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It might come as a shock to learn how little time a seminarian has to master the required courses for ordination. Things have changed considerably since my seminary years, 1962-1974, when I entered as a high school freshman, completed a junior college degree in Classical Latin and Greek [just as the American Church was switching to English], and one year as a religious novice where no academic credit was offered. Thus, I had been a seminarian/novice for seven years before taking the plunge into “major seminary studies” required, which in September 1969 would have been acquiring a B.A. from the School of Philosophy at Catholic University in Washington, and an M.A. in Theology from the Washington Theological Union in the space of five years. I made it by the skin of my teeth as I failed one of the four written comprehensive questions but passed the other three for ordination. The questions I failed dealt with Canon Law or Church Law. Anyone who knows me from those days can believe that.
I reviewed my WTU transcript just now because I wanted to prove to myself a strange part of my history: I never, in twelve years of seminary training, had a course in [1] saying Mass or in [2] St. John’s Gospel. Guilty on both counts. I mentioned the Mass omission to my superior a few days before ordination. He laughed, “you’ve seen enough of them.” So, following my ordination day I proceeded to offer daily Masses all through Washington for the high schools I had given retreats to over the past five years before flying to Buffalo for my “official First Mass” in my family’s parish. My superior was right; it was easier than I thought to step into the celebrant’s role, at least in terms of managing your nerves. But I didn’t kid myself about my unremarkable theological proficiency, either, and I actually read many more theology books after graduation/ordination [and in 2000 I started reviewing them for Amazon.] What surprised me the most in my own research was the amazing mystery of St. John’s Gospel. Seminaries tend to teach a required course on the “synoptic Gospels” of Mark, Matthew, and Luke because their style and sources are similar. Also, they are the Gospels for the A-B-C Cycles in the new Missal of 1970. I can’t recall if my seminary, the WTU, offered a Johannine elective but in either case I didn’t take a course in the Fourth Gospel. So, I didn’t discover till later in life that John’s Gospel is different, and I mean really different, from the other three. Why the differences? The Gospel of John was the last Gospel to be written. Later Church councils and synods would declare that New Testament revelation ended with the death of the last Apostle or his secretary, so to speak. We don’t know precisely who authored the Gospel of John [or the four other New Testament books that carry the name “John,” including Revelation.] This Gospel is famous for its inclusion of “the disciple whom Jesus loved,” believed to be John but without a formal identification. It is highly unlikely that if John had written this Gospel in his own hand, he would have referred to himself as “the disciple whom Jesus loved.” This has led modern scholarship to examine other possibilities; I tend to side with those who see this Gospel as the compilation of the Apostle’s teaching by a masterful individual [or even a school of John’s disciples] written years later, at a time when the Church needed to reset its doctrinal and fraternal bearings. Mark is believed to be first, around 65 A.D., before the fall of Jerusalem in 70 A.D. Today’s consensus of scholars’ dates John’s Gospel to around 100 A.D. The Church was almost a century old; there was no need for yet another biography of Jesus. What was needed in 100 A.D. was a Gospel to tackle serious theological errors that had cropped up over time. In addition, the author [authors?] of this Gospel wished to convey to Christians once again how Jesus had desired fraternity and charity between his followers. A good example: John skips the “consecration of the bread and wine” at the Last Supper [the account was well known and probably in liturgical use already by then] and replaced it with Jesus’ washing the feet of the Twelve—a message that one cannot worthily celebrate the rites of Christianity without simultaneously embracing the poor, the hungry, the outcasts. How ironic that Pope Leo, in this Easter Season, has pressed this point in his preaching to the world at large. A few weeks ago, I posted about the sacred triangle of feasts that concluded the Easter season this coming weekend. [May 23-24] with the Feast of Pentecost. In reviewing the Lectionary for this weekend’s feast, I note that there is a separate Vigil Mass for Saturday evening, May 23. The readings, strangely, do not describe the Pentecost event per se, though the Old Testament selections are quite colorful in their own way. My guess is that most churches will use the Pentecost Sunday readings, where we have two renderings of the descent of the Spirit. The First Reading from Acts 2 is Luke’s account of the descent of the Spirit upon the Apostles in the upper room, enabling them to speak in multiple tongues. If you have time, read Acts 2 in its entirety; it is probably the closest example we will ever possess of early Apostolic preaching. [Credit where credit is due: my longtime friend and theological advisor, Dr. Carol Stanton, reminded me this week of the venerable tradition that Mary was with the Apostles at this profound moment of the birth of the Church as the Body of Christ on earth. Luke does not include her, and John narrates an explicit powerful Pentecostal role for Mary, but not where you would expect to find it. The Gospel of the same Pentecost Mass, from John, describes the Apostolic Pentecost in a separate way. To understand why, we need to look at the manner John narrates the entire Passion-Resurrection in a highly distinctive fashion. As the final evangelist, John recounts these days as the summary of Jesus’ ministry and the beginning of the age of deliverance. Or, to paraphrase Michael Corleone in The Godfather, Jesus settled all “salvation business” during his last weekend. How radical is John’s ending narrative? For starters, his is the only Gospel that does not equate the Last Supper with Passover. The Last Supper is the night before Passover, because John wishes to emphasize that the newly arriving Kingdom of God has ushered in the fulfillment of the Old Law. Henceforth, the redemptive meal will be his own body and blood. All four Gospels have a variant of Jesus’ Last Supper promise: “I tell you I will not drink again of this fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new with you in my Father's kingdom.” To make the point almost painfully clear, by moving Jesus’ death ahead by one day, John has synchronized the crucifixion with the temple butchering of the lambs for the family Passover observances that night. The old order is finished. According to John, Jesus, while hanging on the cross, requests the wine that is tendered: “When Jesus had taken the wine, he said, “It is finished.” What was finished? The old world as we knew it. The Kingdom of God is now at hand. Jesus had explained this to Martha earlier in the Gospel, "I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?" We know that Jesus died on the cross, but it is only in modern times—with more research into ancient manuscripts—that we have John’s exact script of the death moment. The Paulist Biblical Commentary [p. 1173] provides an emphatic explanation that the phrase “to give up one’s spirit” is an idiomatic expression of death that has been inaccurately applied to the translation of Jesus’ death. The correct rendering would be that “he handed over his spirit,” which makes this utterance a Pentecost event. But who are the recipients of the Spirit here? The two faithful witnesses, Mary and her newly designated son, “the disciple whom Jesus loved.” It is no coincidence that upon Jesus’ death, the soldier lanced his side and there came forth blood and water, the early symbols of Baptism and Eucharist, soaking the two at the foot of the cross. By reworking the narrative here, John has produced one of the most powerful statements of Jesus and his Church, apparently at a time when the Church needed desperately to be reminded of its true nature. John continues this remarkable narrative on Easter Sunday. In one instance, Jesus meets Mary Magdalene in the morning who falls to her feet to clutch him. But Jesus says in John 20:17, “Stop holding on to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father.” And yet in the evening Jesus joins the Apostles in the upper room and shows them his wounded hands, feet, and side. Later he even says to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands, and bring your hand and put it into my side, and do not be unbelieving, but believe.” In the Johannine timeline, Jesus was glorified by his Father on Easter, the glorification synonymous with ascension. And, upon greeting the Apostles on Easter night, in John 20:22-23 Jesus exercises his second Pentecostal event: “He breathed on them and said to them ‘Receive the holy Spirit. Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them, and whose sins you retain are retained.” John’s account of the Easter-Ascension-Pentecost triangle has raised some interesting questions. Foremost, since the Beloved Disciple is first to receive the Spirit [along with Mary] at the foot of the cross, does this imply an early division between the Disciple’s [John’s] followers and Peter’s? Father Raymond Brown’s The Community of the Beloved Disciple: The Life, Loves and Hates of an Individual Church in New Testament Times [1978] remains a popular seller today. I read it so many years ago that I’ve forgotten what his conclusions are, but you might be interested in other reviewers’ rather strong opinions on the subject on the book’s Amazon’s site. However, if you look at the “second ending” of John’s Gospel, Chapter 21, particularly John 21:20-23, one can detect Jesus at work smoothing things out between Peter and the beloved disciple, at least to Peter’s apparent satisfaction, in the hope that whatever divisions existed in 100 A.D. might be healed. If nothing else, I hope today’s post leaves two impressions. The first is the importance of study. During my lifetime I have seen a lot of “skimming off the cream” in Bible studies. [And yes, I have been guilty of that, too.] For example, a study group gathers and reads a text—Sunday’s Gospel, for example—and then the leader says, “OK, what are your thoughts on this text?” My question is: how can one meaningfully “think” about a text without the necessary background? There are fruitful required personal prayer and study that must happen before we gather to break open the Word of God. Second, there are countless biblical pamphlets, books, podcasts, and other social media site that claim to make Bible study so easy. It isn’t. Don’t be afraid to rachet up your game. Here is a challenge: The Gospel of John [1998] by Francis J. Moloney, S.D.B. from the Sacra Pagina series of commentaries. It’s 594 pages. You can sample the introduction for free on the book’s Amazon site. It may not be for you. But of course, the Pentecost gifts of the Spirit include wisdom, understanding, fortitude, and knowledge—you are wiser than you know.
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Starting next week, we are entering a triangle of feasts which have everything to do not only with Jesus but with us as his followers. What we make of these feasts will serve as a measuring rod for our connectedness with Jesus’s words and our openness to his Spirit within us. The first of these feasts is Easter, which we continue to observe this coming weekend [May 9-10]. Some years ago, I reviewed for Amazon Father Francis J. Moloney’s The Resurrection of the Messiah [2013]. I have included a link to that review which summarizes in this triangle how each evangelist attempted to describe and explain the Resurrection of Jesus, His return to glory in heaven, and his parting gift of the Holy Spirit.
There is some controversy in the United States, going back thirty years or so about a variance of dates, with much of the U.S. observing the Ascension, the second feast of the triangle, on Sunday, May 17. Other dioceses observe the Ascension on Thursday, the fortieth day after Easter, this year on May 14. This three-day divergence is explained rather well at this link. The Gospel for the Feast of the Ascension, whether Thursday or Sunday, is drawn from Matthew 28: 16-20. [See USCCB Bible with excellent commentary attached.] This year May 14 is also the Feast of St. Matthias, the man drawn to replace Judas in the circle of the Twelve. If your parish celebrates Ascension on Sunday, then Thursday is still an important feast to commemorate this apostle. I suggest we look at how the four Gospel authors treated [or did not treat] the Ascension as we understand it. MATTHEW: It is surprising that the longest Gospel, St. Matthew’s at 28 chapters, has modest exposure in the Lenten-Easter cycle of feasts. In the A-Cycle, our present arrangement of this year’s Church readings, Matthew appears on Ash Wednesday [Mt 6:1-6, 16-18]. Matthew’s account of the Passion was proclaimed earlier this spring on Palm Sunday, and his narrative of the resurrection event is proclaimed at the Easter Vigil Mass late Saturday. Matthew 28:1-10 is an option for Easter Sunday Masses, though St’ John’s and St. Luke’s Resurrection narratives are listed ahead of him. The Ascension of Jesus is given to us in detail by St. Luke, and his vivid account is the first reading for the Ascension Mass. [see below] Interestingly, Matthew does not mention an ascending of Jesus in his Gospel text. Rather, the Gospel reading for the Ascension is Matthew 28: 16-20, a text known known as the “Great Commissioning.” It may be that Matthew wished to emphasize the continuing presence of Jesus during a time of considerable difficulty—Roman persecution, the destruction of Jerusalem, the bitter break of Christians from Jews. Matthew does note that when Jesus appeared to the Apostles in Galilee, “they worshipped but they doubted.” In his wisdom Matthew may have thought it better to emphasize the on-going support of Jesus rather than a dramatic farewell. MARK St. Mark’s account of the Passion is read on Palm Sunday, Year B in the Cycle. Mark’s Resurrection narrative Gospel ends on a dime. In Mark 16: 1-8 we read that the women find a young man at Jesus’ empty tomb. He commands them to tell the good news of the Resurrection to the disciples in Galilee. Instead, they fled from the tomb and said nothing to anybody! End of Gospel. Father Moloney, mentioned above, is also the author of The Gospel of Mark [2002]. I reviewed this work, too, when I was younger and more brash. But Moloney’s interpretation of Mark, including this odd ending at 16:8, is emphasis on the cost of discipleship. If you read Mark’s Gospel in its entirety, something we rarely do, you notice that the early enthusiasm of the crowds begins to wane until the formerly faithful followers have all disappeared, even the women on Easter Sunday morning. I entitled my review, “Dropping Like Flies.” In its original form, Mark’s Gospel was so blunt that even the early Church found it hard to accept, and later authors added the “Longer Ending” [Mark 16: 9-20] which the Church declared inspired several centuries later. That is why we hear truly little from Mark in this season of the Church year. LUKE Luke’s two books of the New Testament, his Gospel and his Acts of the Apostles, form the backbone of the Resurrection-Ascension-Pentecost narrative of the New Testament. His Gospel is proclaimed several times during the Lenten Sundays, and his Passion narrative is proclaimed on Palm Sunday in the C Cycle. His opening of the Resurrection Proclamation [24: 1-12] is the reading for the Easter Vigil Gospel in the C Cycle as well. But by far his tour de force is 24: 13-34, read on the Third Sunday after Easter in the C Cycle. Luke, it seems, was the first evangelist to suspect that the Church might endure for centuries, and he arranges his post-Resurrection writing to explain how a long-term community might survive. The disciples on the road to Emmaus—leaving the mother community in Jerusalem—are symbolic of confusion and depression about precisely what happened to Jesus, and in the text, it seems that they have given up. [Themes of Mark’s Gospel?] They do not even recognize Jesus when he joins them, but he brings the Biblical promise to them in a way that lifts their hearts. They invite him to dinner—and will presumably pick up the tab. During the meal, “Jesus took bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to them.” This phrase was probably in use by early Christians as a primitive Eucharistic Prayer. Lukes goes on to say that their eyes were opened and they recognized him, but he vanished from their sight. Neither Luke nor I will insult your intelligence with an exhaustive interpretation: simply put, Jesus has gone but he remains with us whenever we eat this bread and drink this cup. Essentially, Luke has defined here the heart of sacraments and the life blood of the Christian existence. What a piece of work. It remains for Luke to give definition to the abiding presence of Jesus for all time, and thus we turn to Luke’s second New Testament work, The Acts of the Apostles. During the Ascension Mass, the First Reading, from Acts, describes Jesus’s return in glory to heaven, as well as the disciples’ anxiety about his departure…which very well may reflect the condition of the early Church when Jesus’s second coming did not materialize over time, at least in the manner they expected. The Ascension is followed in the Church calendar by a week or ten days with the Sunday Feast of Pentecost, another vivid moment depicted by Luke in the Book of Acts. Again, this Acts reading is the first of the three readings at Mass, only this time we have one of the most vivid descriptions of an event in the Bible, the descent of the Holy Spirit upon the Apostles, and then Peter’s sermon and the baptism of the three thousand. We don’t know precisely when Luke composed the Acts. The best evidence places the dating at about 80 A.D., or a full half-century after the death of Jesus on the cross. Luke is on a mission to define an “ecclesiology” or a definition of the Church. Not for nothing is Pentecost referred to as “the Birthday of the Church,” and Luke’s two classics pinpoint the reasons why. JOHN John’s narrative of the Easter-Ascension-Pentecost triad was crafted for a church nearly a century old and brings a new wine to unfamiliar problems. I’m going to need an entire post to walk through the stunning new images by which John crafts the final days of Jesus and the coming of the Spirit. Keep an eye out for a new post on John. |
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