehistory.wordpress.com

            The Catholic rebuttal to Martin Luther's insistence on "Scripture alone" is that both Scripture and Tradition "form one sacred deposit of the word of God, committed to the Church."[1] But what is Sacred Tradition anyway? Let me be quite clear that it is not customs or disciplines in the Church –like not eating meat on Fridays during Lent. Those things are "traditions" with a lower-case 't' and have little to do with essential beliefs and teachings of the Church. Just remember that if you accidently eat meat on Friday this Lent. Rather, Sacred Tradition is that "living transmission" of the word of God "accomplished in the Holy Spirit" through the Apostles and their successors, which "includes everything which contributes toward the holiness of life and increase in faith of the peoples of God."[2] Basically, it's the faith and Truth in which the Church believes that has been passed down orally by the Apostles and their successors.

            Why this lengthy – and somewhat boring – tangent about Sacred Tradition? (Bless you, by the way, if you're still reading.) It's because the composition of the NT and the selection of which books became canonized rests on this issue of Tradition. Sacred Scripture and Tradition are not opposed to or in competition with one another. That would be ridiculous! Rather the two inform and complement one another. Tradition is informed by the written Word, and Scripture was written as a result of oral transmissions of the faith and is interpreted in light of Tradition. It's like love and marriage... that go together like a horse and carriage. This I tell you brother: you can't have one without the other. Thank you Frank Sinatra.

            So as I mentioned in the last post, the earliest NT writings were the letters of Paul. Such writings, though some were intended for particular audiences, were shared among many other local church communities. Moreover, like the Torah and Prophets, which were obviously considered sacred by the early Church, these Christian writings were read aloud in liturgy when the community came together for worship. Likewise, the Gospels and the other NT writings were used in this way, and many of them were cited by leaders in the early Church in their own letters.

            According to Luke Timothy Johnson – without whose book, The Writings of the New Testament: An Interpretation, this post would not be possible (gotta give props where props are due, folks), "As writings were exchanged, local churches began to build collections that were more extensive than those written specifically to them."[3]  Eventually, local churches within the catholic (and by catholic I mean universal) Church had collections of Christian writings; some books of which were common to most local churches, but other books were favored by a minority. So while some of these collections agreed on certain books, like the letters of Paul, they differed on others.

            Surprisingly, however, evidence shows that within the early Church there was actually a great deal of agreement on which Christian writings were considered sacred. An early Latin document known as the Muratorian Fragment contains a list of canonical books that includes the four Gospels and Acts, the letters of Paul, the first two letters of John, the letter of Jude, and Revelation. While it leaves out some books from today's canon (3 John, 1 & 2 Peter, James, and Hebrews), it also included some books that are not in our NT: for example, the Apocalypse of Peter and the Shepherd of Hermas. (Ever hear of these books?) However, it concedes that the Shepherd of Hermas should not be read in worship, and it was debatable as to whether the Apocalypse of Peter should be or not.[4]

Image from http://www.bible-researcher.com/muratorian.html

            In a roundabout way I have so far hinted at some of the criteria the early Church deferred to in the complex and lengthy process of selecting which Christian writings would be part of Scripture. Here are some of the standards that influenced the canonization process.

1.) Did it have apostolic historicity? Did it seem to derive from the apostles or at least those who knew them? Again, much like the books of the Jewish canon, the older a text was the more authority it carried. Books written too late would not make the cut.

2.) Did it conform to the tradition of faith that had been handed down to them? That is, did it reflect the faith they had come to believe and know to be true, or did it reflect a heretical teaching? Thus, my lengthy tangent about Sacred Tradition.

3.) Was it read publicly in liturgy? Or better yet, should it be read in liturgy? It seems like the Shepherd of Hermas was a popular, early Christian text and not a bad one to read, but it apparently didn't have the authority to be read in church.

4.) Was it used widely among the universal Church, or was it only accepted or rejected by a handful of local churches?

5.) Did it have "universal pertinence"?[5] In other words, was it applicable to all of the Church in every place and in all times?

            I don't want to over-simplify this complex process of canonization. It is not like the early Church fathers got around a poker table with this list of criteria and a deck of potential NT books, folding if the text didn't meet enough standards and laying down royal flushes if it did. That would have been rather entertaining if it had been the case, though, I must say. And to that end I would love to see a tapestry much like the one of dogs playing poker with Athanasius, Irenaeus, Eusebius, and Origen seated around the table instead.* In any case, as the early Church discerned which books ought to be considered Scripture alongside those writings inherited from their Jewish ancestry, these standards were surely factors that guided this organic process of canonization.

It's not how it happened, but it's funny to imagine nonetheless

            It should be noted that not every book we have in the NT was readily agreed upon by every local church. There was much debate concerning the inclusion of the Book of Revelation (not surprisingly, as that book's trippy) and even some hesitancy around the Gospel of John. These books obviously made it in, but some were vehemently rejected. The Muratorian Fragment is adamant that certain letters attributed to Paul which actually derived from a heretic named Marcion as well as the Gnostic writings of Valentinus and Basilides should be not be accepted at all.[6] Early Church fathers like Eusebius, Irenaeus, and Athanasius all railed against writings considered heretical.

            How I would love to say a few things about the heresy of Gnosticism and its writings, but I'm running long as it is. I will say, however, that if you're wondering about such texts like the so-called Gospels of Peter, Mary Magdalene, or Judas, I will tell you straight up right now. Those and other such "gospels" were A.) not written by those to whom they were attributed, for, as I mentioned in my last post, writing under a different name was quite common back then. B.) These books were written much later than the NT writings, probably in the 2^nd and 3^rd centuries. And C.) they derived from heretical Gnostic beliefs and teachings that ran contrary to the orthodox Tradition that had been passed down in the early Church. I hope to devote a post to Gnosticism and their writings in the future, because it's a sick and twisted heretical movement, though admittedly quite fascinating, but let's just leave it there for now.

            So okay, some books were readily accepted, some debated, and some unequivocally nixed. At what point, then, did the early Church have a canonical list of the 27 books of the NT that we know and love today? In his Paschal Letter (367 CE) the bishop of Alexandria, St. Athanasius, includes those 27 books and even refers to them as the "springs of salvation."  In 397 the North African Council of Carthage decided on such a list that included those 27 and no more, stating that these "are to be read in church as divine Scripture." These 27 books for the most part went unchallenged until the Reformation of the 16^th century, but the Council of Trent in 1546, as well as the Church of England shortly thereafter, reaffirmed the authority and canonicity of these books.[7] 

          So there you have it. As I mentioned in the last post, the books of the NT were composed within about a hundred years after Jesus' death and resurrection. And then less than three hundred years after that it was pretty much decided which Christian Scriptures would be part of the biblical canon. Ain't that something?

            For this week, since much of this post had to do with the complementary nature of Sacred Scripture and Tradition, I suggest reading 2 Timothy 2:1-26 and 3:10-17. In these passages we hear Paul writing from prison to encourage one of his successors, Timothy, to remain steadfast to the Gospel he has preached and is now in chains for proclaiming. He urges him to resist false teaching but not to engage in useless and quarrelsome debates, correcting opponents instead with kindness. He affirms Timothy's life of faith, love, patience, and endurance in suffering and reminds him to remain faithful to what he has learned and what he knows from Scripture. As you read this passage, considered what you have come to know and believe from the faith that has been handed onto you. What do you know to be true – about God, Jesus Christ, life in the Spirit, our relationship with God and one another? How has it "trained you for righteousness," made you more loving, peaceful, patient, or less quarrelsome? How has it brought you into conflict, and how have you responded? What about the Christian faith and Gospel message challenges you, and how might you pray to God for perseverance?

            I will be taking another hiatus from blogging for the next couple of weeks in order to work on some other things for this project, but I greatly appreciate your readership and spreading the word about Bible Codega. It has been a tremendous help as I complete the practicum for my M.A. I still encourage questions and comments via e-mail, Facebook, Twitter, or the comment box below. And while I might not put up a new post for some time, I'll still be responding to questions. Until next time, may you have a blessed remainder of the Lenten season and happy reading of Scripture.

Peace and all good!

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[1] Dei Verbum,  10 §1.

[2]  Catechism of the Catholic Church, 78. and Dei Verbum, 8 §1.

[3] Luke Timothy Johnson, The Writings of the New Testament: An Interpretation, Rev. ed. (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1999), 597.

[4] Ibib., 600-601

[5] Johnson, 600.

[6] Ibid., 601.

[7] Ibid., 603.

* For the record, I'm pretty sure Athanasius, Irenaeus, Eusebius, and Origen were never even in the same room altogether.

Truth, Mystery, the Bible, and... Harry Potter?

          Happy New Year! I wasn't planning on writing this week, but I had a bit of time and thought I'd write something before I get off the grid for awhile. I've been doing some thinking lately about the concept of the truth of Scripture and how best to approach that topic. As I mentioned last week, there is a difference between Truth and fact, particularly when it comes to the Bible. This can be a tricky concept for our post-modern, western minds to wrap around. In fact, many of the questions I receive about the Scriptures directly or indirectly pertain to this topic. In light of this, I couldn't help but muse about literature in general, and specifically (because I was watching some of the movies over the holidays) the Harry Potter novels. Given this theme, today's post probably won't be the most scholarly, but that's also because I didn't have time to do a lot of research through commentaries and textbooks either. But why not start off the new year with a lighter fare anyway?

            Whenever we think about something we know to be true, we usually think of that which can be measured and proven. For example, we know it's true that the earth revolves around the sun. We can observe that, measure it, and prove it scientifically. But other kinds of truth cannot be measured. I believe it is true that every single human person has innate dignity. Yet we can't measure this, and we can't prove it, because dignity is not something we can necessarily observe and evaluate with our five senses. Likewise, things such as goodness, love, beauty, suffering, evil, and salvation, are not quantifiable, but that doesn't mean we deny their existence. God himself is not measurable (or gendered, so forgive my use of the masculine pronoun), and frankly, I wouldn't want much to do with a god who could be scientifically proven anyway. That is where faith steps in, because ultimately it takes a leap of faith to have belief in and a relationship with some reality that is so beyond conclusive evidence.

           

            All of these kinds of realities – God, love, goodness, evil, suffering, etc. – are mysteries, which isn't to say they are mysteriously unknowable but that they are infinitely knowable. We can never exhaust our exploration and knowledge of mysteries and the ultimate truths of the universe. No matter how much we come to discover about them we will always find ourselves digging for more. (For the record, I cannot take credit for the concept that a mystery is something that is infinitely knowable. I heard it at a retreat from a woman who was quoting a deceased friar, Howard Hansen, and I don't know whether it was original to him or if he got it from somewhere else. Either way, he made an excellent point.)

            Now, just because God and love, and goodness, and suffering, and all the like are not measurable, provable categories, that does not mean that they aren't communicated and revealed to us. Love is not something we can look at under a microscope, but we can experience physical signs and manifestations of love: a warm embrace, a kiss, generous giving, actions of self-sacrifice. Similarly, the word of God in Scripture – and ultimately the Incarnate Word, Jesus Christ – makes known to us the mystery of who God is. Just as an aside, this is also the way sacraments function. They are visible signs that point to and make manifest God's invisible grace. Even beyond the seven sacraments of the Church there are many other ways in which we experience God's grace in signs and symbols. But I digress. The point is that mysteries may not be quantifiable, yet even still, we can never exhaust our knowledge of them. Furthermore, they are revealed to us, communicated in signs, deeds, the person of Jesus Christ, Sacred Scripture and even literature, art, and music... but today we're just going to focus on literature.

            I've heard from friars and professors alike that the quickest way to the truth is through a story. Obviously this does not refer to the kind of stories your children might tell you in order to cover up the truth, because the only thing those stories are the quickest way to is a time-out... or a wooden spoon... or more chores. (I don't know; I clearly don't parent children). Regardless, this is a motto I can enthusiastically get behind, because I love a good story. I have a mild – though some might say exorbitant – obsession with Sondheim & Lapine's Into the Woods (the play, not the movie). I even wrote my term paper in moral theology on this show, and with that being said, I could go on and on about the musical. Instead, I'll just reference one of the more poignant lines sung by the Witch in the Finale: "Careful the tale you tell," she cautions the audience, "that is the spell." And ain't that the truth!

            Fairytales, fables, myths, parables, and all other kinds of stories are our teachers, and so we should be careful of the stories we tell. Hopefully the stories we hear as children or as adults teach us truth and not lies, for the latter can have disastrous effects! Where would we be, though, without the wisdom of stories? Little Red Ridinghood teaches us not to talk to strangers, and the Three Little Pigs urges us to make practical, well-thought-out decisions. Many of the Greek myths have so artfully depicted the realities of the human condition that we still make allusions to them in our everyday lives (Achilles' heel, Sisyphus' boulder, Cupid's arrow, Pandora's box, etc.). And frequently, Greek mythology warns us against a critical human weakness: arrogance (or hubris). Jesus himself used stories, and his parables reveal to us the mysteries of the Kingdom, of God's love, justice, and mercy, and how we are to relate with one another as human beings. All of these examples are merely stories, but they are more than mere fiction. They cannot easily be cast aside as irrelevant simply because they are not grounded in historical or scientific fact... which finally brings me to Harry Potter.

            As I said, over the holidays I was watching some of the movies because they were on television... and because Harry Potter is awesome. Point blank. If you are ever looking for a contemporary example of literature that is imbued with the kind of truth that I'm referring to – the truth that has to do with the mystery of love and suffering and of goodness and death (maybe not about God though) – then look no further than Harry Potter. I could have suggested The Lord of the Rings or The Chronicles of Narnia, I suppose, since they are more explicitly Christian in origin and influence, but I have not read those books (though I highly recommend them). Either way, Truth is not bound by those things which are directly connected with the Judeo-Christian tradition, which means it can even be found within other religious beliefs. After all, as stated in the Vatican II document, Nostra Aetate "the Catholic Church rejects nothing that is true and holy in these religions," including Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism, etc. (Nostra Aetate, paragraph 2).

            Now obviously, Harry Potter is not a religion (according to most people), and it is not my intention to put the kind of truth that can be gleaned from its voluminous pages on par with the truth and goodness found in our world's religions. All I'm trying to illustrate is that the Truth, the wisdom of God, has a way of being conveyed in and through mediums that are both secular and religious and in cultures and religions that may or may not be directly associated with the Judeo-Christian tradition. The fullness of Truth might not exist within them, but we can still learn something valuable from the arts, and other religions and cultures. Okay, off my soapbox. Now back to Harry Potter.

            As I was watching bits from films Six and Seven (parts I & II), I couldn't help but think of a few themes that certainly harmonize with some of the truths I have come to understand through the Scriptures. If you haven't read the books or at the very least seen the movies, I am very sorry. No. Siriusly, my heart aches for you, and be warned that I'll be throwing out spoilers. If you have, then you might agree with me when I say that J.K. Rowling definitely has her finger on the pulse of some universal truths. Take for instance the message we get from Lilly Potter's self-sacrificing love for her son. Because of her love, Harry is saved, and the forces of evil are defeated. I'm not saying that Lilly Potter is a metaphor for Jesus. I'm not even suggesting that J.K. Rowling was influenced by the Gospel tradition. All I'm saying is that the message we get from Rowling's masterful story-telling taps into a universal truth about the power of love, especially self-sacrificing love. It just so happens that this Truth is divinely revealed to us in Scripture and in the person of Jesus Christ, who is the Incarnate Word of God, "the way, the truth, and the life" (John 14:6). We also know from Scripture that even among the three theological virtues (faith, hope, and love) that "the greatest of these is love" (1 Corinthians 13:13). For a great explanation of love, by the way, read all of 1 Corinthians 13.

            Another example of the utterance of Truth in the Harry Potter series is in the way Rowling approaches death in these novels. The villain, Voldemort, has this inordinate fear of death – so much so that he literally tears apart his soul in order to avoid it. Harry, on the other hand, eventually comes to embrace death, and in doing so, is able to defeat his enemy. It's a hard pill to swallow – this notion of life through the willing acceptance of death – because I know that many of us prefer not to think of death too much, but Rowling is on to something, something I know to be True because of the Good News that is Jesus Christ. In accepting death Christ has conquered the grave and has given us new life. "He humbled himself, becoming obedient to death, even death on a cross. Because of this, God greatly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name..." (Philippians 2:8-9). The whole mystery of Christ's death and resurrection has a proper name in the Christian tradition, by the way. It is called the Paschal Mystery, and it is that mystery which permeates the whole of the Christian life, celebration, and story. It is not the theme of today's posts, and no length of writing or depth of contemplation will ever fully plumb the depths of its ineffable profundity, but I will say this: the paschal mystery changes everything. More about that in another post, I hope.

            Again, I'm not saying Harry Potter is a metaphor for Jesus or that Rowling intentionally wrote Harry's character to reflect the Paschal Mystery. Many differences appear between the two anyway. However, I think that the message of life through death, of victory through dying, is transcendent. It is obviously part of the Gospel message because it is of the wisdom of God, and God reveals this to us in Jesus and in the sacred texts. But because it is so transcendent and because the Holy Spirit is so irrepressible, this kind of Truth just naturally spills out into the universe – in literature, music, art, culture, and religions of all kinds.

            Interestingly enough, J.K. Rowling even includes in her seventh Harry Potter novel an original, wizarding fairytale that articulates this very theme of embracing death. If you recall from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Hermione reads "The Tale of the Three Brothers." You can click on the title yourself to hear Emma Watson as Hermione read the whole story with graceful and haunting narration, but note the very last line: "He then greeted death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, departing this life as equals." I love what Rowling does here for two reasons. 1.) It reflects a truth that, as we can see, is found within the biblical and Christian spiritual tradition. St. Francis of Assisi, for example, embraced death as a "sister" at the end of his life as depicted in his Canticle of the Creatures. And 2.) Rowling has demonstrated the power of myth and storytelling through the brilliant literary device of a story-within-a-story. Even her fictional characters come to a deeper appreciation of the mystery of death by means of what? A fairytale.

            And so I return to my point. This is one of the things I mean when I say that the Scriptures are concerned with the Truth, though not necessarily with historical or scientific fact. Its concern, rather, is the truth about those things which cannot be measured, those moral wisdoms, those mysteries that are infinitely knowable yet never fully known (at least not in this life): God, love, goodness, suffering, mercy, death, evil, salvation, sin, justice, resurrection, the Paschal Mystery, etc. I use literature as an example because what we find in things like fairytales, myths, fables, and, yes, even Harry Potter are narratives that speak the truth even though they are completely fictional. I don't know whether or not J.K. Rowling purposefully intended for her story to have such Christ-like themes. Personally, I'm hoping that she did not intend it, for that just goes to show that there is a universality to the Christian message of love, self-sacrifice, and life through death. It demonstrates my point that Truth and the wisdom of God is transcendent and will find a way to speak to us. In my opinion, western society simply needs to recover an appreciation for narrative, mythology, symbols, and poetry in order to perceive the truth that is in its midst.

           

            In drawing upon stories, like Harry Potter, I'm not trying to say that the Bible is pure fiction. But the Bible is literature – albeit, sacred literature , some of which is even rooted in history. I am also not insinuating that just because different kinds of literary works can bear witness to the truth of various mysteries of life that Sacred Scripture should therefore be ignored or dismissed. That would be absurd. Sacred Scripture reveals the Truth of the mystery of God. It is God's self-revelation. The Church holds both Sacred Scripture and Sacred Tradition as a source of revealed truth, as the Vatican II document on Divine Revelation says, they "together form a single deposit of the Word of God" (Dei Verbum, paragraph 10). The fullness of Truth and God's self-communication, I believe, can be found within these means, though perhaps not exhausted by them. Even Scripture and Tradition are mediated by human language, and the mystery of God inevitably exceeds even that and will ultimately leave us speechless. Nevertheless, Sacred Scripture remains for us one of the ways in which God communicates God's self.

            I hope that some of this helps as a kind of introduction to interpreting the Bible. Humanity is inspired so much by movies, books, songs and poetry and, through them, drawn deeper into the mysteries of life. They touch our souls and tickle our brains, and sometimes they even move us to tears. So it is with Scripture, only more so! For it isn't just any narrative or poem or oracle that we encounter in these sacred texts, but God's very self-revelation.

            With regard to reading the Bible, I quote Franciscan priest, Richard Rohr: "Read more poetry, literature, and mythology, would be my advice. Then we can trust you with the Scriptures..."[1] His tone is a little demanding in my estimation, but he makes a valid point. We should strive to seek the Truth where it can be found, for as surely as it is there in Grimm's Fairytales, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Hafez, Victor Hugo, Charles Dickens, Gerard Manley Hopkins, Emily Dickinson, J.K. Rowling, Elizabeth Gilbert, and countless others throughout history, it is there and infinitely more so in the Word of God.

            As far as scriptural recommendations go this week, I suggest reading 1 Corinthians 13 and Philippians 2:5-11, which were mentioned previously, but also find one of Jesus' parables and read that too if you have some time. Luke 10:25-37 (the good Samaritan), Luke 16:19-31 (Lazarus and the rich man), and Luke 15:11-32 (the prodigal son) are all good options. In whatever parable you read, ask yourself what God is saying to you. What truth about God's kingdom do you hear reflected in the story? How does it apply to your life? What challenges you? What gives you joy? What have you learned about love, mercy, justice, goodness?

            The next entry might take some extra time for me to post, as I will be traveling this week. In the meantime, however, I would like to draw your attention to the right side bar in which there are links to the Vatican II documents on Divine Revelation (Dei Verbum) and on the Church's relation to religions other than Christianity (Nostra Aetate). Both are valuable documents, and I highly recommend those to you. There are also links to Bible Odyssey and Catholic Bible Student which are great resources for more information about the Scriptures. And as always, I encourage questions and comments via Facebook, e-mail, or this site here. And, if you haven't already done it, don't forget to subscribe by typing your e-mail address in the "Follow the Codega" box.

            Blessings to you in this new year!

            Happy reading!

           

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[1] Richard Rohr, Eager to Love: The Alternative Way of Francis of Assisi, (Cincinnati: Franciscan Media, 2014), 261.

Magi or Manger?: The Infancy Narratives of Jesus

           First of all, merry Christmas! I've posted this blog entry on Christmas day, but I'm guessing you're probably reading it sometime after the 25^th. I don't blame you. Who has time to read a blog on Christmas. Nevertheless, chances are it is still Christmas according the liturgical calendar of the Catholic Church. The Christmas season has only just begun today, and it continues up to the celebration to the Baptism of our Lord (January 10^th this year). So keep drinking that eggnog, and I repeat, merry Christmas!

            Given this current season, it's no surprise that today's post is going to be about the infancy narratives of Jesus. To begin, if you have a nativity set displayed in your home at this time, take a close look at it, or – if you don't want to leave your chair (and trust me, I know the feeling) – simply recall what it looks like in your mind. What do you see? A stable. Shepherds. An ox and/or donkey. Maybe some sheep. A man and a woman looking over an infant in a crib full of hay. Three men in fancy robes with treasures in their hands. Perhaps there is a star or angel on top.

            It's a beautiful image, and it's just about as recognizable in or outside of Christian culture as the cross is. Most of us know the story of Jesus' birth... or at least we think we do. We've heard it proclaimed a Mass or other religious services. We sing the Christmas carols that recount the story. We've seen A Charlie Brown Christmas and have heard Linus recite Luke 2:8-14. We know it from other movies or works of art. We have nativity sets in our homes or at least have seen them displayed elsewhere. In short, we have a pretty good sense of the story of Jesus' birth from pop culture. But when was the last time you actually read it straight from the Scriptures? Did you know that there are, in fact, two distinct infancy narratives in the Gospels, which can be found in Matthew 1:18-2:23 and in Luke 1-2. (I know, right? One baby story just isn't good enough for Jesus.) Only these two Gospels have any account of Jesus' infancy or childhood, and, not surprisingly, – especially given the differences we have already seen in Matthew and Luke's  genealogies – these two narratives agree on very few points.

            Perhaps you are already familiar with the differences, but to those for whom this is news, do not be afraid (did you see what I did there?). Like the genealogies, the infancy narratives were written from the perspective of faith, not with historical facts in mind. These passages in Scripture are a perfect introduction to a theme I hope to expound upon more as this blog continues in the future, and that is the difference between Truth (with a capital "T") and fact. When it comes to the infancy narratives – especially since there are two accounts which hardly agree on anything – there is very little that biblical scholars can point to with certainty as being historical. But this shouldn't concern us. As Daniel Harrington, a Catholic Jesuit priest, says in his commentary on Matthew, "The more important issue is determining what these stories meant to [the evangelist] and his community."[1] To add to that I would also say what the Scriptures are saying to us by extension of what it meant to the Gospel writers and their communities. Therein lies part of what I mean by Truth, for you see, the Scriptures are less concerned with what can be proven by the senses, which is typically how modern thinkers understand "truth." Instead, they are all about revealing who God is, what God's relationship to humanity is and vise versa, and what our relationships should be like with each other as fellow members of the human race. So as we take a look at the infancy narratives, ask yourself: What is this saying about God's relationship to humanity? What is this saying about who God, revealed in the person of Jesus, truly is? This will help us come to know better the Truth that God is communicating to us in these sacred texts.

            Like I said, the infancy narratives of Matthew and Luke agree on very little. The two main things that they do agree upon are that Jesus was born of a virgin named Mary who was betrothed to Joseph and that Jesus was born in Bethlehem, the city of David. That's about it. All the stuff about shepherds and a manger belongs to one Gospel, and all the stuff about magi and fleeing to Egypt belongs to another. So if you've taken a look at your nativity set and have found both shepherds and wise men on display, you're combining two distinct stories. Don't worry; I'm not criticizing you if you do have it that way. I tend to put the wise men out a little later, but eventually they make their way right up next to the shepherd figurines. It's easy for us, though, to confuse the two narratives and try to mesh them together. Pop culture has been doing this for centuries. We like to stack up all the Gospels together like a quadruple-decker club sandwich because it's easier that way. However, although it may look tasty, somethings are going to fall out of a sandwich that big, and we'll fail to appreciate the subtle and unique deliciousness that each Gospel has to offer. As a Bible nerd, I try to keep the narratives separate, so for our purposes today let us take a look at some of the major elements in each of the distinct, individual narratives.

Matthew's infancy narrative.

            Obviously there is a lot that can be said about any part of Scripture, so this is by no means an exhaustive look at Mt 1:18-2:23. In fact, I'm going to try to keep it brief because it's Christmas, and you and I both have things to do. Am I right?

           

            One of the things you may notice in reading this passage is the uncanny similarity to another birth narrative in the Old Testament. A wicked king wants to destroy all the infant boys in the land, and one is rescued. Sound familiar? Yes, Matthew is paralleling Jesus' infancy to that of Moses'! In fact, this is not the only place in Matthew that he draws this connection. One of the reasons that Matthew places Jesus on a mountain when he delivers the so-called "Sermon on the Mount" is because Moses received the Law from God on a mountain. Jesus, in Matthew's Gospel, is a Moses figure, the new law-giver, the one who leads his people out of slavery. If you recall from last week's post, Matthew's Gospel is written to a very Jewish Christian audience, so these Old Testament parallels would not only have been easily recognized, but would have had a lot of significance to them. You'll also notice that Matthew makes a lot of other connections to passages from the Hebrew Scriptures, constantly quoting them even when it doesn't seem that necessary.

            Joseph, who plays the central role in Matthew's narrative rather than Mary (even though he doesn't say a word), is also paralleled with an Old Testament figure. In the genealogy he is said to be the son of a man named Jacob. Why? Think of another man named Joseph in the Old Testament who was the son of a Jacob. It is that very Joseph we find in Genesis, who likewise had dreams and eventually went down to the land of Egypt where he and his family experienced solace for a time. 

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           The attitude toward Egypt in Jewish thinking was a bit ambivalent – at times a place a refuge, and at other times the place of slavery from which Israel must be freed. Not surprisingly, then, the Holy Family finds refuge in Egypt, but Jesus, the Moses figure, is also brought out of there and into the land of Israel. It's significant that the Holy Family is portrayed as refugees and immigrants in the narrative, both for the Gospel's original hearers and for us today. Protection of the "stranger" is common theme in both the Old and New Testament, and as we seek to understand the Truth in Scripture, such repeated motifs most assuredly have something to say to us about how we should strive to live together  as a human family.

           

            But what of those magi, those wise men? Where are they paralleled in the Hebrew Scriptures? It's a less familiar story, but in the book of Numbers a foreign prophet, Balaam, is called upon by his king to curse the Israelites. Instead, however, he utters a blessing for them. The star that Matthew refers to may even be traced to the Balaam's prophecy: "A star shall advance from Jacob, and a staff shall rise from Israel" (Num 24:17). Of course, another Old Testament reading associated with the magi comes from Isaiah 60, in which Israel is depicted as a light to the nations, and foreign kingdoms shall come and pay Israel homage – "Caravans of camels fill you, dromedaries from Midian and Ephah; All from Sheba shall come bearing gold and frankincense" (Is 60:6). Not surprisingly, the Church pairs this reading from Isaiah with the passage about the magi on the feast of the Epiphany. Listen for this if you plan on going to Mass on January 3^rd.

             

            It appears that Matthew had an agenda about the inclusion of the Gentiles into the Christian story of salvation. Recall, also, in Matthew's genealogy his inclusion of those foreign women. Since the evangelist strongly believed in the continuity of the Jewish faith with the Jesus event, he was flabbergasted that so many of the people of Israel did not accept Jesus as the Messiah. So at the end of his Gospel he turns his attention to the Gentiles: "Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations..." (Mt 28:19). The magi from the east, representing the Gentile population, contrast with Herod and his court. These foreigners from the east (probably Persia, modern day Iran) come to pay the newborn king of the Jews homage, while Herod seeks the child's life.

Luke's infancy narrative (see chapters 1-2 of Luke)

            Luke is a masterful storyteller, and his narrative of Jesus' birth is very near and dear to our hearts. The bulk of our nativity sets and memories from nativity movies derive from his version. In Luke, Mary plays the central role, being the one to whom the angel announces Jesus' birth. Women in general often have a prominent role in Luke's Gospel. Both Mary and Elizabeth are key figures in the first two chapters, and in Lk  2:36-38 it is not only Simeon but also a prophetess named Anna who praises the child. The inclusion of women in Luke's Gospel is not so much an expression of 1^st century feminism, but has to do more with Luke's theme of mercy to the poor and lowly. Unfortunately, women all throughout history and in most places around the world today have been among the most powerless. At the annunciation scene, Mary, as a young, unmarried and childless woman would have been one of the lowliest persons in society. She is not only the personification of God's poor, but she is also a voice that proclaims God's favor and love to the meek. When she visits her relative, Elizabeth, she announces in her resounding speech: "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 has filled with good things; the rich he has sent away empty" (Lk 1:51-53).

           

            The theme of poverty and lowliness permeates the entirety of Luke's infancy narrative. Jesus' birth scene may seem cute and darling to our modern sensibilities – the stuff of children's Christmas pageants. (No criticism of nativity plays intended. They're a good learning tool for kids.) But the fact of the matter is that Luke's portrayal of the savior's birth is far from cute or glamorous. The son of God is born into the world in a state of utter poverty. There was no room at the inn. He was wrapped in strips of cloths (presumably that is what the arcane term "swaddling clothes" means). And he was laid in a manger, a feeding trough for animals. Pet peeve, by the way: a stable is not the same thing as a manger. Animals live in stables and eat from mangers. I get all bent out of shape whenever I hear people say that Jesus was born in a manger. Think about it; that would be a an awkward situation. Luke doesn't actually say under what kind of shelter, if any, Jesus was born. The word "stable" does not appear at all in Luke's infancy narrative. We might presume he was born in a stable, but for all we know it could have been al fresco. The point is, the setting and environment of Jesus' birth in Luke's Gospel is a poor one indeed. It would likely be the equivalent of being born in a subway station today.

           

            And the imagery of poverty continues, for the shepherds in particular were among the lowest classes in that society at the time. I'm not entirely sure what a 1^st century, Palestinian shepherd would have been like, but I'm certain he did not resemble a Precious Moments figurine. I'd imagine such shepherds would have been strong, unkempt men who could fend off attackers or wild beasts with brute force, and they probably reeked of sheep and manure (or insert another word that is alliterative to sheep). Yet Luke portrays these poor folk as being the first to receive the Good News.

            Both Joseph and Mary are portrayed as poor yet obedient and faithful Jewish people. They journey to Bethlehem for the census, and there they are depicted as strangers who could not find shelter. Later, in accordance with the Mosaic law, they have Jesus circumcised eight days after his birth, and they go to the Temple for Mary's purification. Luke actually implies that it was for both Mary's and Joseph's purification, but according to the law only the woman who gave birth was required to be purified. You can't blame Luke for getting wrong this bit about Jewish custom though; he was a Gentile, and what do they know anyway? Nevertheless, I think he makes his point clear about the humble obedience of the couple. And furthermore, he is careful to note that they offered a pair of turtledoves for their sacrifice, which was the offering of a poor person who could not afford to offer up a lamb.

            Through the faithful examples of Mary and Joseph, Luke firmly roots Jesus in the Jewish tradition. Luke is demonstrating to his Gentile audience that Jesus and his family were good Jews. Jesus was born a Jew and died a Jew. And since Luke is writing to Gentiles, there may have been a concern among them that God's promises to the people of Israel had been revoked. Therefore, he wants to assure his audience that this was not the case, that the promises to the people of Israel have indeed been fulfilled, that they have not been found wanting, and therefore the Gentiles can trust that God's word to them is true. The canticles of Mary (Lk 1:46-55), Zechariah (1:68-79), and Simeon (2:29-32) all bear this theme of the fulfilled promise to the people of Israel. And the last of the three, Simeon's prayer when he encounters the infant Jesus in the Temple, explicitly brings together the fulfilled promise to Israel and the extension of blessing to the Gentiles: "...a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and glory for your people Israel."

            So what are we to take from all this? Well, to borrow from Shrek, Sacred Scripture is like an onion. It has layers. Indeed, there are numerous layers of meaning that can be gleaned from these infancy narratives, and I have barely peeled back even just one of those thin, sheer layers.

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The layers of meaning are there for us to unfurl and meditate upon, and they are never exhausted. As we discern the Truth which God is communicating to us in these sacred texts, let us ask ourselves some of those questions I mentioned earlier: What this scripture saying about God's relationship to humanity? What is it saying about who God, revealed in the person of Jesus, truly is? And what is it saying about how we as a human race ought to live with one another? Perhaps this will help us sift deeper through the layered meanings of Scripture and allow it to touch our heart more personally.

            Just to remind you of a few themes discussed in these narratives to guide you in your meditations:

* Jesus is portrayed as a new Moses. Moses led his people out of slavery, spoke with God directly, and gave the Law from God to his people on Mt. Sinai.

*Jesus is adored by foreigners, but rejected by the powerful and those who should have known better.

* Jesus, Mary, and Joseph are portrayed in both Gospels as migrants or refugees and, especially in Luke, are among the poorest in society. In Luke, the savior, Messiah, and Lord is born in the lowliest of states.

* The Good News of salvation is first proclaimed to poor social outcasts.

* God fulfills his promises to his people in the person of Jesus Christ.

* I didn't mention this earlier, but it's worth emphasizing that the infant Jesus was laid in a feeding bin. I cannot say whether or Luke intended this (probably not), but I smell a Eucharistic metaphor. Think about it.

            Hopefully this gives you plenty to reflect upon during this joyous season of Christmas (Dec. 25 – Jan. 10). I don't know if I will have the opportunity to post a new blog for the next couple of weeks, but I think the infancy narratives have enough things in them to chew on for a good while – probably for a lifetime and then some, but there is a lot more in Scripture to ponder. Until next time, I pray you have a blessed Christmas and a happy New Year. And, as always, you may post questions or comments on this page, the Bible Codega Facebook page, or to my e-mail: biblecodega@gmail.com.

God's peace!

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[1] Daniel J. Harrington, The Gospel of  Matthew, Sacra Pagina 1. (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1991), 47.