My friends,
I’m leading an advent study for several weeks. If you’re interested, there are both audio files and PowerPoint slides associated with the class.
You’ll find the link below:
Wishing you all a good and holy Advent as we await the coming of the Christ child. God’s peace,
Br. James
Posted in Anglican, Bible, Disciple
Tagged Bible, Dominican Order, Incarnation, Mary, Religion, Scripture, Spirituality, Theology
In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. And he came to her and said, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.” But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. The angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” Mary said to the angel, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” The angel said to her, “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 holy; he will be called Son of God. And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. For nothing will be impossible with God.” Then Mary said, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” Then the angel departed from her. Luke 1: 26-38.
“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 holy; he will be called Son of God. Then Mary said, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” In the name of the living God: Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.
She was just a little Jewish girl, not from a particularly important family. Not especially well-educated, almost certainly not wealthy in any sense to which anyone would pay attention. And she didn’t live in an important place, or hang around with the “important” people. She was just a teenage girl, living on the corner of a dead end street, in an occupied country at the outer edge of the Roman empire. She came from Nowheresville, and she was a nobody.
In this final week of Advent, the Church invites us to reflect on something miraculous: a virgin being pregnant, God becoming human, the infinite becoming finite. In one sense, we shouldn’t be surprised by it, this is the sort of thing that God’s been doing all along: creating life where there was nothing: women too old to give birth (like Sarah and Hannah, like Mary’s cousin Elizabeth), life springing up where there where it was barren, where it was dead.
The angel tells Mary that she is favored by God, that she is full of grace. This nobody, this teenage girl on the edge of nowhere, mattered to God. And the angel Gabriel called her “full of grace.” You see, Mary found a place where all of her, and all of God, could dwell. A place deep within her life where her life and God’s life would be joined together in a bond that neither time nor trouble could ever break. Love was coming to dwell in her: to make a home there, to abide there. And I wonder if we can hear Gabriel saying that to us, telling us that we are also favored. God chose a very ordinary girl, in a very ordinary place, because God sees the grace in ordinary people and ordinary places. For all of us, that’s got to be good news.
And there’s something remarkable about God coming to dwell among us, making an appearance, not on a fiery chariot or with bolts of lightning descending in some really cool special effects, but coming to us as a baby. Babies offer the bright, shining hope of something new, something full of promise, something noisy. And most importantly, something vulnerable. And Mary, in that moment, was remarkably vulnerable. Because you see, in first century Palestine, being an unwed mother wasn’t just something a little embarrassing, a little shameful. That was the kind of thing that could get you killed. So, Mary, took a risk. The risk of embarrassment and shame, humiliation and scandal. Well, that would mark her Son’s life, too. And that day, just like this morning, God took a risk, too.
A lot depended on her response to God. For thousands of years, we had been mired in sin, separated from God, wallowing in our disobedience. A great chasm had opened up, long ago, in that garden, and we couldn’t get back across to the other side. Something had to change. We needed a miracle.
Back in the 12th century, an important Saint of the church, a French Cistercian monk named Bernard, gave a really important sermon on the Annunciation and Mary’s response. And he wrote that for that brief instant, while waiting on Mary’s reply, time itself stood still.
For that brief moment, all creation waited on her answer. In heaven, the angels and seraphim and cherubim stopped their singing. And in hell, for a moment, the screeching stopped. The principalities and the powers came to a halt. And even God leaned over the banister, waiting to hear Mary’s reply. You could’ve heard a pin drop, and then she said, ” “Fiat mihi secúndum verbum tuum.” Let it be with me according to your word. And a great music arose and the angels and all the host of heaven broke into shouts of joy, and in hell all the demonic forces cried in anguish because Lucifer’s plans for this world had been overthrown and God’s creation would be restored. But in a very real sense, Mary’s “yes” to God was simply an echo of God’s “yes” to humankind, the God who said “yes” to us time and time again, and is still saying that to you and me today.
And in the 14th century, Meister Eckhart, one of my Dominican brothers, asked a very important question. He noted, “We are all meant to be mothers of God. But what good is it to us if this eternal birth of the divine Son takes place unceasingly, but does not take place within us? And, what good is it to us if Mary is full of grace if we are not also full of grace? What good is it to us for the Creator to give birth to his Son if we do not also give birth to him in our time and our culture? This, then, is the fullness of time: When the Son of Man is begotten in us.”
So, I think we have to confront the question, are we willing to carry the Christ child, and bring Him into the world? Are we willing to risk God coming alive in us, here and today? Are we willing to answer yes to God, and share in God’s dreams for the world? You see, Mary’s story teaches us that very ordinary people (people like us), can do extraordinary, miraculous things when they are vulnerable to God’s choices in the world.
This life is not always easy, but during this Holy Season of Advent, we might reflect on the words of St. John of Liverpool, who said:
When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
Let us cut a path through the noise and chaos and pain of this world. Let us make straight the way of the Lord, let it be.
Let us build a temple in our hearts and make room for the Christ child in a world that still says there’s no room for God’s children. Let it be.
In a world that is obsessed be power and wealth and stuff, let us turn to a woman who risked everything and a God who risked everything for the life of the world. Let it be.
Let the lame walk, let the blind see, let us feed the hungry, and let the captives go free. Let the whole world look through that beautiful window and let them see nothing less than the kingdom of God in our hearts.
Let us set aside for the moment our commitment to human justice, and live lives full of mercy. And from the springs of that mercy, let God’s justice rain down like a mighty river. Let it be.
Let us turn away from racism, from our disrespect for God’s people and his world, and from treating some lives as more important than others. Let it be.
Let it be that we beat our swords, our aircraft carriers and our drones, into ploughshares, turning away from violence and struggle and war. Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with us. Let it be.
Let it be that those who are hopeless, living in fear and those tormented by illness and darkness find the Light of the World, and come to know compassion in a world that’s simply tired of caring. Let it be.
Let us turn in love to those who are forgotten, those who are broken, those who are down on their luck, and share the good news of God’s love with a world that’s forgotten what love looks like. Let us set aside our own ambitions and share in God’s dreams. Let it be.
Let it be with you, let it be with me. Amen.
James R. Dennis, O.P.
© 2014 James R. Dennis
Then he said to them, ‘These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you—that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled.’ 45Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures,46and he said to them, ‘Thus it is written, that the Messiah* is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, 47and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem.48You are witnesses* of these things. 49And see, I am sending upon you what my Father promised; so stay here in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high.’ Then he led them out as far as Bethany, and, lifting up his hands, he blessed them.51While he was blessing them, he withdrew from them and was carried up into heaven. *52And they worshipped him, and* returned to Jerusalem with great joy;53and they were continually in the temple blessing God.* Luke 24: 44-53.
He said to them, ‘Thus it is written, that the Messiah* is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, 47and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. 48You are witnesses* of these things.
In the name of the living God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit.
Good morning, good morning. And welcome to you all as we celebrate the feast of St. Boniface, a great saint of the Church. He was born somewhere around 675 A.D. in Wessex. At birth, he was given the name of Winfred, but later took the name of Boniface, probably when he was ordained a bishop. In 716, he set out as a missionary for Frisia, in modern-day Germany.
There’s a wonderful old legend about St. Boniface. They say that one winter he came across some men who were about to offer up a child sacrifice to the pagan god Thor. Boniface stopped the murder of this child by going over to an oak tree and striking it. The tree fell to the ground. When all the snow, they saw a small fir-tree there. Boniface pointed to the tree, which was green in the dead of winter and announced, “That is the tree of life and this boy is to live not die.” He then pointed at the tree again and said, “This tree does not die in winter like others but lives and it symbolizes the eternal life offered to you through Jesus Christ.” He then noted that the shape of the fir-tree is triangular and thus represents the Trinity of God. Upon this declaration, the men repented and gave their hearts to Jesus and they spared the boy’s life.
So, what’s the point of that story? You know, neuro-psychologists have described something called a perception bias. It’s sometimes called selective perception. It’s the tendency of the brain to seek out what it’s looking for, and to disregard all the other noise around it. It explains how we do those Where’s Waldo puzzles, and how the brain finds what it’s looking for and sets aside everything else. It explains why we see the good in people if we’re looking for it and why, if we go searching out the ways in which people can be selfish and cruel, we’ll find that, too.
What does that have to do with the story about St. Boniface? I think it explains the reason St. Boniface saw eternal life in Christ when he looked at the evergreen fir-tree. And it explains why he saw the life of the Trinity when he noticed the triangular shape of the tree. He saw those things because he was looking for them. And that’s why St. Chrysostrom observed that unless you can see Christ in the face of the beggar on the street, you’ll never find Him in the chalice.
And so, we come to today’s Gospel reading. This reading comes right after the story of the road to Emmaus. And we wonder, “Why didn’t the disciples recognize Jesus? How could they not see him, right beside them?” I think part of the answer is that they didn’t see Him because they weren’t looking for him. They thought he was dead; there was no reason to look for him. But in today’s Gospel, Jesus tells the disciples, tells us, that we are to be his witnesses. We are to see and hear, and speak of what we’ve seen and heard: that Jesus is risen, that he preached repentance, and promised forgiveness. And that He’s still with us.
So, what are we supposed to be looking for? He told us: “Seek ye first the kingdom of God.” If we follow Jesus, that’s our perception bias. I pray that we’ll look for it, because He promised that if we did, we’ll find it. Amen.
James R. Dennis, O.P.
© 2014 James R. Dennis
They said to him, ‘Who are you?’ Jesus said to them, ‘Why do I speak to you at all?*26I have much to say about you and much to condemn; but the one who sent me is true, and I declare to the world what I have heard from him.’27They did not understand that he was speaking to them about the Father.28So Jesus said, ‘When you have lifted up the Son of Man, then you will realize that I am he,* and that I do nothing on my own, but I speak these things as the Father instructed me.29And the one who sent me is with me; he has not left me alone, for I always do what is pleasing to him.’30As he was saying these things, many believed in him.
Then Jesus said to the Jews who had believed in him, ‘If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples;32and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.’ John 8:25-32.
In the name of the Living God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Good morning. It’s good to be with you as we celebrate the feast of St. Gregory of Nanzianzus. He was born in modern-day Turkey around the time the Nicene Creed was written , and died in 389. At a time when the church was still struggling with the nature of Christ and the Trinity, he was an eloquent preacher and a deep thinker , earning him the nickname “The Theologian.” While the church still strove to understand the idea that Jesus could be fully human and fully divine, Gregory wrote this:
As man he was baptized, but he absolved sins as God; he needed no purifying rites himself—his purpose was to hallow water. . . . He hungered—yet he fed thousands. He is indeed “living, heavenly bread.” He thirsted—yet he exclaimed: “Whosoever thirsts, let him come to me and drink.” Indeed he promised that believers would become fountains. He was tired—yet he is the “rest” of the weary and the burdened. . . . He weeps, yet he puts an end to weeping. He asks where Lazarus is laid—he was man; yet he raises Lazarus—he was God. . . . .He is weakened, wounded—yet he cures every disease and every weakness. He is brought up to the tree and nailed to it—yet by the tree of life he restores us. He surrenders his life, yet he has power to take it again. . . . Yes, the veil is rent, for things of heaven are being revealed, rocks split, and dead men have an earlier awakening. He dies, but he brings life into death and by his death destroys death. He is buried, yet he rises again. He goes down to Hades, yet he leads souls up, ascends to heaven, and will come to judge quick and dead.
So, Gregory spent a good deal of time struggling with those who would attempt to distinguish between Jesus and the Father, and those who would attempt to separate Jesus from his humanity. And so we come to today’s Gospel passage. We hear Jesus trying to answer the question, “Who are you?” It may be the most important question we can answer for ourselves. Jesus answers, “‘the one who sent me is true, and I declare to the world what I have heard from him. They did not understand that he was speaking to them about the Father. So Jesus said, ‘When you have lifted up the Son of Man, then you will realize that I am he.'” Somehow, in the cross, Jesus reveals his divinity: in his mortality, he shows us that death has no more hold on him, or us. The Christ assures us that there isn’t any separation between the Son and the Father, telling us that “the one who sent me is with me; he has not left me alone.” In that same 8th chapter of John’s gospel, Jesus says, “If you knew me, you would know my Father.”
Again, like our friend Gregory, Jesus teaches us that there’s no distinction between the life of the Father and the life revealed to us in the life of Christ. The divine unity of the Trinity cannot be carved up. That’s why in just a few moments we’ll all profess that we believe in One God.
Now for most of us, we really don’t confront very often those who would separate Jesus from the Father or the Spirit. But there are plenty of places, people and things we encounter that would separate Christ—from us. Our work, our hobbies, our distractions, even our families, can get between us and a life in Christ if we’re not careful. They conspire to keep us from the life we were meant for, a life shared with the Father, the Son and the Spirit.
But when we come to know Jesus, when we fall in love with the One God, we’ll find the truth. And we’ll find the freedom to be the people of God, the people we were meant to be. Amen.
James R. Dennis, O.P.
© 2014 James R. Dennis
My travel schedule remains quite busy, so today’s post will be short. Today is the feast day of St. Thérèse of Lisieux, a Carmelite nun who lived a short life from 1873 to 1897.
I ran across this in Celtic Daily Prayer, from The Song of Simeon:
And now You’re here–
the light is shining where
the darkness used to be–
and all the world
is a different place…
…and every single day a fresh beginning.
As St. Thérèse once said, “May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith.”
James R. Dennis, O.P.
© 2012 James R. Dennis
Every generous act of giving, with every perfect gift, is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. In fulfillment of his own purpose he gave us birth by the word of truth, so that we would become a kind of first fruits of his creatures.
You must understand this, my beloved: let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger; for your anger does not produce God’s righteousness. Therefore rid yourselves of all sordidness and rank growth of wickedness, and welcome with meekness the implanted word that has the power to save your souls.
But be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves. For if any are hearers of the word and not doers, they are like those who look at themselves in a mirror; for they look at themselves and, on going away, immediately forget what they were like. But those who look into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and persevere, being not hearers who forget but doers who act-they will be blessed in their doing.
If any think they are religious, and do not bridle their tongues but deceive their hearts, their religion is worthless. Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to care for orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world. James 1:17-27.
I have always loved today’s Lectionary reading from James, for a number of reasons. He reminds us that following Jesus requires living into our beliefs, rather than merely accepting certain concepts or propositions. I love good, challenging theology, but that’s not James’ purpose. This is deep, richly practical Christianity.
James begins with the remarkable statement that all our works of love come down from the Father of lights. All of our charity, all of our generosity, all of our love: James tell us these come from heaven. This means, of course, that God constantly works to better this world.
James then cautions the believers to be quick to listen, although slow to speak and slow to anger. As I listen to squabbles within my own denomination, or heaven forbid read the flaming posts that carry on religious debates on the blogosphere, I understand why the Church thought James’ epistle needed to be in the Bible.
James advises us all to stop and think a few moments before we respond with a quick anger and find ourselves regretting patiently. Mother Teresa once made a powerful observation about the genuine function of Christian speech. She said, “I am a little pencil in the hand of a writing God who is sending a love letter to the world.”
He warns us against fooling ourselves: all our piety, if we can’t bridle our tongues and live into the life of Christ, is nothing more than self-deception. At that time, the most vulnerable members of society were widows and orphans. They lived on the margins of first century Palestine. James cautions the Church: real religion consists of taking care of God’s children when they can’t take care of themselves and avoiding the stain if sin. James calls that the “pure religion,”and everything else is just holy smoke.
Shabbat Shalom,
James R. Dennis, O.P.
© 2012 James R. Dennis
Jesus said, “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them. Just as the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever eats me will live because of me. This is the bread that came down from heaven, not like that which your ancestors ate, and they died. But the one who eats this bread will live forever.” He said these things while he was teaching in the synagogue at Capernaum.
When many of his disciples heard it, they said, “This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?” But Jesus, being aware that his disciples were complaining about it, said to them, “Does this offend you? Then what if you were to see the Son of Man ascending to where he was before? It is the spirit that gives life; the flesh is useless. The words that I have spoken to you are spirit and life. But among you there are some who do not believe.” For Jesus knew from the first who were the ones that did not believe, and who was the one that would betray him. And he said, “For this reason I have told you that no one can come to me unless it is granted by the Father.”
Because of this many of his disciples turned back and no longer went about with him. So Jesus asked the twelve, “Do you also wish to go away?” Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God.” John 6:56-69.
The Lectionary brings us now to the final and critical passage from the sixth chapter of John’s Gospel. To place it in context, Jesus has fed the five thousand, has walked on water, and now tries to teach the crowd about his flesh and blood as the road to eternal life. That message does not go over so well.
John reports that many in the crowd could not accept this “difficult” teaching. Even some of his disciples muttered and complained. As we hear about the disciples grumbling about this teaching, we hear the echo of God’s people grumbling about bread in the wilderness during the Exodus. Jesus knew the crowd found His teaching offensive; his words were scandalous and incendiary, and the crowd began to turn away.
We shouldn’t judge those who turned away too harshly; Jesus’ teachings ran contrary to scripture. Leviticus clearly instructed, “If anyone of the house of Israel or of the aliens who reside among them eats any blood, I will set my face against that person who eats blood, and will cut that person off from the people.” Lev. 17:10. We find the same prohibition in the Book of Genesis: “Every moving thing that lives shall be food for you; and just as I gave you the green plants, I give you everything. Only, you shall not eat flesh with its life, that is, its blood.” Genesis 9:3-4.
Leviticus reveals the reasons for this prohibition: For the life of every creature—its blood is its life; therefore I have said to the people of Israel: You shall not eat the blood of any creature, for the life of every creature is its blood; whoever eats it shall be cut off. Lev. 17: 14. Moreover, this is one of the “I Am” passages in John’s gospel in which Jesus identifies himself with YHWH (“I am who am”). Thus, the crowd would have struggled with Jesus’ teaching on several levels.
Jesus instructs the crowd to consider the ways of heaven, and turn away from their focus on the ways of this world. He tells them, “It is the spirit that gives life; the flesh is useless. The words that I have spoken to you are spirit and life.” Scripture taught them not to eat blood because it contained the essence of life. Jesus tells us that He wants His very life coursing though our veins, through our lives. His spirit will become our food, the life force animating and running through us.
John tells us that many in the crowd turned away from Jesus, turned back into “the things of the past” (eis ta opiso in the Greek). They returned to a spiritual life that was more traditional comfortable, more comfortable. They returned to a religious life that seemed much more safe.
Now we reach the climax, the fulcrum upon which the entire sixth chapter of John (in which we’ve spent several weeks) turns. Jesus turns to the Twelve and asks them, “Are you going to leave me, too?” And Peter (stumbling, clumsy Peter) responds, “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God.” Peter’s answer, in one sense, is heartbreaking: “Where else are we going to go?” It’s a question we sometimes ask ourselves as we confront the heartbreaking moments in our lives.
The disciples have come to that remarkable point at which there’s really no turning back for them. Wherever Jesus is going, no matter how difficult, that’s their path as well. Whatever they’ve found in Jesus is beyond this world, beyond the Temple, and yes, beyond “religion”. They are coloring outside the lines now, because the life of Christ has begun to run through them.
In the past, I’ve written about the tremendous mystery of Jesus’ presence in the Eucharist. In this passage, we see the Twelve drawn into perhaps the greatest mystery of all: God’s deep and abiding love for us. I pray that we will all be drawn by the Father into that mystery, until the life of the Holy One flows in and through us.
Shabbat Shalom,
James R. Dennis, O.P.
© 2012 James R. Dennis
*Welcome, Mary, sister in faith;
the Lord has surely chosen you.
The life leaps within me
to herald the fruit of your womb
which is Jesus!
Who am I
that the mother of my Lord
should come to me?
Pray with me now,
and always.
Amen.
*Weep, Mary, a mother’s tears.
Your son must die,
thrust high in agony.
Alone in suffering
separated from His Father’s smile
by sin we laid upon Him.
Blessed in He
who comes in the name of the Lord.
Now, Mary, be mother to John
and all who will lean, like him,
close to the heart of Christ,
and watch with Him in the hour of death.
Amen.
*You, Mary, who knew His grace,
now you’re with the Lord.
Blessed is any who walks with God,
then is not here, but taken–to Jesus!
Hold us, Mary, at peace with God;
join with the prayers of the penitent,
now and at the gate to life.
Amen.
I found this prayer, this little liturgy, in the Celtic Book of Daily Prayer. It seemed appropriate, because today is the Feast of the Blessed Virgin Mary, the Holy Mother of Our Lord. Mary has always held a special place for members of the Dominican Order, dating back to very early in the Order’s history. So, I thought I’d make a few observations about Mary.
First, Mary seems to offer a special place of devotion for those who’ve had their hearts broken. One can’t look at the Pieta without immediately recognizing Mary’s special understanding of heartache and sorrow. The Holy Mother also speaks gently to those who understand the risk of faith.
When Mary answered “Yes” to God’s call, she laid aside her plans for her life and undertook the risk of an unwed pregnancy. In first century Palestine, that kind of thing could get you in trouble; it could get you killed. Mary (who would have been known as Miriam) thus teaches us about allowing God to interrupt your plans, and willingly accepting the cost of becoming God’s instrument. She showed us how to trust God and how to live without fear.
For many of us, Mary serves as the gateway to, and the icon of, the Incarnation. If God’s decision to walk among us as a man was indeed the pivotal point of human history, it was Mary who cleared that path. She offers us the key to Jesus’ full humanity. Her tears on Golgotha demonstrate that this was no metaphor and no mere spiritual apparition. Hanging on that Cross was Mary’s little boy whom she had raised from His birth in a stable.
The Holy Mother also teaches us a good deal about the faithful response to mystery. When Gabriel told her of God’s plans, she didn’t ask a lot of questions. She didn’t need to understand what happened at Cana; she simply witnessed it. I’m fairly confident Mary didn’t understand the need for the crucifixion or how the Resurrection changed the world. I doubt she had a firm grasp of the Pentecost. And yet, there she stood: a witness (martyr in the Greek) staring across the precipice of the greatest mysteries of our faith.
Our Orthodox brothers and sisters refer to Mary as the Theotokos (the God-bearer). Mary teaches us all about the importance of bringing Christ into the world, of being pregnant with the message of the Kingdom. I pray we all can bring God into a world which needs Him now as much as it ever has. I know she will join in that prayer.
God watch over thee and me,
James R. Dennis, O.P.
© 2012 James R. Dennis
Posted in Uncategorized
Tagged Anglican, Bible, Disciple, Bible, Christianity, discipleship, Dominican Order, Episcopalian, Incarnation, Jesus, Mary, Moral Theology, Religion, Saints, Spirituality, Theology, Theotokos
Jesus left that place and came to his hometown, and his disciples followed him. On the sabbath he began to teach in the synagogue, and many who heard him were astounded. They said, “Where did this man get all this? What is this wisdom that has been given to him? What deeds of power are being done by his hands! Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon, and are not his sisters here with us?” And they took offense at him. Then Jesus said to them, “Prophets are not without honor, except in their hometown, and among their own kin, and in their own house.” And he could do no deed of power there, except that he laid his hands on a few sick people and cured them. And he was amazed at their unbelief.
Then he went about among the villages teaching. He called the twelve and began to send them out two by two, and gave them authority over the unclean spirits. He ordered them to take nothing for their journey except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money in their belts; but to wear sandals and not to put on two tunics. He said to them, “Wherever you enter a house, stay there until you leave the place. If any place will not welcome you and they refuse to hear you, as you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet as a testimony against them.” So they went out and proclaimed that all should repent. They cast out many demons, and anointed with oil many who were sick and cured them. Mark 6:1-13.
Mark’s Gospel for the Sunday Lectionary offers us several insights into Jesus. You may remember a couple of weeks back, as the disciples were caught in a terrible storm, they wondered, “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?” Mark 4:41. Last week, in Chapter 5, we heard a partial answer to that question, in the stories of Jairus’ daughter and the woman who touched Jesus’ cloak. I think today’s reading may also help us unlock the answer to that question.
Jesus returns to Nazareth, to his hometown. Teaching at the synagogue, he astonishes the crowd there. They marvel at his wisdom, his teaching, and at his “deeds of power.” Like many of us, however, a profound distrust soon overcomes their sense of awe. They wonder, “How can this be so? We know Jesus, and we know his family. He’s just a simple carpenter.”
Often, I think, we lose the irony of Mark’s next phrase. “And he could do no deed of power there, except that he laid his hands on a few sick people and cured them.” Most of us would probably find such a miraculous hearing sufficient, if not extraordinary.
Mark does seem to link, however, the occurrence of the miraculous with the community’s ability to trust God, with the community’s faith. That’s an interesting reversal of the way we often think of miracles. We sometimes think, “Lord, if you will only (insert something miraculous here), then I’ll be able to believe.” Mark, however, suggests that miracles are a consequence of faith, rather than a cause of it. (The theological footing here may not be completely sturdy, in that it suggests that God’s power hinges on us and our belief. I have serious questions about that view, but Mark seems to suggest it strongly. I’m inclined to suggest an alternate hypothesis: Our trust in God opens our eyes to the everyday miracles that surround us.)
In the next passage, Jesus continues his ministry, and actively begins the process of the disciples’ formation. He sends the disciples out in pairs, giving them authority over “unclean spirits.” He sends them out with only a staff, and no provisions for the journey. Jesus sent them out to proclaim his message of repentance, and they cured many and cast out demons. I think this notion of “travelling light” will also help us answer the question “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?”
Like their Rabbi, the disciples would not travel with either pomp or plenty. They travelled, as Jesus did, sharing in the people’s need and vulnerability. The twelve would learn to abandon the illusion of self-sufficiency. The disciples would have to learn to trust God’s people, to trust each other, and most importantly, to trust God. They would learn to be the instruments of grace and faith, and learn to be the music those instruments played. Through the Incarnation of this Jesus, they would learn what the Kingdom looked like, and learn that God wanted to bridge His separation from mankind.
Throughout their time with Christ, they would begin to understand the answer: “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?” I hope we begin to understand, too. Lord, we believe; help our unbelief.
Shabbat Shalom,
James R. Dennis, O.P.
© 2012 James R. Dennis
When Jesus had crossed again in the boat to the other side, a great crowd gathered around him; and he was by the sea. Then one of the leaders of the synagogue named Jairus came and, when he saw him, fell at his feet and begged him repeatedly, “My little daughter is at the point of death. Come and lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well, and live.” He went with him.
And a large crowd followed him and pressed in on him. Now there was a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years. She had endured much under many physicians, and had spent all that she had; and she was no better, but rather grew worse. She had heard about Jesus, and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak, for she said, “If I but touch his clothes, I will be made well.” Immediately her hemorrhage stopped; and she felt in her body that she was healed of her disease. Immediately aware that power had gone forth from him, Jesus turned about in the crowd and said, “Who touched my clothes?” And his disciples said to him, “You see the crowd pressing in on you; how can you say, `Who touched me?'” He looked all around to see who had done it. But the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came in fear and trembling, fell down before him, and told him the whole truth. He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease.”
While he was still speaking, some people came from the leader’s house to say, “Your daughter is dead. Why trouble the teacher any further?” But overhearing what they said, Jesus said to the leader of the synagogue, “Do not fear, only believe.” He allowed no one to follow him except Peter, James, and John, the brother of James. When they came to the house of the leader of the synagogue, he saw a commotion, people weeping and wailing loudly. When he had entered, he said to them, “Why do you make a commotion and weep? The child is not dead but sleeping.” And they laughed at him. Then he put them all outside, and took the child’s father and mother and those who were with him, and went in where the child was. He took her by the hand and said to her, “Talitha cum,” which means, “Little girl, get up!” And immediately the girl got up and began to walk about (she was twelve years of age). At this they were overcome with amazement. He strictly ordered them that no one should know this, and told them to give her something to eat. Mark 5:21-43.
In today’s Gospel, Mark offers two portrayals of Jesus as a healer. The first concerns the story of a man named Jairus whose daughter is dying. Mark describes Jairus as a leader of the synogogue, which also reveals that some Jewish authorities looked up to and relied on Jesus. While Jesus is on the way to help Jairus’ little girl, something remarkable happens.
Mark breaks into the story of Jairus and his daughter with an interlude, a story about a woman with a blood disorder. This woman approaches Jesus, a woman who who had “suffered” and “endured” a lot. Her disease had isolated her, hurt her, and left her penniless. And yet, she believes that merely touching the hem of Jesus’ cloak will make her well. She is cured, and moreover, Jesus tells her that her faith has made her well.
By the time Jesus arrives at Jairus’ home, the mourner’s announce that He has come to late and the child has already died. Jesus counsels Jairus, “Do not fear, but trust.” Jesus tells them that the child is not dead, but merely sleeping. Jesus takes the little girl by her hand and tells her to get up, and she rises and begins to walk.
At the time of these events, Jairus’ daughter was twelve years old. The woman had suffered from her hemoraging for twelve years. These two are linked together, as the life flows out of them. We might certainly read these stories in the light of the people of Israel (the twelve tribes). One is a daughter of a man of honor and prestige, the other an “unclean” woman lost in her desperation. Both the woman with the blood disorder and the little girl who had died are impure; by touching them, Jesus will share in this impurity. And yet, through the touch of this unique Rabbi, both will find new life.
I think we miss the point of this narrative if we merely read it as a story about how Jesus was really good at conquering disease and even death. I don’t think the message of the Incarnation was to simply to show us that God could work miracles. Rather, God became man to show us how deeply he loved us and how he wanted to heal the wounds that separated us from Him.
Both Jairus and the woman with the blood disorder ask “to be made well” (sozo in the Greek). This implies not just a curing them from their physical ailments, but also making them whole, restoring them, saving them. Both Jairus’ daughter and the hemoraging woman were made well. But Jesus offered them more than simply restoration of their health; He offered them life.
I don’t think these two stories are simply about Jesus’ remarkable power, or even about miracles. Jesus didn’t come to show us how powerful He was; He came to show us how much God loved us. He came to teach us about the extraordinary power of faith, and about the limitless compassion of the Living God. And if we will reach out to touch His Son, we also will be made well, and live.
Shabbat Shalom,
James R. Dennis, O.P.
© 2012 James R. Dennis
Posted in Uncategorized
Tagged Anglican, Bible, Disciple, Bible, Charity, Christianity, Death, Dominican Order, Episcopalian, Gospel of Mark, Incarnation, Jairus, Jairus' daughter, Jesus, Love, Mark 5:21-43, Miracles, Moral Theology, Pastoral Care, Religion, Salvation, Scripture, Spirituality, The Kingdom of God, Theology, woman with hemorrages
Domini Canes 