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NEXT SUNDAY’S FIRST READING: ISAIAH 63:16b-17, 19b; 64:2-7
FIRST SUNDAY OF ADVENT: DECEMBER 3, 2017 USCCB Link to all three readings You, LORD, are our father, our redeemer you are named forever. Why do you let us wander, O LORD, from your ways, and harden our hearts so that we fear you not? Return for the sake of your servants, the tribes of your heritage. Oh, that you would rend the heavens and come down, with the mountains quaking before you, while you wrought awesome deeds we could not hope for, such as they had not heard of from of old. No ear has ever heard, no eye ever seen, any God but you doing such deeds for those who wait for him. Would that you might meet us doing right, that we were mindful of you in our ways! Behold, you are angry, and we are sinful; all of us have become like unclean people, all our good deeds are like polluted rags; we have all withered like leaves, and our guilt carries us away like the wind. There is none who calls upon your name, who rouses himself to cling to you; for you have hidden your face from us and have delivered us up to our guilt. Yet, O LORD, you are our father; we are the clay and you the potter: we are all the work of your hands. I must admit to some readjusting on my part when I sat down to this new Tuesday template of Scripture commentary. For the past three years Tuesdays have been devoted to the Sunday Gospel. I felt at home in that setting, and I have long believed that the Sunday Gospel is the only portion of the three Lectionary readings that a congregation takes home. I can recall many times as a celebrant looking out over the pews as the lector would proclaim the first reading, from the Hebrew Scripture, and wondering what and how the folks were taking in what they were hearing. In one of the Lectionary readings there is an Old Testament reference to “the Plains of Megiddo.” I had never checked to see where this was and why it is important enough to find its way into the Bible. “Megiddo,” as it turns out, is the root word of “Armageddon,” and in the world of Hebrew apocalyptic the site of the final clash between the forces of God and the army of the Evil One. Addressing Old Testament texts is admittedly harder than reading the Gospels. Those of you who might be planning a year-long study of St. Mark’s Gospel, the Gospel of Cycle B starting next Sunday, will already have some sense of the times, the places, and the major characters in the book. The same would not be true with the Hebrew Canon. For starters, the Old Testament is considerably longer than the New Testament, and it covers of span of history of about eighteen centuries. The OT is history, but its literary forms are quite varied, from chronicles to prayers to poetry to philosophic myth to law codes. Given our text at hand, Isaiah 63-64, some history and context is certainly in order. Around 590 B.C. most of the citizenry of Jerusalem and its immediate environs were captured and moved to Babylon itself, creating a milestone in Jewish history, the Babylonian Captivity. Jews were held in Babylon until about 539 B.C. when a conquering Persian king, Cyrus, overtook Babylon and decreed that the Jews could be returned to their homeland, now a protectorate of Cyrus and his successors. Israel was a different entity after the exile. The OT books of Ezra and Nehemiah describe life after the exile, and it is not pleasant reading. After a half-century in captivity, the exiles had adapted to their circumstances to the point of marrying Babylonian women. They looked forward to release and deliverance, but the return to Jerusalem was stretched out over many years, and some did not return at all. Both Ezra and Nehemiah had become men of considerable importance in Babylon and were dispatched to Jerusalem by civil authorities to bring order and reconciliation to an Israel marked by internal division. The remnant of Jews who remained in Israel had retained a strict observance of the Law. The returning captives had naturally been impacted by their years in a pagan culture. Clashes were common between the two groups; the conservatives demanded that the returning Israelites abandon their alien wives, for example. For their part, the Babylonian captives had looked forward to their return in an almost utopian and apocalyptic way; many of them had never seen Jerusalem before, having been born in captivity. The wreckage of the temple and the religious struggles in Jerusalem must have been bitter disappointments to these dreamers. All Jews had to reconcile themselves to the likelihood that there would never be a day again when a glorious king like David or Solomon would make Israel a power among its neighbors. In this maelstrom of grief, bitterness, and broken dreams, Isaiah (Chapters 56-66) came forth to offer a new religious vision. Although we speak of Isaiah as one book and one man, scholars identify three distinct literary collections and three different authors. Our text here comes from the third section, referred to in biblical studies as Trito-Isaiah or Third Isaiah, and dated in the post exilic era after 539 B.C. The text opens with the lament that God, “our redeemer,” had let the Israelites go off into a disregard of the Law and an absence of purity of heart. Isaiah recalls that God has done wonderful acts on Israel’s behalf in the past, and he seems to long for a return of such days now. He seeks a dramatic divine intervention now, but it is worth noting that the prayer here is no longer for a great king, national success, or the restoration of the temple and its rites. Isaiah is praying for God’s final arrival in glory; this is apocalyptic expression at its best. Isaiah’s prayer expresses the hope that when God arrives, “you might meet us doing right.” The prophet acknowledges that Israel’s sins brought the Captivity down upon them, and he accepts the reality that God is still angry with Israel after the return from Babylon, because “all of us have become like unclean people,” going as far as to compare the people to “polluted rags” [i.e., soiled with human discharge of some sort.] Isaiah is clearly disturbed that the recent crisis has not moved his people closer to God, and he acknowledges that it is understandable that God would hide his face from the people. For all that, Isaiah still carries a hope that Israel’s existence will carry meaning before God. The Babylonian Captivity dashed many of Israel’s preconceptions, and it would be the next generations who would discern the meaning of Israelite experience. He concludes this section with the reflection that the future is in God’s hands, and that Israel’s hope is greater dependence upon God as Father: “we are the clay and you the potter.” In the B Cycle this text from Isaiah falls on the First Sunday of Advent, a liturgical season of waiting and expectation. In Sunday’s Gospel Mark 13 warns of the importance of being at the watch when the lord of the household returns. Mark’s words are an echo of Isaiah’s, “would that you might meet us doing right” on the day of the Lord’s glorious return.
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A Gospel commentary from the Jesuits' Loyola Press.
NEXT SUNDAY’S GOSPEL: MATTHEW 25: 14-30 33rd SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME USCCB link to all three readings Jesus told his disciples this parable: "A man going on a journey called in his servants and entrusted his possessions to them. To one he gave five talents; to another, two; to a third, one-- to each according to his ability. Then he went away. Immediately the one who received five talents went and traded with them, and made another five. Likewise, the one who received two made another two. But the man who received one went off and dug a hole in the ground and buried his master's money. After a long time the master of those servants came back and settled accounts with them. The one who had received five talents came forward bringing the additional five. He said, 'Master, you gave me five talents. See, I have made five more.' His master said to him, 'Well done, my good and faithful servant. Since you were faithful in small matters, I will give you great responsibilities. Come, share your master's joy.' Then the one who had received two talents also came forward and said, 'Master, you gave me two talents. See, I have made two more.' His master said to him, 'Well done, my good and faithful servant. Since you were faithful in small matters, I will give you great responsibilities. Come, share your master's joy.' Then the one who had received the one talent came forward and said, 'Master, I knew you were a demanding person, harvesting where you did not plant and gathering where you did not scatter; so out of fear I went off and buried your talent in the ground. Here it is back.' His master said to him in reply, 'You wicked, lazy servant! So you knew that I harvest where I did not plant and gather where I did not scatter? Should you not then have put my money in the bank so that I could have got it back with interest on my return? Now then! Take the talent from him and give it to the one with ten. For to everyone who has, more will be given and he will grow rich; but from the one who has not, even what he has will be taken away. And throw this useless servant into the darkness outside, where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth.'" The very first thing I did this morning was check our commentator on St. Matthew’s Gospel, R.T. France, about banking. The end of this Gospel text reports the master’s outrage at the cowardly third servant: “Should you not then have put my money in the bank so that I could have got it back with interest on my return?” This seemed anachronistic. Of bankers, France writes: “The ‘bankers’ who might have accepted such a loan would not be a regulated commercial firm, but individual entrepreneurs, moneylenders or money changers, whose honesty and competence might be questionable.” He adds that “In the circumstances, to bury money in the ground was probably the better way to keep it safe.” (p. 955) The third servant in the parable is condemned, then, by his master for his reluctance to embrace risk! We have a gospel text this Sunday that Hank Paulson and Ben Bernanke can love. Sunday’s Gospel marks the next to last weekend in the Church’s liturgical year; the following week, Thanksgiving weekend, Matthew’s famous and foreboding Last Judgment narrative will conclude the Matthean ministry narrative of Jesus. Sunday is the third weekend in a row involving watchfulness and productivity, but here we have the most detailed and probably surprising narrative of what the heavenly Father expects of our earthly sojourn to enter the kingdom of heaven. In last Sunday’s Gospel, the ten virgins were entrusted with one task: be prepared to have torches readied for the bridegroom’s solemn return. In this Gospel the instructions of the master to his three servants are more ambiguous, though at the very end of the parable we learn what the master did not want done. At the onset, though, there is no set instruction; imaginative use of the money is part of the drill. France says that “the failure of the bad servant or slave consists not in any loss of money, but in returning it without increase. It was not that he did nothing wrong—he simply did nothing.” France calls the master’s challenge “maximizing opportunities.” [p. 951] Opportunism is not a foreign theme to the Gospels. Luke 16’s account of the thieving steward leads Jesus to lament that the children of this world will always be savvier than children of the light. The Greek word for “talent” is talenton, which means money or a weight of precious metal. There is no reason to look for more esoteric interpretations, such as intelligence or aptitude. The varying amounts of money represent the master’s assessment of what each of his servants was capable. However, France does view the talents as symbols of “the special privileges and opportunities of the kingdom of heaven and the responsibilities they entail.” That each servant receives a different amount reflects the various gifts and graces received through baptism. Decades earlier St. Paul would speak of this divergence, noting that some were granted the gift of speaking in tongues, and others the gift of interpreting the tongues—but the Spirit is author of all gifts. As the story unfolds, two of the servants have done quite well, both achieving 100% returns. [No federal paper in their portfolios.] The response of the master gives evidence that this Gospel text is a form of last judgment apocalyptic. For to each of the first two servants, the master extends an invitation to “Come, share your master’s joy.” The precise meaning is not spelled out in the parable, but there is enough evidence throughout Matthew’s Gospel that the verbs “to include” and “to exclude” are descriptions of eternal destiny. The two successful servants, already held in some regard by the master, are now drawn into his joy. This leaves the third. There is a contrast with the first servant, who left “immediately” to begin his wheeling and dealing. The third servant went off and dug a hole. As France observed above, there is no risk in this. When his performance is finally judged by the master, the third servant’s excuse is very peculiar, for he acknowledges that the master is a man of risk-taking and significant expectations. In addition, the master would have forgiven a financial loss had one been taken—he would have accepted unpredictable bank interest if only the third servant had roused himself to do even that. The master’s reaction is both predictable and surprising. Predictably, he has the third servant “excluded,” cast into the outer darkness amidst the wailing and gnashing of teeth. Surprisingly, in that the master takes the one talent from the failed servant and gives it to the servant who already has ten. There are several ways to interpret this, but given the apocalyptic tone of the text, the best application may be the surprising generosity of God to the disciple who remains faithful. As literary pieces, parables are meant to surprise, among other things. We can draw from the full parable that God expects us to take risks as his disciples, that his baptismal grace is given for sharing, not hiding in safe deposit boxes. There is an energy to the life of faith, and in the following Gospel Jesus will be quite directive in how this investment of energy is put to productive use. This, alas, is our final post for Cycle A and St. Matthew. I will be away for Thanksgiving next week and will link to another commentator for the Feast of Christ the King. We say good-bye as well to R.T. France and his excellent commentary on St. Matthew. For those of you looking for a similar commentary on St. Mark beginning in December, I recommend another text from this series, The Gospel According to Mark by William T. Lane. NEXT SUNDAY’S GOSPEL: MATTHEW 25: 1-13
32nd SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME USCCB link to all three readings Jesus told his disciples this parable: "The kingdom of heaven will be like ten virgins who took their lamps and went out to meet the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish and five were wise. The foolish ones, when taking their lamps, brought no oil with them, but the wise brought flasks of oil with their lamps. Since the bridegroom was long delayed, they all became drowsy and fell asleep. At midnight, there was a cry, 'Behold, the bridegroom! Come out to meet him!' Then all those virgins got up and trimmed their lamps. The foolish ones said to the wise, 'Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.' But the wise ones replied, 'No, for there may not be enough for us and you. Go instead to the merchants and buy some for yourselves.' While they went off to buy it, the bridegroom came and those who were ready went into the wedding feast with him. Then the door was locked. Afterwards the other virgins came and said, 'Lord, Lord, open the door for us!' But he said in reply, 'Amen, I say to you, I do not know you.' Therefore, stay awake, for you know neither the day nor the hour." All three of the Synoptic Gospels [Matthew, Mark, and Luke] end the public ministry of Jesus on an apocalyptic note—future destiny. Dr. France identifies in Matthew’s Gospel three distinct parables about the need for watchfulness: (1) the slaves left in charge (24: 45-51); (2) Sunday’s Gospel text above; and (3) the parable of the talents, the Gospel for the weekend after next. All three parables involve doing one’s duty at the time of reckoning. They are followed by the famous Last Judgment Gospel, which will be proclaimed on the Feast of Christ the King, coinciding with Thanksgiving Weekend this year. Sunday’s Gospel is probably familiar to many of you. However, its translation, setting, and theological meanings may be somewhat more mysterious. France calls this text “The Parable of the Girls Waiting for the Bridegroom.” (pp. 946ff) He argues that our knowledge of Jewish wedding customs in Jesus’ day is not well established. The American NAB and NABRE translations refer to “ten virgins,” but the Greek term “virgin” indicates unmarried friends or relatives of either the bride or the bridegroom. Their role in the wedding scene here is hard to say, though France suggests a torchlight procession to welcome the bridegroom to his home in his new status. In any event, the girls were entrusted with some sort of nighttime wedding ritual. The key point is that the bridegroom is delayed. All ten girls fell asleep. France is careful to explain that mere sleeping is not the offense. The problem is what happened (or did not happen) before they retired. The wise young ladies obtained oil, trimmed their wicks, and were ready to proceed whenever the master/bridegroom returned home. In Matthew’s narrative, the wedding feast would begin upon his return. (If the Wedding Feast of Cana is an accurate description, a wedding “reception” could last for days.) Moreover, a wedding was the most solemn event of a typical Judaean’s lifetime. In small towns the presence and absence of guests was something of a social barometer. To miss a wedding, or fail to be invited, was a cause of profound shame. France translates the Gospel text about the girls here as “sensible” versus “silly.” This is a literary device in other parts of Matthew: a sensible man builds his house on rock; a silly man builds upon shifting sand. Matthew equates sensibility with wisdom, the ability to plan. In another Gospel text Jesus points to the folly of Noah’s neighbors who ate and drank up to the moment the ark door closed. A torch or lamp contained about fifteen minutes of light. This means that all ten would have to be filled and lit when the master returned. What separates the two groups of girls is that half of them had purchased enough stores of oil on the preceding day. The shortsighted and unprepared young ladies asked their cohorts to share, but the five correctly point out that to do so would result in all the lamps going out before the solemn moment. The negligent five are instructed to strike out and look for a merchant in the middle of the night—without lighting, don’t forget. Throughout his book, France reminds us that parables are often exempt from the hard scrutiny of practicality. In Matthew’s day—a half-century after the death of Christ—one could hardly read this text without thoughts of the Parousia or Second Coming of Christ in eternal glory. The idea of second coming was undergoing reconsideration. In St. Paul’s day three decades earlier, the second coming was expected imminently. But as time and the Church itself extended further in the future, the expectation of an immediate return of Jesus was projected further over the horizon of time. Attention shifted from the immediacy of judgment and glory to the cares of everyday life. Like the five foolish girls, watchfulness had succumbed to other preoccupations, and ultimately to sleep. Matthew records that the door was locked once the bridegroom and his entourage—including the vigilant five with their lamps. This seems a bit hard, but it is not nearly as hard as the exclusion of the unfaithful in the judgment parable two weeks hence on the Feast of Christ the King. Matthew’s text is populated with stories of insiders and outsiders, faithful observers and the pseudo-religious. Moreover, the bridegroom’s caustic reply to the distraught girls, “I don’t know you,” is jarring, given that the ladies were family and friends. We get a general idea here that the faithful soul is always preoccupied for the service of the Lord, and accountable always. This is the preferred interpretation of the closing sentence. The follower of Jesus who spends his or her day in constant service can sleep like a baby, for there will be no unexpected awakening that would find him unprepared. “Staying awake” is conversional vigilance, not sleep deprivation. |
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