newman apocalyptic

From Parochial and Plain Sermons:

YEAR after year, as it passes, brings us the same warnings again and again, and none perhaps more impressive than those with which it comes to us at this season. The very frost and cold, rain and gloom, which now befall us, forebode the last dreary days of the world, and in religious hearts raise the thought of them. The year is worn out: spring, summer, autumn, each in turn, have brought their gifts and done their utmost; but they are over, and the end is come. All is past and gone, all has failed, all has sated; we are tired of the past; we would not have the seasons longer; and the austere weather which succeeds, though ungrateful to the body, is in tone with our feelings, and acceptable. Such is the frame of mind which befits the end of the year; and such the frame of mind which comes alike on good and bad at the end of life. The days have come in which they have no pleasure; yet they would hardly be young again, could they be so by wishing it. Life is well enough in its way; but it does not satisfy. Thus the soul is cast forward upon the future, and in proportion as its conscience is clear and its perception keen and true, does it rejoice solemnly that "the night is far spent, the day is at hand," that there are "new heavens and a new earth" to come, though the former are failing; nay, rather that, because they are failing, it will "soon see the King in His beauty," and "behold the land which is very far off." These are feelings for holy men in winter and in age, waiting, in some dejection perhaps, but with comfort on the whole, and calmly though earnestly, for the Advent of Christ.

pope benedict on augustine on the holy spirit

From a sermon preached by Pope Benedict at World Youth Day, (July 19) 2008. Read the whole thing here.

Augustine’s second insight – the Holy Spirit as abiding love – comes from his study of the First Letter of Saint John. John tells us that ‘God is love’ (1 Jn 4:16). Augustine suggests that while these words refer to the Trinity as a whole they express a particular characteristic of the Holy Spirit. Reflecting on the lasting nature of love - “whoever abides in love remains in God and God in him” (ibid.) - he wondered: is it love or the Holy Spirit which grants the abiding? This is the conclusion he reaches: “The Holy Spirit makes us remain in God and God in us; yet it is love that effects this. The Spirit therefore is God as love!” (De Trinitate, 15.17.31). It is a beautiful explanation: God shares himself as love in the Holy Spirit. What further understanding might we gain from this insight? Love is the sign of the presence of the Holy Spirit! Ideas or voices which lack love – even if they seem sophisticated or knowledgeable – cannot be ‘of the Spirit’ [Job 32.7ff: “I said, `Let days speak, and many years teach wisdom.' But it is the spirit in a man, the breath of the Almighty, that makes him understand”]. Furthermore, love has a particular trait: far from being indulgent or fickle, it has a task or purpose to fulfill: to abide. By its nature love is enduring. Again, dear friends, we catch a further glimpse of how much the Holy Spirit offers our world: love which dispels uncertainty; love which overcomes the fear of betrayal; love which carries eternity within; the true love which draws us into a unity that abides!

from origen's commentary on the gospel of saint matthew / book ii (fragment)

I have often said that the liberal and the fundamentalist approaches to biblical criticism are two sides of the same coin. To (mis)appropriate something Girard has said (on science and apocalypse, quoted here recently): "In both cases, the Christian text is interpreted as having already said its last word; it is there behind us, not in front of us." Origen has the following incisive bit on the proper handling of the Word of God which, as the author of Hebrews famously says, "is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and spirit, of joints and marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart" (Heb. 4.12).

The Unity and Harmony of Scripture

Blessed are the peacemakers.... (Matthew 5:9) To the man who is a peacemaker in either sense there is in the Divine oracles nothing crooked or perverse, for they are all plain to those who understand. (Proverbs 8:8-9) And because to such an one there is nothing crooked or perverse, he sees therefore abundance of peace in all the Scriptures, even in those which seem to be at conflict, and in contradiction with one another. And likewise he becomes a third peacemaker as he demonstrates that that which appears to others to be a conflict in the Scriptures is no conflict, and exhibits their concord and peace, whether of the Old Scriptures with the New, or of the Law with the Prophets, or of the Gospels with the Apostolic Scriptures, or of the Apostolic Scriptures with each other. For, also, according to the Preacher, all the Scriptures are words of the wise like goads, and as nails firmly fixed which were given by agreement from one shepherd; (Ecclesiastes 12:11) and there is nothing superfluous in them. But the Word is the one Shepherd of things rational which may have an appearance of discord to those who have not ears to hear, but are truly at perfect concord. For as the different chords of the psalter or the lyre, each of which gives forth a certain sound of its own which seems unlike the sound of another chord, are thought by a man who is not musical and ignorant of the principle of musical harmony, to be inharmonious, because of the dissimilarity of the sounds, so those who are not skilled in hearing the harmony of God in the sacred Scriptures think that the Old is not in harmony with the New, or the Prophets with the Law, or the Gospels with one another, or the Apostle with the Gospel, or with himself, or with the other Apostles. But he who comes instructed in the music of God, being a man wise in word and deed, and, on this account, like another David— which is, by interpretation, skilful with the hand— will bring out the sound of the music of God, having learned from this at the right time to strike the chords, now the chords of the Law, now the Gospel chords in harmony with them, and again the Prophetic chords, and, when reason demands it, the Apostolic chords which are in harmony with the Prophetic, and likewise the Apostolic with those of the Gospels. For he knows that all the Scripture is the one perfect and harmonised instrument of God, which from different sounds gives forth one saving voice to those willing to learn, which stops and restrains every working of an evil spirit, just as the music of David laid to rest the evil spirit in Saul, which also was choking him. (1 Samuel 16:14) You see, then, that he is in the third place a peacemaker, who sees in accordance with the Scripture the peace of it all, and implants this peace in those who rightly seek and make nice distinctions in a genuine spirit.

holy cross sermon for pentecost 21 / year b / proper 25 october 25 2009

Mark 10.46-52

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Today’s readings set before us the mystery of suffering, sin and salvation. In the Old Testament reading, from the prophet Isaiah, we hear how we can come to experience separation from God. In the first verses of the reading, the prophet writes: “Behold, the Lord’s hand is not shortened, that it cannot save, or his ear dull, that it cannot hear; but YOUR INIQUITIES have made a separation between you and your God, and YOUR SINS have hid his face from you so that he does not hear” (Isaiah 1.2).

Sin removes us from the free-flowing stream of God’s grace. Jesus says in St. Matthew’s Gospel that the Father “makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust” (Matthew 5.45). And it is true that God is favorably disposed towards every person he ever created. He has nothing but love, mercy, and compassion for each and every single person, and he sends to each of us nothing but blessing. Nevertheless, to sin is to remove ourselves from this free-flowing stream of God’s love. It is important to note that God never stops loving us. Never. He never punishes. He always forgives, he always loves, he has nothing but compassion and mercy. But we may reject it. We may turn away from it. And when we do, we bring ourselves into darkness and suffering – because apart from God there is only darkness. What we experience as punishment, or the wrath of God, is always the result of our own choice. Therefore Isaiah says “your iniquities have made a separation between you and your God, and your sins have hid his face from you so that he does not hear.” To sin is to remove ourselves from God’s love, from his light, from his mercy.

And this is why sin is often described not as an action, but as a condition or a state of being. This doesn’t mean that there are not sinful actions. It does not mean that we can do whatever we want so long as we try to cultivate the correct state of being. That is a twisted form of legalism. Particular sins, the kinds of actions we normally think of as sins – theft, murder, sexual impurity, lying, and that sort of thing – all LEAD TO the condition of sin. Through indulging in these sorts of things, we wander away from God, and find ourselves without light and love. And then we experience sin as a state of being – a spiritual place – and we experience it as things like bitterness, anger, and eventually despair.

Isaiah describes this state of being in today’s reading. He says “we look for light, and behold, darkness, and for brightness, but we walk in gloom. We grope for the wall like the blind, we grope like those who have no eyes; we stumble at noon as in the twilight, among those in full vigor we are like dead men” (Isaiah 1.9f). This is the state of being to which sinful action eventually leads us: a place of darkness and helplessness, of bitterness, anger, and despair. Sin may begin with our simply wanting to have fun, or to make ourselves happy, or to make ourselves better off. But there is no joy, no happiness, no goodness, apart from God. So every attempt to give these gifts to ourselves is doomed to failure. And it is at the point where we realize that our sinfulness has not made us happy, that we have not gotten the satisfaction we were seeking, that sin as a state of being sets in – where our lives become permeated by the nothingness that flows in sin’s wake: the bitterness, anger, and despair. And because this is an interior state of being – because this process unfolds in our hearts – there is no thing and no circumstance that can change it, that can help us. That’s why Isaiah says “we stumble at noon as in the twilight.” The sun may be shining, the birds chirping, but if there is darkness within us, it doesn’t matter. We are like dead men among those in full vigor. If nothing is done about this, this state of being becomes leads to – it literally becomes – hell.

What is the solution? First of all, we have to be honest about the situation. Human beings are proud creatures. All of us. We don’t like to admit it when we have done wrong, when we’ve done something stupid, or when we’ve gotten ourselves into trouble. And this is why humility is crucial. We have got to admit it. We have got to have the courage to admit that through our own fault, we have brought ourselves into darkness. This is not easy. And the fact that it is so difficult speaks to the depth of our pride – that we have very hard hearts and very hard heads. But unless we can admit our faults, we will only go on spinning our wheels, making our situation worse and worse, until eventually we are dead forever. And the world and the devil conspire against us in this way. They keep holding out to us alternatives to God, who is in truth the only solution. The world and the devil keep encouraging us to look for the answer anywhere other than the place where it can be found – at the feet of Jesus.

Today’s Gospel reading from St. Mark is about this very dynamic. The surface story about Jesus healing a blind man conceals a truer story about each one of us – about sin as a state of being, and about the way out of the darkness to which sin leads. As Jesus is leaving the town of Jericho, on his way to Jerusalem, a blind beggar named Bartimaeus hears that Jesus is passing by, and begins to cry out, saying “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” This prayer should be the cornerstone of our own prayer life: “Jesus, have mercy on me.” Like Bartimaeus, we are all blind beggars, because we have all sinned, and we all labor, to one degree or another, under the condition of sin. Our hearts and minds are darkened, and Jesus is the only one who can help. We are in constant need of his mercy, and therefore we should constantly ask for it in prayer.

Mark goes on to say that “many [in the crowd] rebuked [Bartimaeus], telling him to be silent; but he cried out all the more, ‘Son of David, have mercy on me!’” (v. 48). This verse is about the conspiracy of the world and the devil, both of which bombard us with the message of infidelity (faithlessness) – that is, both of which constantly attempt to convince us that Jesus cannot save us, for whatever reason. One of most popular reasons bandied about these days, is that Jesus can’t save us because he was a nice, wise philosopher like Buddha. He has lots of nice things to say, but he can’t actually help us, because as wise and as nice as he was, he died two thousand years ago. That’s a lie. A popular lie, but no less of a lie for that. Jesus CAN help us because he rose from the dead and ascended to the right hand of the Father. He is alive, and he has received all authority in heaven and on earth (Matthew 28.18). Not only can he save us, but he is in point of fact the ONLY one who can save us, because he is the only living person with all power and all authority. Therefore, like the blind beggar, Bartimaeus, we should ignore the urgings of the crowd, which tell us that prayer is useless. Like Bartimaeus, we should cry out all the more, imploring Jesus to have mercy.

The ancient scriptural commentator Pseudo-Jerome wrote about this passage, saying the same thing: “Many rebuke [the blind beggar] that he may hold his peace, [and this means that] sins and devils restrain the cry of the poor; [but] he cried all the more, because when the battle waxes great, hands are to be lifted up with crying out to the Rock of help, that is, [to] Jesus of Nazareth.”

Jesus hears his cry. The Gospel says, “Jesus stopped and said [to his disciples], ‘Call him.’ And they called the blind man, saying to him, ‘Take heart; rise, he is calling you.’” (v. 49). Note that Jesus doesn’t call the man himself, but tells his disciples to call him. Often, when we are in sin and darkness, we are deaf to his voice, even as we are blind to his light. So he calls to us through his servants and his ministers. Likewise, sometimes we find ourselves in the position not of the blind beggar, but of one of Jesus’s servants and ministers. And in such a case, our word to those who suffer in sin and darkness, and who are looking for a way out, should be the words from this passage: “Take heart; rise, Jesus is calling you.”

“And throwing off his mantle [Bartimaeus] sprang up and came to Jesus” (v. 50). Jesus calls to us in our blindness. He answers our prayers for mercy. And like Bartimaeus, we must throw off our mantle, and run to Jesus. What does it mean to “throw off our mantle”? St. Bede says “[the one who] throws away his garment and leaps, [is the one] who, [throws] aside the bands of the world, and with unencumbered pace hastens to the Giver of eternal light.” If we want to receive light, we have to be willing to leave behind everything in the world to come to the Giver of light. But what does that mean? It means that we must acknowledge every circumstance, every thing, every human relationship, to have come to us from the Lord. Therefore we must acknowledge that none of it belongs to us ultimately, and that if anyone or anything stands between us and Jesus, we must abandon the impediment and keep running toward the Lord.

“And Jesus said to him, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ And the blind man said to him, ‘Master, let me receive my sight,’ (vv. 51-52). Two critical elements are brought out in these verses: 1) honesty and 2) faith. Bartimaeus has the humility to acknowledge his problem: he is blind – “Master, let me receive my sight.” We too must stop pretending that we are fine just as we are. We are not. If we would be healed and delivered from our suffering and mediocrity, we must admit it. And secondly, we must believe that Jesus has the power to heal us, and ask him for it: “Master, let me receive my sight.”

“And Jesus said to him, ‘Go your way; your faith has made you well.’ And immediately he received his sight and followed him on the way.” Bartimaeus receives illumination and healing from Jesus, and Jesus says to him, “Go your way…” and the passage concludes by saying that Bartimaeus “followed Jesus on the way.” Notice that Bartimaeus’ way has become the way of Jesus, who said “I am the Way, and the Truth, and the Life” (John 14.6). Bartimaeus follows Jesus. This is how we may know we have been enlightened and healed: we become followers of Jesus. His way becomes our way. Again, St. Bede says the one who “follows Jesus, [is the one] who understands and executes what is good, who imitates [Jesus], who had no wish to prosper in this world, [but] bore reproach and derision.” And where does this way lead? The next verses in Mark’s Gospel says that they drew near to Jerusalem (Mark 11.1), to the city of gold, to the place where God’s glory dwells.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

holy cross sermon for pentecost 20 / year b / proper 24 / october 18, 2009

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

In today’s readings the central, challenging mystery of the Gospel begins to become clear, a mystery hidden since the foundation of the world, but one that had been becoming clearer and clearer throughout the history of Israel, and by the revelation of the prophets: that God is a god of love; that, as Jesus says elsewhere, quoting the prophet Hosea, “I desire mercy, and not sacrifice” (Matt. 9.13, cf. Hosea 6.6). This is the most central theological truth, and the one that makes Christianity totally unique in the catalogue of religions: “God is love, and he who abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him” (1 John 4.16).

The whole edifice of our faith, Christian spiritual praxis, as well as what we like to think of as the “moral” or “ethical” code by which we are bound as disciples of Jesus, can be rightly understood only as a marinating in, and a living-out of this truth. To inhabit this mystery is what it means to be saved, what it means to become like God. “God is love, and he who abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him.”

In today’s Gospel lesson, two of the disciples make a reasonable request of the Lord: “And James and John, the sons of Zeb'edee, came forward to him, and said to him, ‘Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.’ And he said to them, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ And they said to him, ‘Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory’” (Mark 10.35-37). It might perhaps annoy us a little bit when we read this, the presumption of these two disciples and their attempt to cut to the front of the line. But if it annoys us – and it probably should – it does so because the same impulse lies in our own hearts.

It becomes clear that James and John have misunderstood the meaning of the coming of the Kingdom, which Jesus had spent several years proclaiming. And its really no surprise: the whole purpose of his coming might, in a sense, be understood to be to clear up of this confusion which is built into the human condition and which colors our conception of ourselves and of the world and of our relationships to one another. It is the self-seeking and violence that lies in our hearts, and on the foundation of which we organize our individual lives, as well as our cultural forms.

It is for this reason that the eyes of James and John were veiled to the truth. “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.” We ask the Lord for the same thing, and in the same spirit, when we ask him for earthly goods – for temporal fulfillment of whatever sort, when we ask him that he grant us to “win” – to become successful – on the world’s terms.

“But Jesus said to them, ‘You do not know what you are asking,’” (v. 38). We do not know what we are asking. As Jesus told Pilate, the Kingdom of God is not of this world (cf. John 18.36). And its coming is according neither to the expectations of the world nor of the flesh.

“Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or to be baptized with the baptism with which I am baptized?” The Lord is here indicating the cup of his suffering and the baptism of his death, which are bearing down on him, and he indicates this when he points out that James and John will indeed both drink his cup and share his baptism, though not in the way that they suppose. But the Lord will be crowned, robed, sceptered, and hailed as a king, when he comes to the cross. And on his right hand and on his left there will be two thieves, “those for whom it has been prepared” (v. 40).

The cross is indeed a scandal to all who look on it. And we must confess that the spectacle of Golgotha is not the kingdom of God we have come to expect, nursing as we do the notions of the world and the flesh in our hearts. We expect God to triumph through some progressive ascendency, and we expect our participation in his triumph to be by means of some vindication in the world’s eyes, some victory that all can see and recognize. At the level of human society, we expect the Messiah to come riding an army tank or administering a social program.

We do well to expect the Lord’s vindication to be brought forth as the light, and his just-dealing as the noonday (Ps. 37.6). But we do poorly to assume that our eyes are such that can see it, or our ears such that can hear it. Nevertheless: there are the Lord’s vindication and his justice, reigning from the tree. And the perception of an open heart, a broken and contrite heart, looks on this spectacle, sees the truth, and weeps tears of penitence, realizing that this is the means by which:

“Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted. [Realizing that] he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities; [that] upon him was the chastisement that made us whole, and with his stripes we are healed. [That] all we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all. [That] he was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth; [and] like a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and like a sheep that before its shearers is [mute], so he opened not his mouth. [Realizing that] by oppression and judgment he was taken away; and as for his generation, who considered that he was cut off out of the land of the living, stricken for the transgression of my people?”

Jesus came precisely to deliver us from these delusions of ours with respect to the Kingdom, the power, and the glory; from the lies we tell ourselves about the genesis of our desire; from the government of envy and violence, and from the despair and the death to which these cycles give rise.

But – thanks be to God! – “we have not a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need” (Heb. 4.15-16).

Jesus not only diagnoses the problem, but he gives us the means of overcoming it: by drinking his cup, and being baptized with his baptism. Or, as he says succinctly elsewhere, “If any man would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me” (Mark 8.34). Envy and pride, the roots of our problem, are overcome by humility and self-emptying. In the value-system within which we live, humility and self-emptying are almost inevitably met with violent opposition, because they shed light on the deception by which this world’s Kingdom of violence and death holds sway.

The solution is, as ever, to come to Jesus and allow him to make us like him, by the gift of the Holy Spirit. We see this in the Gospel reading today: “And Jesus CALLED THEM TO HIM… and said to them, ‘You know that those who are supposed to rule over the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great men exercise authority over them. But it shall not be so among you; but whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of man also came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many’” (Mark 10.42ff).

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

more and more girard...

In the course of declaiming on "science and apocalypse" we find the following....

The Gospels can serve as a foundation for a new culture, similar to all the previous cultures only as a result of a certain distortion of the original message....

Like every history within the sacrificial system, the course of historical Christianity consists in a gradual loosening of legal constraints in proportion to the declining efficacy of ritual mechanisms. We have argued that this development cannot simply be seen as decadence and decomposition. It is also incorrect to view the process as a liberating opening to a future of unlimited 'progress'. In both cases, the Christian text is interpreted as having already said its last word; it is there behind us, not in front of us.

girard on the betrayal of jesus by judas

To prove beyond a doubt that in the Gospels we should not overemphasize the classic structure of betrayal, we can show that the final element in this structure is not to be found -- the punishment of the traitor. The only difference between Judas and Peter resides, not in the betrayal, but in Judas's inability to come back to Jesus. Judas is not condemned by anyone; he commits suicide, despairing of himself and seeking to make the rupture definitive. The underlying factor here is the idea (a truly evangelical one) that men are never condemned by God: they condemn themselves by their despair. When he takes himself to be solely and uniquely responsible for the death of Jesus, Judas makes a mistake that is the exact opposite (though in the end the equivalent) of Peter's, when Peter states that even if all the other disciples are scandalized, he never will be. Basically, the same pride governs all people; they refuse to recognize that they are all equal in relation to the murder of Jesus, and therefore that they all take part in it in a more or less equivalent way -- however much external factors may appear to differ.