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Back in the Advent Season I read the Wisdom Commentary treatment of “The Infancy Narrative” of the birth of Jesus. Wisdom’s Luke 1-9, like all the biblical commentaries in the Wisdom series, is the product of a team of women professional Biblical scholars, in this case Sister Barbara Reid, O.P., whose doctoral degree was awarded by my alma mater, The Catholic University of America in Washington D.C., and Dr. Shelly Matthews, who holds a Th.D. from Harvard Divinity School. Both are actively teaching and researching as of this writing. They represent the growing number of professional women theological scholars in today’s Church; there are over 300 alone cited in the commentary Luke 1-9.
Scripture study, with a few exceptions, has been a man’s field in Western Christianity since its modern revival in the late 1700’s. In the United States, as a rule, no woman was even accepted for graduate studies in Catholic theology until after World War II. See two fine essays from a 2012 series from US Catholic, “How the Door Was Opened for Catholic Women Theologians” and “What Women Theologians Have Done for the Church.” In the introduction to Luke 1-9, the authors write that “in bringing feminist lenses to this approach [to modern Biblical study], the aim is not to impose modern expectations on ancient cultures but to unmask the ways that ideologically problematic mind-sets that produced the ancient texts are still promulgated through the text.” [p. xxxi] Put another way, Scripture study must include analysis and critique of male dominance at the time of composition and reassess male supremacy’s distortions of Revelation in the Scripture, Old and New Testaments. It is hardly a secret that women did not fare well in many Hebrew texts: Deuteronomy 22: 23-24; Deuteronomy 22:13-21: Judges 11: 34-40; and the infamous story of Lot’s poor daughters in Genesis 19: 7ff. “No, my friends. Don’t do this wicked thing. Look, I have two daughters who have never slept with a man. Let me bring them out to you, and you can do what you like with them. But don’t do anything to these men, for they have come under the protection of my roof.” Irony of ironies, Lot was attempting to forestall homosexual rape of his two male houseguests by offering up his daughters, who presumably had no say in the decision. Twentieth century feminine scholarship on sexism in the Bible follows upon the heels of the Vatican’s teaching regarding antisemitic overtones of several New Testament texts which have been employed—and sadly still employed by some religious/political extremists—to justify hatred of the Jews on the grounds that they are “Christ-killers.” Most infamous is the trial scene from Matthew 27:25, “And all the people answering said, "His blood be on us, and on our children." For a full explanation of the Church’s corrective of New Testament texts, see this essay from America Magazine, “The Bible, the Passion, and the Jews,” February 16, 2004. God’s revelation is pure; its accurate deciphering is a sacred duty of the Church. In this spirit present day biblical scholarship examines the treatment of women in the Bible, and in our post here, the role of Mary on this observance of the Feast of the Annunciation. Luke’s Gospel is the only New Testament text to describe Mary’s interaction with the Angel Gabriel. In Matthew 1: 18-25 we get a masculinized Annunciation, as the angel appears to Joseph and delivers a full explanation only to him. Mark and John have no accounts of Christ’s birth, beginning their Gospels in Jesus’ adulthood. In Luke’s account, the Angel’s first revelation comes to Zechariah, married to Elizabeth, and then to Mary, the future mother of Jesus. [Luke 1: 5-38]. Despite their righteousness and blameless living, Zechariah and Elizabeth are childless. Luke states that Elizabeth was barren; in biblical times the inability to conceive fell to the woman’s provenance, though modern science has discredited this one-sided medical analysis. Gabriel’s visits to Zechariah and Mary follow the same formula: a greeting, an announcement of how God’s will be fulfilled in each, a question from the recipient of the message, and an answer and closing summary by the Angel. In the first instance, the Angel Gabriel appears to Zechariah as he offers sacrifice in the Jerusalem Temple. “Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you are to call him John. He will be a joy and delight to you, and many will rejoice because of his birth, for he will be great in the sight of the Lord. He is never to take wine or other fermented drink, and he will be filled with the Holy Spirit even before he is born. He will bring back many of the people of Israel to the Lord their God. And he will go on before the Lord, in the spirit and power of Elijah, to turn the hearts of the parents to their children and the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous—to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.” Zechariah seems to overlook the immensity of the honor and the importance of what he is hearing, for after this momentous proclamation from Gabriel, the senior priest points out the biological impossibility of conceiving a son due to the couple’s advanced age and previous childlessness. Gabriel is not pleased with Zechariah’s skepticism. “And now you will be silent and not able to speak until the day this happens, because you did not believe my words, which will come true at their appointed time.” Luke notes that Elizabeth, upon hearing of Gabriel’s message second hand [a miracle in itself considering her husband’s speechlessness] is overjoyed and expresses no reservations. Quite the contrary. “The Lord has done this for me,” she said. “In these days he has shown his favor and taken away my disgrace among the people.” Even serious scholarship has its humorous moments, and I note here the observation of biblical scholar Brittany E. Wilson, who comments: “Zechariah’s silence opens up space for both Elizabeth and Mary to speak” in Luke’s narrative. [p. 11] Whether Wilson intended to be funny or not, it is true that after Zechariah’s speech is restored at the circumcision and naming of his son, the future John the Baptist, we hear next to nothing from Elizabeth or Mary hereafter in this Gospel. As the narrative progresses, Gabriel next appears to “a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the House of David. The virgin’s name was Mary.” The authors of Luke 1-9 make a critical point here: “Many Christians see in this scene a Mary who is a docile, sweet, compliant servant, totally submissive to God’s will, and therefore a model for women to emulate. [Dr. Reid] stands among many feminist scholars who have argued, instead, that Mary is a strong woman who has a direct encounter with God, who does not hesitate to question, and who does not need the mediation to accomplish God’s purposes.” [p. 15] The authors go on to contend that Luke has depicted Mary as a prophet in the Biblical sense of the term. Luke’s Annunciation narrative is as theologically complex as any text in the Bible. He is providing the Church—already half a century old when he wrote in around 80 A.D.—with its first systematic way of thinking about the Incarnation, God become man. It was important for him to describe Mary as a virgin, to eliminate any possible doubt that her child was fathered by anyone else besides God. Any doubt on this point effectively negates the basic Christian tenet that “God became man.” At the same time, Luke must respect the autonomy and free will of Mary, given that God has granted free will to all humans. To suggest that Mary was “programmed” diminishes the dignity of human free will in the critical moment when a human freely accepts the intervention of God into her life. It is the undoing of the first misuse of free will, Adam in the garden. We have heard the Annunciation narrative countless times in our churches over the years, Gabriel’s joyful address to Mary. What is curious is why Gabriel took no umbrage when Mary replied, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?’ Zechariah had asked Gabriel in effect, “How can this be? We are old and my wife is barren.” For his hesitation, he was struck dumb. In Mary’s case, however, the stakes are incredibly higher. Her question allows Luke to assure the reader that her child is truly God’s son. But it also gives Luke/Gabriel an entrée to deliver another eternal truth: Mary’s child would be conceived of the Holy Spirit—the same Spirit who overshadowed Jesus at his baptism and which overshadowed the infant church on Pentecost. Luke’s Gospel and its continuation, The Acts of the Apostles, explains the nature of the Church and from whence it draws its saving power, i.e., through the living Holy Spirit. Reid/Matthews, in their commentary, point out that most English translation bibles have softened, so to speak, Luke’s terminology for Mary’s obeisance. Many major translations render Mary’s response to Gabriel as “I am the handmaid of the Lord.” Others use the phrase “servant of the Lord” or “maidservant.” None of these correctly renders the Greek doulos as “slave,” in the hard sense of that term. The authors correctly point to a Lucan textual inconsistency: did Mary have to become a literal slave to accept a prophetic mission in which she proclaims liberation from powers that dominate, as she does so eloquently in the Magnificat [Luke 1: 46-55] [p. 33] What I sense in their commentary is a concern to preach and teach the life of Mary in a fashion that does not in any way imply unhealthy subservience to male domination or unjust societal structure which oppress women. If anything, Luke’s depiction of Mary in what we call “the Infancy Narrative” is that of a very strong woman, and it is a misuse of this Gospel to interpret it as a catechism on “the proper place of a woman” in a pejorative and demeaning fashion. Although I am getting ahead of things, I need to quickly address Luke’s description of Mary after the visit of the shepherds [many of whom were women] in Bethlehem. Luke writes that Mary “pondered these things in her heart.” The Greek word suneterei, usually translated in English bibles as ponder, has multiple meanings, including these: “to preserve against harm or ruin, to protect, defend” and “to keep in mind, to be concerned about.” Reid/Matthews write: “Mary’s action is not the least passive. Like the shepherds who keep watch, Mary guards all that has occurred, putting things together, connecting, and interpreting. Like a feminist theologian, she continually interprets what God is doing in her life and that of her family and her people.” [p.82] I have barely scratched the surface of Luke 1-9’s remarkable commentary on Mary. What is clear is that the new generations of women theologians are opening or rediscovering rich avenues of appreciation in every branch of Catholic theology, including Mariology
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I am embarrassed to be late with today’s post, as I wanted to talk about the event described in last Sunday’s Gospel [Second Sunday of Lent, March 12-13], the “Transfiguration of Jesus” on the mountaintop, particularly with an eye toward the interpretations offered by the feminist theologians in Luke 1-9. However, Reid and Matthews are in general agreement with their male counterparts on the richness and interpretations of this text, which is strategically placed in Chapter 9. The Transfiguration or “changing” of Jesus on the mountaintop in the presence of the three disciples is one of the special narratives that appears in some form in the three synoptic Gospels [and possibly in the Epistle 2 Peter 1: 16-18]. When a text or event is mentioned uniformly across the Gospels and the other New Testament writings, it is said to meet a high score of historical probability under the principle of “multiple attestation.”
However, the best we can say with historical certainty is that a mystical event took place. The Gospels describe the Transfiguration in different ways and with different people, in different narrative sequences, and with different impacts. Reid/Matthews categorize how scholars have tried to account for what might have happened, and I will quote them in ascending order of probability. Third, and least probable, “Some others think it was not a supernatural experience but an experience of a mountaintop sunrise illuminating Jesus or a night storm with lightning and thunder that that the disciples interpret as a divine manifestation.” [p. 287] This is not as offbeat as it seems. Jesus revealed his power over nature when he calmed a storm and saved the fearful disciples. John’s Gospel [John 12: 28-29] has this account in a different setting shortly before the Last Supper: Jesus exclaims before the crowds, “Father, glorify Your name!” Then a voice came from heaven: “I have glorified it, and I will glorify it again.” The crowd standing there heard it and said that it had thundered. Others said that an angel had spoken to Him. In response, Jesus said, “This voice was not for My benefit, but yours.…” John may be citing the historical tradition in a different place for somewhat different purposes, but there are significant differences, too, in the Johannine account. The second possibility—and this was taught to me in the early 1970’s—is that this Gospel text from Luke actually describes an event after the Resurrection, when Jesus had risen from the dead and the disciples were in a considerable state of confusion and even despair. [p. 287] Consider the sad state of the two disciples on the Road to Emmaus on Easter Sunday, which only Luke describes, where Jesus is changed and not recognized till the bread is broken at dinner. And then there is this to consider: if the three disciples actually beheld the changing of Jesus, the presence of Moses and Elijah, the enveloping cloud, and the very voice of God affirming his beloved Son, during the active ministry of Jesus, how does this square with the disastrous performance of these three men—notably Peter—at the events following the Last Supper of a few months later, when all the disciples abandoned Jesus? But hold the thought until we have looked at the first one. The first option is actually the “default sermon” of many preachers, and I heard it many times as a youth. In fact, Luke’s narrative of the Transfiguration was read every Second Sunday of Lent at least as far back as 1570 when Pope Pius V reformed the Roman Missal after the Council of Trent. Pastorally speaking, when the faithful of the Church were encouraged to observe a strict fast and abstinence, this reading from Luke 9 served as something of a morale boost, a taste of the glory that was to come if we remained faithful to carrying our cross. [Alas, in my church this weekend the diocese was observing “safe havens from pornography.” At my Mass, that was filtered down in the sermon to “Nowadays we have the internet. People sin on the internet. If you sin on the internet, you need to go to confession.” I am not lying.] The traditional Lenten placement of Luke’s Transfiguration narrative is probably not too far from what Luke had in mind. Chapter 9 of his Gospel is very pivotal in his full narrative. Consider everything that transpires in this chapter: Luke 9: 1-17 The Mission of the Twelve Luke 9: 7 Herod is “perplexed” about Jesus, recalls fate of John the Baptist Luke 9:10 “Apostles” return full of joy over their first missionary venture Luke 9: 12-17 Jesus feeds the five thousand miraculously Luke 9: 18-27 Peter’s Confession and the Nature of Discipleship Luke 9: 18-21 Peter confesses “You are the Messiah of God” Luke 9: 21-22 Jesus predicts his suffering and death in Jerusalem Luke 9: 23-27 Jesus states that his chosen must take up their cross daily if they are to save their lives as his faithful ones. Luke 9: 28-36 The Transfiguration of Jesus Luke 9: 37-50 The Misunderstanding of the Disciples Disciples fail at exorcism attempt, argue about who is greatest among them. Luke 9: 51-62 Jesus’ Departure for Jerusalem. He “sets his face” for Jerusalem and final showdown with Jewish authorities. If you study this outline long enough, you may conclude the event of the Transfiguration could be removed and the narrative of Chapter 9 would still have a logical flow, perhaps even a more coherent one. For Luke has encapsulated the rocky road of Jesus’ mission and the formation of his followers. Having sent his newly named “apostles” [messengers] on their first missionary journey, they return flushed with victory. They have worked signs, but they have not yet asked anyone to take up a cross and die. They do not yet grasp the full cost of discipleship. While they are on the road winning superficial victories, Jesus learns that he is now under Herod’s scrutiny and may face a similar fate to the Baptist’s imprisonment and beheading. Jesus must now begin the harder work of explaining “the cost of discipleship,” and it will be high. Peter confesses that Jesus is “the Messiah of God,” but without the connection to the Prophet Isaiah and “The Suffering Servant” motif. It is after Peter’s confession that Jesus predicts his own death, as if to explain to Peter that the cross is the destiny of both the Messiah and his followers. Interestingly, Luke is the first evangelist to use the adjective daily in the context of the cross, as in “take up your cross daily” and follow me.” Writing around 80 A.D. when the Church was taking on a universal setting, Luke had to render the call of Jesus as an acute challenge to those who were not undergoing immediate persecution; Mark’s earlier Gospel had simply exhorted disciples to take up the cross, period. It is in this context that Luke inserts the Transfiguration. I encourage you to reflect upon it again even if you attended Mass this past weekend. Some things to note: Jesus ascends the mountain to pray, not to orchestrate a mystical event. Jesus prays at several major moments of decision in Luke’s Gospel. He is at prayer in the Jordan River when the Holy Spirit descends upon him; he prays deeply in the Garden of Olives before his arrest and crucifixion. The disciples, by contrast, sleep. The word “sleep” in the Scripture sometimes carries the connotation of “asleep at the switch;” this was certainly true of the Apostles on Holy Thursday night, for example. Luke emphasizes sight: the appearance of Jesus’ face is changed, his clothes become dazzling white. Moses and Elijah appear “in glory” and talk to Jesus “about his departure,” i.e., his plan to leave for Jerusalem and his final confrontation with his enemies in the Temple. Luke makes a point to tell his readers that the three disciples “saw his glory and the two men who stood with him.” But seeing is not necessarily understanding. For as Jesus, Moses, and Elijah were discussing the necessity of the final journey to Jerusalem and its urgency, Peter proposes the construction of three “dwellings” presumably to preserve the joyous intensity of the moment. But there is work to be done, a mission to be fulfilled, and the endorsement of the Father to be conferred. “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” This is the second time that the Father has embraced his Son so dramatically; the first was Jesus’ Baptism. It is disconcerting that after such a powerful experience, the disciples and his followers become embroiled in embarrassing missteps. The crowds want more miracles. The disciples are jockeying for position. They jealously call out another man expelling demons in Jesus’ name, perhaps stealing something of their own thunder. They do not hear a second warning from Jesus that he must go up to Jerusalem “and be delivered into human hands.” We are reminded of last weekend’s Gospel where Jesus rebukes the devil three times. Luke’s text adds the ominous indication that after this desert encounter, the devil left him “for a time.” Now the devil—the power of evil—is digging in for a pitched battle. For Jesus, there is no more time for the victorious skirmishes in the countryside. The time has come to carry to battle to Jerusalem, and there to render the one eternal sign for all time, the sacrifice of himself on the cross and his Father’s loving intervention on Easter. I have been reading the Wisdom Commentary series volume on St. Luke’s Gospel during this Year C of the Liturgical Cycle. The Wisdom Commentary series is the first scholarly collaboration to offer detailed feminist interpretation of every book of the Bible. This is an extraordinary undertaking and financial commitment by a Catholic publisher, and from what I have seen so far, the text I am reading combines a good translation of Luke, a clear commentary/explanation of the text, the meaty kinds of footnotes that tantalize novices and experts alike, and literary inserts from artists, philosophers, saints, ad other sources which enhance the explanation of the text.
By happy fault I have reached the Fourth Chapter of Luke’s Gospel, and specifically the Temptation narrative of Jesus in the desert, which will be proclaimed in our churches this coming Sunday, the First Sunday of Lent. Jesus is led by the Spirit into the desert or a wilderness place. The term “desert” is rich in Biblical symbolism, and the presence of Jesus in the desert embodies multiple meanings. The most obvious is the forty years of wilderness endured by the Israelites which served to purge them of their past and prepare them for their future. Did Jesus need an exile in the desert to “find himself?” Recall that the previous Chapter 3 in this Gospel had described Jesus’ baptism at the Jordan where the Holy Spirit “descended upon him in bodily form like a dove” and the Father’s voice from heaven identifies Jesus’ identity to himself, “You are my Son, the Beloved, with you I am well pleased.” [Luke 3: 21-22] Biblical and Christological scholars identify the historical baptismal moment as symbolic of Jesus coming to full awareness of his ministry through this intervention of the Spirit and this “affiliation proclamation” by the Father. It is on the heels of this powerful revelation that the Spirit leads Jesus into the desert, that place of hard discernment and awakening, to put forward the full implications of being the Son of God. The desert is also a symbol of the great cosmic battle of good and evil to be played out at the end of time. Jewish Apocalyptic literature is rich in this metaphor, and it survived into Christian life as the image of the armies of Michael the Archangel and Lucifer fighting for dominance at the end of time. So, it is not surprising that all four Gospel writers depict the meeting of Jesus and the devil in the desert context, given that after his desert sojourn Jesus will expel demons and announce the triumphant coming of the reign of God. But the battle will not be easy, noy in the desert and not in the ministry. In the waters of the Jordan, the Father had declared that Jesus is his Son. By contrast, the devil’s first volley reads: “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.” This is the first of three temptations in which the devil challenges Jesus to abandon the integrity of his ministry. The Wisdom Commentary puts them thus: [1] temptation to self-interest and expedience; [2] temptation of power and glory gained by false worship; [3] temptation of invulnerability, self-importance, and entitlement. [pp. 118-119] I can say from personal experience that the Temptation narrative is a bear for preachers. Over the years most preachers of my experience—and me, on my bad days years ago—resort to the fallback message of “don’t fall for the wiles of the devil.” This approach loses the distinctiveness of each of the Temptations as well as the theological richness of what St. Luke is trying to do with an imagery that is truly startling. I am always surprised that when this Gospel is read at Mass there is never much affect of surprise in the building, either from the celebrant or deacon or from the congregation. But here we have the devil beginning a series of temptations, only one which takes place in the desert. St. Luke’s narrative goes on to tell us that the devil transports Jesus to a point where all the kingdoms of the world are visible! We are now entering Elon Musk territory. And then, the devil brings Jesus to the pinnacle or highest place in the Temple of Jerusalem. Let your imagination take you on this incomprehensible sequence. Geography is our friend here in getting some insight into each of these temptations. The desert is the land of scorpions and cobras; there are no fruit trees or wheat fields. I appreciate this reading much better since my trip last summer to Zion and Arches National Parks in the desert of southern Utah. St. Luke records that after forty days in this environment Jesus was “famished.” The devil’s first temptation makes sense in a way— “Command this stone to become a loaf of bread.” True, the Gospel records Jesus’ working miraculous deeds, but only as a manifestation of the Kingdom of God. Jesus did not abuse his power for his own convenience, or what the Wisdom Commentary calls “temptations to self-interest and expedience.” [p. 118] The second Temptation, as narrated by St. Luke, loses something in the English translation. As The Paulist Biblical Commentary observes, “It gets lost in translation, between Matthew’s word for world [Greek, kosmos] and Luke’s [oikoumenē]. This is significant. Luke almost always uses oikoumenē in an imperial context…Luke is referring to the Roman Empire, not to the entire population of the earth…This fits a vision of history seeing the kingdom of Satan, embodied especially in the Roman Empire, now challenged by the emergent manifestation of the kingdom of “empire” of God being inaugurated by Jesus. [The Paulist Biblical Commentary, pp. 1046-47] This second Temptation, referred to as an invitation to “power and glory gained by false worship” [WC, p. 119] is the devil’s way of saying that Jesus’ life would be much more rewarding were he to venerate the status quo of the Roman Empire rather than tackle it head on with his liberating message of the Good News. The third Temptation, that Jesus throw himself off the highest point of the Temple, is a call to test the power of God. There are multiple examples in all the Gospels where signs are demanded of Jesus to “prove” his divine calling and his legitimacy as God’s Son. In St. Luke’s Passion Narrative, Pilate sends Jesus to Herod, who was happy to see him and hopeful that Jesus might work miracles in his presence. Recall Herod’s lyrics in the musical Jesus Christ Superstar: “Prove to me that you’re no fool, walk across my swimming pool.” The “proof” of Jesus’ legitimacy is his absolute trust in his Father which he would never abuse as a substitute for faith. Miracles only serve faith. Again, the ministry of Jesus would have been much easier if he had called upon his Father to smooth out every risk and rescue him from the ardors of his identity as the Suffering Servant. The theme which runs through the Temptation narrative is power, its use and abuse. What is the catechetical and homiletic stance for this Gospel vis-à-vis those without power, those who are abused? Feminist sociologists and theologians have been reflecting upon and debating this question for going on a century. In a 1960 essay in the Journal of Religion, Valerie Saiving Goldstein famously wrote: “The temptations of women as women are not the same as the temptations of man as man, and the specific feminine forms of sin—“feminine” not because they are confined to women or women are incapable of sinning in other ways…but because they are outgrowths of the basic feminine character—have a quality which can never be expressed by such terms as “pride” and “will to power.” [cit. pp. 119-120] The Wisdom Commentary authors Reid/Matthews caution against gross simplification—feminist theology has diversified and intensified since the mid-twentieth century. All the same, Gospel narratives such as the Temptations of Christ are male dialogues which discuss moral issues of men who enjoy much more power in the worldwide quilt of cultures. Reid/Matthews cite the example of the devil’s command that Jesus change a stone into nourishing bread to feed his “famished” self. The authors states that “this would not be as strong a temptation for many women, especially those from cultures where feeding others is considered their prime responsibility. A greater temptation would be to neglect their own selves as they ensure that everyone else is fed. For women with scarce resources, this means giving the best portions of food to their husband and children while taking only scraps for themselves.” [p. 120] Commenting on the second Temptation, Reid/Matthews argue that “the will to power tends to be a stronger temptation for men than for most women. A more prevalent shortcoming for women is failure to claim and exercise our power or unwillingness to challenge the systems that limit our power. Another temptation for some women is to regard power as a bad thing, something we shouldn’t try to grab, rather than see it as collaborative energy to accomplish good.” [p. 121] Following this stream of thought, the Wisdom Commentary authors offer this analysis of the third Temptation. “The temptation to consider oneself invulnerable, self-important, or entitled to special protection takes on a different contour for most women and other members of minoritized communities…Women who are socialized always to put men’s needs and aims before their own rarely are tempted to self-importance, just the opposite. And those who live with a batterer or who struggle daily against poverty know how very vulnerable they are and would not be tempted to think otherwise.” [p. 124] I stated earlier that preaching and catechizing the Temptations of Christ is a bear. Indeed, the true challenge comes into focus when we realize the extraordinarily strong possibility that the sinful challenges of Satan and the responses of Jesus as recorded by St. Luke take place not just in extraordinary settings, but in a male world, the Roman Empire male world at that. Given that only males in sacred orders are empowered to preach, particularly at the weekly gathering of the Catholic family on Sunday, we find ourselves in a situation where an uncritical or superficial reading of Gospel texts is profoundly lopsided. The preacher faces the challenge of unpacking the Word of God in its linguistic and cultural setting [then and today] to penetrate the full meaning of Jesus’ teaching at this instant in history. This is demanding work, and it assumes, among other things, an openness to the fresh thinking of a growing generation of women academics in our schools of theology [and, most of all, in our seminaries.] The frequent practice, as I alluded to earlier, is for the preacher to default to a safe and familiar ground—something like “resist the devil” and “do good.” Warmed over apple pie from mom that does injustice to the fullness of Revelation and the theological genius of the Spirit-guided pen of the evangelist Luke. The greatest temptation for all of us this weekend is to run from the task, throw up our hands in the face of such genius, and, to cite another Gospel text, “walk away sad.” Surprises are not always good things, but in the case of the Wisdom Commentary series entry, Luke 1-9, I found myself intrigued, inspired, and informed by a Gospel commentary written from a balanced, researched, and affective feminist perspective. I chose this commentary on Luke for my “Year C” Scripture reading, i.e., corresponding to the proclamation of Luke’s Gospel at all the Sunday Masses of 2022. The Wisdom Commentary series is a story unto itself, something of a gamble undertaken by the venerable Liturgical Press of Collegeville, Minnesota, the Benedictine publishing ministry which dates back at least as far as the 1920’s. As the General Editor Sister Barbara E. Reid, O.P., writes in this volume’s introduction, “Wisdom Commentary is the first series to offer detailed feminist interpretation of every book in the Bible.” [p. xxi]
On the practical side of matters, The Wisdom Commentary series is a massive financial commitment. Liturgical Press has committed to producing hardcover texts and commentaries of all seventy-two books of the Catholic Canon of the Bible. In some cases, individual biblical books will be multi-volume, as in the case here with St. Luke, the first volume covering chapters 1-9. Throw in the compensation to the authors and the time and resources involved in analysis of biblical texts, and it is easy to see that this project runs to the cost of millions of dollars. In part, this is reflected in the retail cost of the volumes. The texts are expensive. The publisher’s price for my Lukan commentary is listed at $50. Amazon’s price is presently $33, which is where I purchased mine. The book is also available on Kindle at $19, but I recommend the hard copies so that the reader can annotate and highlight for future reference. The Wisdom series is intended as a permanent reference for an adult Catholic’s library. [I get tired of saying it, but parishes need to offer its members multiple reminders and opportunities to fund the books, resources, courses, and workshops for their catechists and other ministers, and to provide libraries and other forms of access for adult Catholics wishing to pursue greater spiritual, biblical, and theological maturity.] It is remarkable to see a Catholic publisher undertake a financial risk in today’s environment. But what is even more remarkable to me is the groundbreaking challenge of producing a full biblical commentary by noted feminist biblical scholars around the world. I would guess that in certain Church circles there is a certain shock value attached to the idea of studying the scriptures from a feminist perspective, as if that is somehow heretical or modernist. But one of the things a student of theology learns very quickly in the first year is that the formulation and interpretation of Scripture and doctrine are always the product of a perspective—a time, a culture, a mindset, an ethnicity. God’s Word is unchanging and infinite. The variable is the ability of human comprehension. None of us is immune to the strengths and weaknesses of our cultural and religious outlook. The earliest Christians believed that the Second Coming was imminent, an event they would witness in their lifetime. St. Luke, by contrast, understood Christianity as a long-term community of faith. In the fourth century, when confusion about the nature of Jesus was rampant, the Council of Nicaea [325 A.D.] borrowed heavily from Greek Platonic philosophy to create the language we still use in our Nicene Creed at Mass, “consubstantial with the Father.” Time impacts our understanding of Jesus’ life and works. The grandparent of all perspectives is sexual. No one can deny that the Scriptures are the product of male culture; and, to tread out the worn but accurate maxim, “the victors write the history.” One cannot fault the authors of the original biblical texts; they composed sacred revelation as they understood it in the prism of their times. What is less excusable is the absence of self-examination over time. Plato observed that “an unexamined life is not worth living,” and the principle is true even in matters of divine revelation. Put another way, are we constantly undertaking critical analysis of the way we understand Scripture to make sure we have not become prisoners of habit, or worse, of an interpretation of Scripture that protects the status quo, to the advantage of some versus the disadvantage of others? It is a most pleasant surprise, then, to discover that since Vatican II a greater number of women are entering the field of Biblical research and bringing to their work a wholesome confidence of their place in the unending quest to unpack the riches of the Sacred Word. In reading Luke 1-9 I was floored by the number of women cited in the extensive bibliography [pp. 297-339] I decided to count the number of women scholars sourced for this text, and the number was 317! We are talking here about published and peer-reviewed experts in the field of Sacred Scripture. I get the impression that the future of Biblical study will be significantly enhanced by the growing presence of women scholars. As I noted above, some people are a little squeamish about the adjective “feminine” when it is appended to matters religious. But we have lived with masculine bias for two millennia, to the point that we even refer to the Deity as “He.” An honest question that must be faced is whether the cultural dominance of the masculine experience has poisoned the well of all things religious. Is it possible, for example, that Christianity has coopted the male gender of Jesus as a template for male dominance in the Church or, for that matter, in marriage or in the workplace? The Wisdom Commentary series, including my current read, Luke 1-9, adopts an approach to the Scriptures that builds upon the best of the Christian tradition of scholarship while introducing new insights into texts drawn from the personal experience of womanhood and texts and translations that have gotten lost in the shuffle. I will comment further on the style of this commentary in a following text, but one particularly good example will suffice. In Luke 2:19 the evangelist records that Mary, after the birth of Jesus and the reverencing by the shepherds, ‘treasured all these things and pondered them in her heart.” The authors Reed/Matthews note that “the word suneterei, rendered ‘treasured’ in the New Revised Standard Version [of the Bible], means more than simply storing something away. It has the nuance ‘to preserve against harm or ruin, to protect, defend’ and ‘to keep in mind, to be concerned about.’ Mary’s action is not the least passive. Like the shepherds who keep watch [2:8] …Mary guards all that has occurred, putting things together, connecting, and interpreting. Like a feminist theologian, she continually interprets what God is doing in her life and that of her family and her people.” [pp. 81-82] “The whole of the Lukan narrative is framed by women who keep the word, pondering, remembering, connecting, interpreting, and announcing it.” [p. 83] I have been reading and reflecting upon this book for about six weeks. I am up to Chapter 3, the Baptism of Jesus, appropriate enough for the current liturgical calendar. I am pleased with the commentary, but more than that, there is an atmosphere of spirituality that, as a man, I find particularly welcome. In its own way this text not only enriches one’s spiritual life but also leads to reflection upon the sanctity of marriage, i.e., how my own wife’s faith and witness shores up my own commitment to everything in the Gospel and in real life that is worthy and wholesome. We can safely say several things about the Gospel of St. Luke, the Gospel read throughout the Catholic Church at Sunday Mass during this liturgical year, which began on the First Sunday of Advent, a few weeks ago. First, Luke was not an apostle and never met Christ. He admits this in his introduction where he describes his research: “Since many have undertaken to compile a narrative of the events that have been fulfilled among us, just as those who were eyewitnesses from the beginning and ministers of the word have handed them down to us, I too have decided, after investigating everything accurately anew, to write it down in an orderly sequence for you, most excellent Theophilus…” Luke refers to previous accounts already in circulation, most certainly the Gospel of Mark and an independent source of the savings of Jesus, called the Q-source, a source available to Luke and Matthew, but not to Mark.
The dating of Luke’s Gospel has been set at around 80 A.D., a half-century after the Resurrection of Jesus. Among the clues: Luke’s description of the end times is drawn in considerable detail from the actual destruction of Jerusalem in 70 A.D.; Luke’s theology of the Holy Spirit expressed in his Gospel and in his accompanying Acts of the Apostles explains the nature of Jesus’ presence in the Church that looked to exist for many years to come, i.e., as the years passed and the Second Coming did not occur, Luke found it necessary to explain the presence of Christ, in the Holy Spirit, that would extend far into the future. St. Paul’s first Letter to the Thessalonians, by contrast, written in the early 50’s A.D., expected an imminent return of Jesus. [See 1 Thessalonians 4] This Gospel is dedicated to “Theophilus.” The identity of this individual is one of the New Testament’s mysteries. In the literal Greek of Luke, the name means “friend of God,” and some commentators see the name as a generic term for any well-intentioned searcher of the truth. On the other hand, in the custom of the time it was accepted practice to thank the patron who made the project possible through financial and other kinds of support. A popular theory in my school days in the early 1970’s held that Theophilus was a high-ranking Roman official; in this scenario, Luke may have been trying to convince Theophilus that, far from being a threat to the Roman Empire, Christianity might be the religious movement that could unify the Empire. Luke writes his Gospel in sophisticated Greek, to an audience that honors the Scriptures of Israel. This style suggests an intended audience of both Gentile Christians and Diaspora Jews who had converted to Christianity, i.e., Jews who did not live in Judaea but had migrated around the Gentile world. The internal evidence of this Gospel strongly suggests an affluent audience, “financially secure enough that wealth had become a challenge to their spiritual health.” [Paulist Biblical Commentary, p. 1037] The best evidence suggests that this Gospel was written in Syria. Again, it is helpful to keep in mind that Luke is also the author of The Acts of the Apostles, much of which is devoted to St. Paul’s missionary work beyond Palestine, in the Greek-speaking eastern portion of the Roman Empire. Luke’s cites his sources in his opening text [see first paragraph above] but like all the evangelists, he writes with a unique theological outlook of Jesus the Christ. With good reason Luke is regarded as the evangelist of the Holy Spirit as he describes the power of the Spirit in the person of Jesus from the very instant of his human existence—"“The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. Therefore, the child to be born will be called holy, the Son of God.” [Luke 1:35, Gabriel’s words to Mary.] Later in the Gospel, in Chapter 3, Luke writes: “After all the people had been baptized and Jesus also had been baptized and was praying, heaven was opened, and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased.” [Luke 3: 21-22, Baptism of Jesus by John.] This emphasis upon the Holy Spirit is critical when we recall that the first generations of Christians believed that the Second Coming of Christ would occur momentarily. When this did not happen, and Rome destroyed the holy city of Jerusalem in 70 A.D., confusion, discouragement, and even doubt about Christianity’s future needed an inspired restatement of how Jesus’ legacy would be played out. Luke addresses this question in a brilliant Easter Sunday narrative, the two disciples on the road to Emmaus. In Luke 24: 13-35 the author crafts the story of the two disciples abandoning Jerusalem in utter discouragement. Meeting Jesus on the way, but not recognizing him, they pour out their doubts and broken hearts. Jesus reinterprets the Biblical promises to assure them that God’s plan was still in play. The three men stop to eat, and during the meal “It happened that, while he was with them at table, he took bread, said the blessing, broke it, and gave it to them. With that their eyes were opened, and they recognized him, but he vanished from their sight. Then they said to each other, ‘Were not our hearts burning [within us] while he spoke to us on the way and opened the scriptures to us?’” The term “breaking of bread” was the Christian idiom for the primitive Eucharistic celebration. What Luke is teaching here [and this text is unique to Luke] is that the presence of Jesus is with the Church always when it celebrates Eucharist, and eventually the other sacraments. Our eyes are always opened to see Jesus in the sacramental life of the Church. It is not far fetched to say that Luke’s Gospel is the blueprint for a Church that can endure for millennia. Luke goes further to explain that Jesus remains present in the Church through the unfailing presence of the Holy Spirit. In a stroke of pure genius, Luke parallels the human conception of Jesus by the Holy Spirit in Chapter 2 of his Gospel with the dramatic conception of the Church by the Holy Spirit in his second chapter of Acts of the Apostles. It is this abiding presence of the Holy Spirit that empowers the Church to preach, teach, and sanctify in God’s name, i.e., where the Church draws its authority to proclaim the truth of Jesus. Again, it is no exaggeration to say that Luke’s Gospel and Acts of the Apostles has bequeathed to us the identity of the Church we know today. As if this were not enough, Luke has left us with a collection of the most powerful parable lessons for Christian living. The following parables are unique to Luke and do not appear in any other Gospel: The Two Debtors (7:14) The Rich Man's Meditation (12:16) The Barren Fig Tree (13:6-9) The Good Samaritan (10:30-37) The Three Loaves (11:5-8) The Guests (14:7-11) The Tower (14:28-30) The Lost Coin (15:8-9) The Prodigal Son (15:11-32) The Unjust Steward (16:1-9) The Rich Man and Lazarus (16:19-31) The Slaves Duty (17:7-10) The Importunate Widow (18:2-5) The Pharisee and the Tax Gatherer (18:10-14) The Watching Slaves (12:36-38) I would do an injustice if I tried to summarize a common theme or themes to this body of metaphors. Moreover, parables in the Gospels are intended to raise as many questions as answers. However, scholars agree that Luke’s Gospel in general places considerable emphasis upon the universality of salvation, i.e., Gentile and Jew; justice and solicitude for the poor; wrath toward the greedy; mercy and forgiveness; sensitivity to marginalized populations. Luke’s Gospel has also enjoyed a reputation for its inclusion of women in his narrative and in parables. And at this Christmas season, it would be a gross error to forget the magnificent narrative of events surrounding the birth and early years of Jesus. There are only two Infancy narratives in the Gospels: Matthew’s and Luke’s. Mark and John have no birthing narratives. I recommend that when reading the Christmas narratives, do not mix Luke’s with Matthew’s. Read Luke’s narrative [Chapters 1 and 2] as a stand-alone narrative to be faithful to the evangelist’s intent. Again, I encourage you to make the Gospel of Luke your study focus during this liturgical year. I recommend you consider a commentary or aid, and there are good ones available. Check with your parish’s director of religious education or faith formation director for recommendations for commentaries on St. Luke, or Bible studies on St. Luke being offered in your parish. Remember, too, the Gospel of St. Luke will be read about every Sunday at your parish Mass for the next year. If you are shopping for yourself, I have several recommendations from my own experience. If this is your first shot at Bible study, I suggest the New Collegeville Bible Commentary’s The Gospel According to Luke: If you want to tackle something more challenging, consider Sacra Pagina: Gospel of Luke or Joel B. Green’s The Gospel of Luke. This year I am reading an intriguing commentary on St. Luke from Liturgical Press’s Wisdom Commentary, Luke 1-9. This commentary was researched and written by two Catholic feminist scholars. I have completed the first two chapters and find it a very insightful and spiritually moving commentary on this Gospel from the perspective of feminine scholarship and experience. I would not recommend it as a first read on Luke’s Gospel, but you are all adults, and you can do what you want. I like Mike. He used to be one of my students in the diocesan certification program workshops. As he put it the other day, “Back then I was going after all the certifications I could get.” After 2016, when I was put out to pasture in favor of cable catechetics, we stayed friends and once a month we meet for an afternoon at a nearby Panera’s for lunch, pastries, endless coffee, and a sweeping review of the world of catechetics—personal, professional, and universal. When the sugar and the caffeine build up, I notice that fewer and fewer people sit near our booth.
Mike and I are both in our 70’s. I come from a liberal arts background; Mike had several productive careers in law enforcement and the trades before he got the call to consider youth catechetics. He teaches fourth grade and participates in a parish bible study. Our diocesan courses over the years barely scratched the surface of Church theology; fortunately, he is an initiative-taker and a self-educated student of Catholic religion. A general problem in religious education is the absence of theological guiding resources for self-readings and self-studies, as well as an absence of personal mentoring of catechists. Mike is aware of this, and he runs his thinking past me as a kind of “peer review” while I devour richly frosted cinnamon buns. Truth be told, though, I am deeply impressed with his study and never cease to be surprised by the insight he gleans from his personal reflection and thinking. This past Friday he shared with me his discovery that St. Peter was the source of the Gospel of Mark, the Gospel we have heard in Church every Sunday during 2021. That is one of at least four source theories about Mark, but Mike had come to understand one of the most important principles of Gospel study—that each Gospel is different, and each offers a unique participation in the mystery that is Christ. Mike has discovered a key to Bible study—to all Catholic study, actually—that the four Gospels, written by evangelist theologians filled with the Holy Spirit, each present a unique window into the meaning and message of Jesus, like the precious jewel held up to the light and reflecting an unending array of colors. This would be vastly different from what I suspect are the working theories of many Catholics, namely, that [1] the four Gospels simply tell the same historical life of Jesus four times, and [2] the Gospels are buffet tables of pithy inspirational texts to be extracted depending upon the need of the moment. One of the keys to studying and teaching the Gospels is to separate the four and focus on one. This is the guiding principle of the Gospel selections for Sunday Mass. Our new Church year will begin November 27-28, 2021, with the observance of the First Sunday of Advent and a turn to the Gospel of Saint Luke. The three Gospels of St. Matthew, St. Mark, and St. Luke rotate in a triennial cycle. [For those of you worried about St. John and his Gospel being left out in the cold, have no fear. The Church assigns the Johannine Gospel to special feasts, such as Christ the King, Holy Thursday, Good Friday, the RCIA Sundays of Lent, etc.] The beginning of a new liturgical Church year is an excellent time to focus on the study of the Gospel of that year since portions of that Gospel will be proclaimed every Sunday for the coming year. Consequently, this would be the year to absorb the full Gospel of St. Luke—from personal reading, bible study groups, and [hopefully] from preaching at Sunday Mass. There are several principles to observe in reading the Gospel of Luke [or any Biblical book for that matter.] The first is to remember that faithful reading of the Scripture is a major commitment. About ten years ago I reviewed Sacred Reading: The Ancient Art of Lectio Divina [1996] for Amazon where I discussed the fact that daily reading of the Bible and other religious works is the backbone of a monk’s life. To immerse ourselves in God’s revealed Word may require time rearrangement, like getting up earlier or setting a daily “sacred time.” The second is development of a sense of obedience to the text. Put another way, the Bible is authoritative. It is not my job to critique it. My task is to listen in silent obedience to the text. If I read something I cannot understand, the onus is on me to research a worthy commentary for the best meaning of a text. [See below] Do not be a cherry picker, jumping around to texts you know and/or avoiding the ones that make you uncomfortable or, heaven forbid, dumb. Luke the Evangelist is a magnificent writer; there are no throw-away lines or unimportant sidebars. The third is to approach a Gospel as if it were the only Gospel in existence. In reading St. Luke, for example, put aside if you can what you remember from other Gospels. This method will help you “get inside Luke’s head” if I may be irreverent. Spoiler alert: Luke is the first of the evangelists to realize the “the church” might last for a long time, that the Second Coming might be a long way off. Second spoiler alert: Luke’s Gospel is the only one with a “part two,” so to speak. Luke’s Acts of the Apostles is the second half of his Gospel. If you do not believe me, click here. The fourth is consideration of a biblical commentary. I would strongly recommend it if you plan to study a book of the Bible in its entirety, like the Gospel of Luke. A commentary is a published guide to the Biblical book you are studying. The best guides contain the Bible text itself, a running explanation by a teacher/scholar, useful footnotes/explanations, and a bibliography of other books you might find useful down the road. The fifth principle is the possibility of taking a Bible course [or other theological concentration] at your local Catholic college or online Catholic University. If you live in an area with a Catholic college nearby, i.e., if you live near Boston College, Georgetown, Villanova, etc., you can just call over and see what the school offers for budding catechists and ministers, For example, you might be able to enroll in an introductory New Testament study course—for audit, or even college credit if you qualify for that. If my friend Mike lived near St. Bonaventure University, for example, I would move heaven and earth and pay to get him into several introductory courses. Such courses make it so much easier to continue later study at home, and they direct the student to the best authors and publishers for future purchases. The best on-line college program in the U.S. is “The Virtual Learning Community for Faith Formation” at the University of Dayton, Ohio. I took an on-line six-week course myself years ago on Catholic Social Justice teaching, and let me tell you, it was every bit as challenging as a matriculating graduate course I took on the same subject in 1974. Dayton’s cost is about $100 or thereabouts per course, but time is money, too, and taking a good introductory course saves much time and frustration for catechists who earnestly want to become better at their ministry. Moreover, I think every parish should pick up the tab for any catechist who wishes to take courses and purchase first-rate texts for study. The sixth principle is purchasing the best books available. There is a lot of religious junk on the market. The Catechist Café website tries to highlight the best books, and any reader is free to check in and ask for a recommendation by email [email protected] or at the Catechist Café pages on Facebook and Linked In. As a rule, I recommend Paulist Press, Liturgical Press, and Loyola Press as browsing starters. Remember that marketers such as Amazon and Abe Books offer used copies of desired books at lower prices if you are counting pennies. I also recommend purchasing a paper text over a Kindle text; with a paper text you can highlight, make notes, and later retrieve information for class preparation and other projects. At the end of the day the most important thing for a Catholic, and particularly a catechist or minister, is commitment to lifelong immersion into the study of the Faith, beginning with Sacred Revelation. The Church calendar leads us by the hand to St. Luke’s Gospel as our collective study for this coming year. My own reading of St. Luke for 2022, which I have begun already, is the Wisdom Commentary volume on St. Luke [2021] from Liturgical Press. This is a study of Luke’s Gospel undertaken by a team of feminist Catholic women theologians. I am finding it quite compelling…and at the same time discovering how little I know about this Gospel. Anyway, study well. Be like Mike. Every third summer the sultry Dog Days are treated to an extraordinary exposition on the Holy Eucharist from the Gospel of Saint John. St. John does not have “his own” year in the Church’s collection of Sunday readings; Matthew, Mark, and Luke are read during the A, B, and C years respectively. The year 2021 is a “B” year and we have followed the narrative of St. Mark. St. John’s Gospel is preserved for special feasts and seasons, particularly Lent and Easter. But in the B year the Church designates six successive Sundays of the summer to the sixth chapter of St. John, the famous “breads narrative.” The sixth chapter of John is read in its entirely from the 17th through the 21st Sundays of Ordinary Time in the B Cycle.
The first Sunday in this six-week series narrates the miracle of the loaves and fishes. In the study of the Gospel there is a principle called “multiple attestation,” meaning that the more an episode is repeated over the four Gospels, the more likely it has a strong historical event underlying it. Thus, the Baptism of Jesus, the desert Temptation, the calling of the Twelve, the Transfiguration, the Last Supper and the Crucifixion most certainly occurred in history. This does not eliminate other events narrated in individual Gospels nor Gospel accounts created by the inspired evangelists to bring forth divine truth. The rule of multiple attestation simply highlights what the early Church believed were the most critical and the memorable of events handed down by the first generation of Jesus’ witnesses. The feeding of the thousands by Jesus, multiplying a few loaves of bread and fish, appears in all four Gospels [In Mark, twice!]. John, the last Gospel to be written, around 100 A.D., has very few miracles, about six. When John includes a miracle, which he calls “signs,” he uses the story to introduce a lengthy instruction, which occurs here. After the miracle of the feeding, there is a protracted discussion and controversy about the true bread from heaven which occupies the rest of Chapter 6, a masterful doctrinal piece that sets the table [no pun intended] for understanding the nature of the Eucharistic meal. John’s story of the bread and fish miracle has strongly Jewish overtones. By the time of John’s Gospel, relations between Jewish Christian converts and Jews who rejected Jesus as the Messiah had deteriorated badly, and John wishes to make the case that the Jewish promise made to Abraham and Moses had passed along to Jesus as the center of a new covenant. We can see clever hints in John’s narrative of his intention. For example, John inserts these details: a large crowd followed Jesus to a mountain because they had seen signs [think Moses and Sinai]; Jesus went up a mountain, like Moses; the Jewish feast of Passover was at hand; there was a great deal of grass in the place [springtime, the season of Passover]. In his account, St. Mark observes that Jesus was moved with pity at the crowd which had been with him for three days. St. John does not mention this. For John, the sign value of what he will do is the primary concern. So, Jesus sends up a test balloon to Philip in the form of a question, “where do we get enough food to feed them?” In the preceding Chapter 4, Jesus had assured his disciples that he was the source of a food that never runs out, “My food is to do the will of him who sent me.” [John 4: 30-38] The correct answer from Philip would have been something along the lines of “I trust that you have the true bread from heaven that will save us all.” [A Jewish reference to manna would have been appropriate.] Instead, Philip answers with the mundane observation that two hundred days’ wages of food would not feed the crowd at hand. He does not yet have faith in Jesus to save, and his answer is only marginally more polite than the Hebrews in the desert who “murmured” against Moses that he had led them out to the desert only to die of hunger. Andrew’s faith is not much stronger. He comes forth with five barley loaves—historically, the bread of the poor—and two fish, lamenting that “what good are these among so many?” What happens next is one of the great wonders of the Gospel. We get our first idea of the size of the crowd, as Jesus orders them to sit in the grass. There are five thousand men, not counting the women and children. What follows is one of those maddening Gospel narratives—like the Resurrection itself—that provides enough description to take the reader to the edge of faith and leaves him or her to assent or deny. Jesus takes the bread, gives thanks, and distributes it. The term “to give thanks” is rendered in Gospel Greek Eucharisteo; the word that has passed down as the backbone of the Christian worshipping assembly as well as our theology of communion. The miracle itself is not described, only its origins and its results. How did Jesus feed thousands of persons from his small offering of bread and fish? I have heard over the years efforts to explain the event in natural terms. For example, some have theorized that everyone present was hiding their precious stash of food, but the example of Jesus giving his away led everyone to share what they had. The problem with this theory is reconciling it with the recorded actions of the people at this mountainside meal. John records [6: 14-15] that the people exclaimed Jesus as “truly the Prophet, the one who is to come into this world.” Jesus, having performed this sign, “knew that they were going to carry him off to make him a king….” So, the Gospel itself, without giving technical details, conveys that the witnesses were so overwhelmed by this sign that they moved in almost mass hysteria. Much has been made in recent years of the apparent lack of understanding of the Eucharist as the real Body and Blood of Christ. I suspect that most Catholics think of communion as a fellowship around Christ, but that in today’s culture it is hard to believe in real miracles that transcend the law of nature. John’s Gospel does not contain very many miracles, but they are all of the “in your face” type, starting with the Wedding Feast of Cana [water changed to wine] and concluding with the raising of Lazarus from the dead. At some point in our lives, we must come to grips with the idea that Jesus truly worked miracles that defied science and logic. After all, we are banking on the most irrational concept of all, that some day our graves will open, and we will experience a life beyond death. I neglected one point in the miracle narrative: the collection of the leftovers. After everyone had eaten to their fill, Jesus commands that the uneaten portions be collected, which totaled twelve full baskets. This is not an incidental item. There is a biblical theme throughout that when God feeds his people, he does so in copious amounts and with the finest foods. Joel 2:24 states: “And the floors shall be full of wheat, and the fats shall overflow with wine and oil.” Second, the number twelve is symbolic of the twelve tribes of Israel. Jesus is demonstrating his establishment of the new and eternal Jerusalem in his person. And finally, there is a peculiar literary insertion. St. John’s Greek narrative states that the baskets were full of fragments, or klasmata. The Didache, a first century description of the very early Church, uses the same word klasmata to describe the pieces of Eucharistic bread broken during the worship rite. Thus, the connection between the miracle of the loaves and fishes and the Eucharistic celebration of then and now is unmistakable. Belief in the Eucharist as the eternal Christ is belief in unity with him after death. “He who eats this bread and drinks this cup has everlasting life, and I will raise him up on the last day.” Believe it. Having introduced the New Testament letters of John and Peter in the “Smallest Books of the Bible” posts [see posts below], this week I was moved to meditate upon and research the Hebrew Prophet Micah. The original Micah, or Micah the Morashtite, prophesized sometime between 742 and 687 B.C. Nothing is known about his personal life except some traces of information in his seven chapters. Sister Irene Nowell, O.S.B., Micah’s scholar for The Paulist Biblical Commentary, notes that other Biblical prophets exercised their ministry during Micah’s time: Isaiah in the southern kingdom, and Amos in the north.
A quick overview of geography is helpful when approaching this work. We are accustomed to thinking of Israel as one entity led by God’s anointed kings. However about two centuries after the glory years of David and Solomon, the kingdom divided into Israel [north] and Judah [south]. The capital city of the northern kingdom was Samaria, later destroyed, and Samaria became a region in tension with Israel to the south. Think of the “Good Samaritan [St. Luke’s Gospel] “and “The Samaritan Woman at the Well” [St. John’s Gospel.] The two capital cities in Micah’s time were Jerusalem [south] and Samaria [north], and while there are many towns mentioned in Micah’s texts, they are secondary to the prophet’s main thrust of calling out the sinfulness of “big city living.” It did not require a seer to see life-shattering threats upon the horizon. The northern kingdom was hedged in by Assyrians [early Syria] to their north, and in fact the Assyrians would overrun the northern kingdom and destroy much of it in 720 B.C. Micah understood that the southern kingdom, losing its northern buffer, would at some point face a similar fate, which indeed occurred in 586 B.C. when Babylon seized the remaining southern kingdom and carried off the occupants in the “Babylon Captivity” which lasted 50 years. Consequently Micah, preaching during the northern crisis, directs his preaching to both kingdom capitals which had fallen into spiritual decay. Micah does not waste time. From the very start he announces that he has received “the word of the Lord” which he directs to both Jerusalem and Samaria. Samaria will become “a stone heap” for its sins, which from the context of chapter one appears to be idolatry and probably temple prostitution. Idolatry can mean multiple things, but at its heart is a failure to trust God and a tendency to “hedge bets” with other powers by trading, treaties, adopting pagan fertility rites, etc. God takes the abandonment of trust and fidelity to the Law with the rage one would expect from a spouse who has been sexually betrayed. This theme of conjugal betrayal is used elsewhere in prophetic writing, notably the Book of the Prophet Hosea. Temple prostitution itself was a regrettable but real institution of support for the holy place until the later years before the coming of Christ. Chapter 2 of Micah should give us pause in the United States. The preaching here turns to “redistribution,” from the poor to the rich. “They [the rich] covet fields, and seize them; houses, and they take them; they cheat an owner of his house, a man of his inheritance.” He goes on in Chapter 3: “Hear this…you rulers of the house of Israel. You who abhor what is just and pervert all that is right…her leaders render judgment for a bribe, her priests give decisions for a salary, her prophets divine for money.” Micah scorns the mindset of the rich and powerful, who believe they can live in such an imbalanced society with impunity. “Is not the Lord in the midst of us? No evil can come upon us!” But Micah, speaking for God, demurs: “Therefore, because of you, Zion shall be plowed like a field, and Jerusalem reduced to rubble.” The obligation of society—to stamp out abuse of the poor by the rich--is probably the primary ethical teaching of the entire collection of prophetic books of the Old Testament or Hebrew Scriptures. When coupled with absolute love of God and obedience to his Law, this is the summit of Jewish life. There are some who say that with the coming of Jesus, the moral life of Israel ceased to be the determining factor in eternal destiny. They forget that Jesus was born, lived, and died a Jew. When Jesus was pressed about the final judgment, in Matthew’s Gospel [Matthew 25: 41-45] Jesus had Micah in mind when he stated a hard truth: “Then He will also say to those on His left, ‘Depart from Me, accursed ones, into the eternal fire which has been prepared for the devil and his angels; for I was hungry, and you gave Me nothing to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave Me nothing to drink; I was a stranger, and you did not invite Me in; naked, and you did not clothe Me; sick, and in prison, and you did not visit Me.’ “Then they themselves also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see You hungry, or thirsty, or a stranger, or naked, or sick, or in prison, and did not take care of You?’ “Then He will answer them, ‘Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to Me.’ “These will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.” The Book of Micah is not well known to most Catholics; one could probably say the same thing about much of the Hebrew Scripture. And alas, in the case of Micah, the name might stir to mind the celebrational vibes of the Christmas Season of the Christian Calendar. For Micah Chapter 5 begins with a prediction: “But you, Bethlehem-Ephratha, too small to be among the clans of Judah, from you shall come forth for me one who is to be ruler in Israel.” For centuries Micah 5 was considered a prediction of the birth of Christ, though most of the chapter describes this future figure as a new king of Israel who will unite the nation and reclaim any lands lost to the Assyrians. To highlight Bethlehem, a nondescript town, would be very consistent with Micah’s disgust of big cities. The association of Micah’s prophesy with the birth of Jesus is made by the Christian evangelist St. Matthew. In Chapter 2 of his Gospel, the famous visit of the Wise Men of the East read every year on the Feast of the Epiphany, Matthew describes King Herod coming unhinged at the appearance of the Magi seeking the newborn king of the Jews. Herod convenes his clergy: When he had called together all the people’s chief priests and teachers of the law, he asked them where the Messiah was to be born. “In Bethlehem in Judea,” they replied, “for this is what the prophet has written: ‘But you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for out of you will come a ruler who will shepherd my people Israel.’]” Micah is one of twelve “minor prophets” in contrast to the major prophets such as Isaiah, whose work runs past 60 chapters. But there is a remarkable harmony to all the prophetic literature and the ultimate commandments of Christ. The key is behavior: individuals and nations who do not rest until every human being, a child of God, has experienced God’s expression of protection and justice at our hands motivated by a genuine sense of brotherhood under God’s watchful eye. Micah’s simple seven-chapter book brings home the consequences of indifference and abetting a status quo which institutionalizes economic and social dysfunction. For the text of Micah and a brief commentary, the USCCB provides free access here. The Paulist Biblical Commentary treats of Isaiah, pp. 842-851. The PBC is a valuable addition to any church minister, teacher, or student of the Bible. The most recent book on Micah’s text from a Catholic publisher is Micah [2015] by Julia O’Brien. This book appears in the Wisdom Commentary Series of Liturgical Press. WCS is the first collection of scripture commentaries researched entirely by women scholars and theologians. WCS is an ecumenical venture, as are most major commentary series today. Face Book photo is mine, featuring The Paulist Biblical Commentary and the New American Bible, 1991 edition. Perhaps it is the ambiance of viewing the Mass in my own home that I find myself keying in on the Scriptures with more intensity. For one thing, since I own the remote control, I control the volume, no small consideration when you hear with only one ear. But more to the point, I have come away with a greater appreciation of the writing of 1 Peter. I wrote in the last post how 1 Peter, proclaimed at Mass on the Sunday after Easter, was probably an instruction to the newly baptized, and as such, is a particularly good example of post-Apostolic catechesis. I was not aware last month that 1 Peter was the designated source for all the second readings Sundays of Easter in the A Cycle. If you live in dioceses that celebrate the Feast of the Ascension on Thursday this week, you will hear yet another selection from 1 Peter next week.
2 Peter is not, I repeat, is not a continuation of the book you have heard proclaimed over the past weekends of Easter, nor does it share the same author. If 1 Peter shares the Christian’s wisdom of the baptismal change of the newly concerted, 2 Peter is a general letter to all Christians in local communities to root themselves in the unspeakable glory, wisdom, and love of God with his divine Son, while at the same time decrying the evils in the world and the treachery of false teachers from within their midst. Neither 1 Peter nor 2 Peter were written by that Peter, the senior of the Twelve, but rather by two later teachers and leaders who adopted the pseudonym of the great Peter, a common practice in antiquity. In the Paulist Biblical Commentary, scholar Sherri Brown observes that the letter may have originated in Rome [hence the pseudonym Peter] or in Asia Minor, as the author makes multiple allusions to the theology of St. Paul’s writings. The author’s dependence upon the Gospels and the Letter of Jude make clear that the letter was written long after St. Peter’s death and belongs to a collection of pastoral instructions to churches that were gathered in the early second century. The “canonicity” of 2 Peter [i.e., whether it belonged in the canon or collection of inspired books of revelation we know as the New Testament] was a matter of considerable debate. The first Church historian, Eusebius, questioned the letter’s inspiration in 324 A.D. Despite that, the letter remained in the Scripture through the present day, though as Brown discusses in a “special issues” segment, modern scholarship has not always been kind to the book. It has been called “a weak minor epistle” or even—and this is harsh— “the ugly stepchild of the New Testament.” [p. 1546] I found the text both inspiring and intriguing. Chapter One focuses on the glory of God and the unspeakable promise that “you may come to share in the divine nature, after escaping from the corruption that is in the world because of evil desire.” He goes on into a litany that is both instructional and poetic. “For this reason, make every effort to supplement your faith with virtue//virtue with knowledge//knowledge with self-control//self-control with endurance//endurance with devotion//devotion with mutual affection//mutual affection with love.” [1:5-7] This summation of a godly life is the kind of thing you tape to your bathroom mirror as a daily offering of focus, an act of faith and a rule of conduct. In 1:16ff the author recounts his life in the faith as he apparently believes he close to death. He argues that Christians receive faith not by “cleverly devised myths” but by the very testimony of God on behalf of his Son, Jesus, when the Father declared “This is my Son, my beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” This quote is borrowed from the Gospels’ Transfiguration witness on a high mountain. The author is clearly disturbed that certain individuals, probably in places of authority in the local churches, are seriously distorting the basic heart of the Christian message, and he reminds the community that the Spirit, and not imaginative individuals, are the source of truthful teaching. But it is in Chapter Two that we learn about these troublesome figures; they are “false prophets among the people, just as there will be false teachers among you, who will introduce destructive heresies and even deny the Master who ransomed them, bringing swift destruction upon themselves.” As this chapter unfolds, we get the picture that the challenge comes from within the churches, as noted above, and from an amoral Roman society. There is no indication of persecution here, but a conflict to capture the thoughts and conduct of a believing mind. The bulk of Chapter two is a history of unfaithfulness, evil teaching, and perversion, and how God punished in response. Most of the examples are drawn from the Hebrew Scripture—the fallen angels, Noah’s countrymen, Sodom and Gomorrah. But the internal “heretics” are his primary targets, speaking of those who “revile things they do not understand.” [2:12] He gives equal attention to libertines and heretics. The closing lines of Chapter Two certainly hold attention: “What is expressed in the true proverb has happened to them, ‘the dog returns to its own vomit’ and ‘a bathed sow returns to wallowing in the mire.’” [2:22] The Third Chapter unveils what might also have touched off turmoil in the churches, specifically the delay in the Second Coming. The “scoffers” as the author calls them are harassing the faithful for awaiting an event that was long expected and has yet to arrive. Part of the problem is the primitive nature of sacramental theology to that time; St. Luke’s Gospel, for example, addresses this problem by explaining that the Lord Jesus remains in the breaking of the bread. [See Luke 24: 13-35.] Without compromising his belief that the judgment at Christ’s coming will be an awful thing to experience, the author explains that if God is delaying, it is because he “is patient with you, not wishing that any should perish but that all should come to repentance.” [3:9] This is an insightful piece of advice. He returns in the final paragraph to an exhortation to holiness, to the apocalyptic style we are familiar seeing at the end of the Catholic Church Year in late November. Brown observes that this and several other brief New Testament letters form a useful collection that circled through the general Church at the beginning of the second century. In varying styles these letters buttress the solemn revelation of the Gospels for the diverse Christian churches stretching from the Middle East through Asia Minor and of course the Roman peninsula. If their context is understood, most of these letters—including 2 Peter—have an enduring capacity to cut to the chase on the heart of Christian living. Sunday, April 19 marked the end of the Easter Octave, a continuous eight-day intensive liturgical celebration of the Lord’s Resurrection. The Feast of Christmas has a similar eight-day octave. The concept of “octave” is more evident for those who attend daily Mass, where all the Easter Gospel narratives are proclaimed sequentially through the week. Those who pray the Liturgy of the Hours daily use the solemn form of the prayers and psalms. The Sunday after Easter [now known as the Second Sunday of Easter since 1969] is a day rich in tradition, as it was and is the final day of the Octave. In my youth the Sunday after Easter was known as “Low Sunday.”
The name “Low Sunday,” at its heart, probably has a psychological basis, implying that the week of festivities has drawn to a close and the time has come for Christians, particularly the newly baptized, to get to the hard work of preaching and evangelizing. The official Latin name for this eighth day was Dominica in albis depositis, “the Sunday for removing the white [Baptismal] robes.” The theme of Baptism was always a major part of the Octave liturgies. The new Roman Missal [1969] extends the Octave mood over seven weeks, to include the Ascension and, on the final day of the Easter Season, Pentecost. History gives us some insights into how the post Easter Sunday life of the Church was celebrated ritually. Although the catechumens receive much of the attention then and today, the Church envisioned the Baptismal action as a joint one for both the new and the veteran Christians. And as the white baptismal gowns are put aside, the final stage of the Baptismal process began, a period referred to as the mystagogia. The mystagogia was and is a period of intense reflection on the sacraments just celebrated, the cleansing of baptismal water, the passing on of the Holy Spirit, and the first eating and drinking of the Lord’s Body and Blood. [See Peg Ekerdt’s observations on parish mystagogia here.] The opening antiphon of last Sunday’s Mass, written around 100 A.D., sums up the experience of mystagogia well. “Like newborn children you should thirst for milk, on which your spirit can grow to strength, alleluia.” [1 Peter 2:2] The antiphon comes from the very brief New Testament book, First Peter. There is a companion letter, Second Peter, which we will address in another post in this series. Looking at last Sunday’s Liturgy, the above cited antiphon and the Second Reading of the Mass indicates that in the weekend Mass after Easter 1 Peter enjoys a place of prominence, though the depiction of Doubting Thomas from John’s Gospel probably stays with the listener in a more affective sense. Peter’s words from the second reading of Sunday’s Mass compliment John’s narrative quite well. Both are addressed to hesitant believers and remind them of their holy nature, rendered by God through Baptism. Both are words of encouragement and power to hearers surrounded by persecutors and an unredeemed world. Both recall the hearers to their mission, to live and work in the World as Christ in the flesh, a vocation for which Baptism has transformed them. Are St. Peter and the author of 1 Peter the same person? The author identifies himself as Peter, an apostle of Jesus Christ, and there is consensus that the letter is intended to carry the importance of one who was close to Jesus. There are several instances in the Hebrew and Christian Scriptures where a book may carry the title of a famous leader while the actual writing and editorial shaping was undertaken by a close disciple or even a community of believers; this is most evident in the books attributed to the Apostle John. It is worth noting that in the fourth century, when the collection of books for the New Testament Canon was completed, the two letters of Peter were included in the body of Revelation. The introduction to 1 Peter found in the NABRE translation explains the authorship question well. The letter is addressed to Christians—apparently recently baptized—in Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia, and Bithynia, all territories in modern day Turkey, an exceptionally long distance from Rome. As the letter describes persecutions, modern day historians have attempted to pin down a period of governmental assault on Christians in this territory and have found little. The Emperor Trajan issued a surviving instruction to the Bithynian governor, Pliny the Younger, in 110 A.D. to condemn confessed Christians but not to exert himself nor listen to spies. Roman persecutions did not become empire-wide till the Emperor Decius [249-251 A.D.] As with the Jews, Christians seemed to have suffered most from local outbursts of fanaticism focused against their lifestyle and survival. Thus, the dating of this letter remains somewhat in doubt, though the later the dating, the less likely St. Peter is the original author. There is another literary aspect of 1 Peter that suggests this work is not the sole product of a single Galilean fisherman. The Paulist Commentary calls 1 Peter “one of the most polished Greek texts in the New Testament.” [Even the best English translations such as the NABRE cannot do full justice to the nuances of the Greek.] Moreover, the author’s command of the Greek language is without equal. There is a term for a word that is used only once in a literary collection: hapax. 1 Peter contains 66 examples of hapax, more than the rest of the New Testament combined. Some scholars have theorized that the actual author of 1 Peter is Silvanus; in 1 Peter 5:12 Peter states: “Through Silvanus, whom I consider a faithful brother, I have written this short letter.” The Paulist commentator, Bernardo Estrada, favors a Peter-Silvanus joint effort but admits that other hypotheses and dating issues must be consulted. A strong case can be made that 1 Peter incorporates an early written sermon-instruction to the newly baptized. It is a combination of doctrinal and moral instruction. The first section is a summary of Baptism: God has given a new birth into a living hope. Writing to communities under outside pressure, the nature of baptism—its infusion of a new life and a promise of glory beyond the grave—is a reminder that surviving persecution or facing the sword will both lead to a glorious finale in the fullness of God’s presence. Persecution literature often contains elements of apocalyptic, a mysterious end time when all unknowns will be revealed. 1 Peter continues with emphasis upon one’s “election by God,” that one has been called out of the world of darkness, a term often applied to the Roman Empire in the later New Testament. This letter does not enter the thorny Reformation question of predestination, i.e., that God calls some and not others. Borrowing the Hebrew Scriptural understanding of morality, 1 Peter describes the baptismal life as one of strict personal holiness. “You shall be holy, for I am holy.” At the end of time stands the God of all grace to call them to his eternal glory in Christ. 1 Peter includes the Gentiles as among those called by God into what is termed “The People of God.” Two millennia later, the Council Vatican II would describe the family of the Church as “the people of God” in its teaching documents [along with “the pilgrim people of God.”] The key theological teaching of 1 Peter is “the presentation of Jesus Christ as the model of righteous suffering. The second of two hymns embedded in the work “urges the audience to endure suffering, even unjust suffering, ‘for Christ also suffered for sins once for all, the righteous for the unrighteous, in order to bring you to God.” [Paulist Commentary, p. 1536] |
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