Tobit 9-14

The heartwarming story of Tobit and his family continues. Tobiah sends his travel companion ahead to recover the money his father had left for safekeeping with his kinsman, Gabael. Raphael returns with Gabael in tow, eager to join the joyful wedding celebration. Knowing his parents must be anxious for his return, Tobias and his new wife depart her parents' home after the two week celebration to head off for Nineveh. They are given a very warm and loving send off. It's a small thing, but to me it reinforces how marriage is (or can be, or should be) a joining in love of two families, not just two individuals.

Meanwhile, Tobit and Anna are very worried about their son, with Anna sure something terrible has happened. When Tobiah nears Nineveh, he and Raphael actually run ahead of the rest of their party, in order to get to Tobiah's parents sooner. His mother, keeping watch of the road (like the Prodigal Son's father, right?), sees him first. Tobiah greets his joyous parents, and then, at Raphael's direction, rubs the fish gall into his father's eyes. Tobit's sight is restored. "I can see you, son, the light of my eyes!" Tobit exclaims. Beautiful.

Raphael finally reveals himself, and urges Tobit and his family to "continue to thank God every day; praise him with song." He goes on to say: 

Behold, I am about to ascend to him who sent me; write down all these things that have happened to you.

Reminds me of Jesus' own Ascension.

Tobit sings a wonderful song of praise. He instructs his son and family about the future:

Now, children, I give you this command: serve God faithfully and do what is right before him; you must tell your children to do what is upright and to give alms, to be mindful of God and at all times to bless his name sincerely and with all their strength.

Tobit dies. Tobiah and his family leave Nineveh, as Tobit had instructed them, and a short time later Nineveh is destroyed.

I love this book. Tobit is a simple man, a family man. Loving and hopeful. He endures patiently and with equanimity, never losing confidence in God and never ceasing to try to do what is right. Unlike the heroes of the Old Testament stories before this, he doesn't do great or miraculous things. Rather, he is a simple man who is faithful of heart. 

2 Kings 1-5

The focus shifts away from the kings to the prophets as 2 Kings opens. Elisha is the faithful follower and heir apparent to Elijah. He travels with him wherever he goes--"I will not leave you," he promises. And he keeps that promise until Elijah is taken up to heaven in a whirlwind, riding in a flaming chariot drawn by flaming horses. Elisha takes up Elijah's mantle--literally and figuratively. 

Although I believe that Elisha is ultimately a less significant prophet than Elijah, Elisha's actions nonetheless echo and prefigure those of Moses and Jesus, respectively, in many ways. He divides the river so that he may cross it on dry land; he provides water for the people when they are thirsty; he appears to turn a body of water to blood; he multiplies oil (instead of wine) into many jars and a small number of loaves (instead of loaves and fish) into enough for a hundred men to eat; he brings someone back from the dead (as both Elijah and Jesus did); he cures a leper. 

This last is an especially moving story. Naaman, the army commander of the king of Aram was highly respected and esteemed. But he had leprosy. A little girl is the one who suggests that Naaman go to Elisha. When Naaman presents himself, Elisha does not see him in person, but instead sends a message to Naaman instructing him to bathe seven times in the waters of the Jordan. Naaman is angry that Elisha did not deign to meet him in person, and leaves, intending to ignore the instruction. But Naaman's servants prevail on him to follow Elisha's direction, and Elisha is cured. Indeed, "his flesh became again like the flesh of a little child, and he was clean." When Naaman returned to Elisha to accept a thanksgiving offering, Elisha would not accept it. Elisha, instead, tells him (as Jesus often did) to "go in peace."

The cure of Naaman speaks to me about God's work in our lives, about the power of the sacraments--mysteries that we believe, whose power we witness, but that we don't "see" in the traditional sense. Baptism and Reconciliation wash us clean, as Naaman was washed clean. As adults we can somehow "feel" the renewing power of Reconciliation, yet we cannot point to the how or the where of it.

1 Kings 15-19

After Solomon's death, God's people remain split into two kingdoms--Judah and Israel.  The kings that follow in those two kingdoms are, with one notable exception, men who continue to disobey and anger the Lord. Men who keep their people turned away from the true God. The exception is Asa, who reigns 41 years as the king of Judah and who pleases God just as his ancestor David had. "Asa's heart was entirely with the Lord as long as he lived." But even during Asa's reign, and after it, there is continuous warfare between Judah and Israel.

Ahab is one of the kings of Israel who displeases the Lord. He is married to Jezebel, who turns him away from God to the worship of Baal. She is responsible for the murder of many priests of the true God in her quest to keep the people (and her husband, the king) committed to Baal.

The Lord sends a prophet, Elijah, to rescue his people. Ahab and Jezebel seek to kill Elijah, but the Lord protects him.  Elijah trusts in the Lord and, does as He commands, finds a widow and her son with whom he lives for some years. His first words to her--Do not be afraid!--are words we later hear Jesus speak often in the New Testament. Words of greeting; words of comfort. The Lord sustains the three of them with water and food. When her son falls sick and stops breathing, Elijah takes the boy's body to the upper room of the house and prays to God to breathe life back into the boy. The Lord hears Elijah's prayer and the boy is restored. This story reminds me of other miracles Jesus performs, including perhaps most obviously the raising of Lazarus.

Elijah meets Obadiah, a servant of Ahab who nevertheless has remained true to God, and instructs him to announce Elijah's return. Although afraid, Obadiah does as Elijah asks him. When they meet, Elijah challenges Ahab and the prophets of Baal to a test to demonstrate whose god is the true God. The God of Elijah prevails, and Elijah has the people of Israel kill the prophets of Baal. There is a great moment describing their fruitless efforts being made by the prophets of Baal to summon their god to show his power: But there was not a sound; no one answered, and no one was listening.

When she learns of this, Jezebel sends a messenger to Elijah promising to kill him; Elijah flees. Elijah becomes discouraged and fearful and hides in a cave. But God comes to Elijah in his distress and calls him from the cave to witness God's power and presence:

A strong and heavy wind was rending the mountains and crushing rocks before the Lord--but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake--but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake there was fire--but the Lord was not in the fire. After the fire there was a tiny whispering sound. When he heard this, Elijah hid his face in his cloak.

Elijah recognizes the Lord's voice in the soft whisper of the wind, and obeys the Lord's instructions. He takes the road to the desert near Damascus and meets Elisha, the prophet the Lord has selected to succeed Elijah. Upon meeting Elijah, Elisha leaves all that he has behind to follow Elijah.

So often, I wish the Lord would speak to me in a loud, strong, clear voice. I need to listen for Him in the whispers of life--to recognize His voice in the unexpected place, as Elijah did.

2 Samuel 15-18

Once again we are treated to the story of dysfunction within a family. After being pardoned by and reconciled to his father, Absalom hatches a plot to win over the affection of the people and supplant David as king. David was basically a good and loyal "son" to Saul. He is a flawed but ultimately forgiving father to Absalom. Perhaps Absalom still holds a grudge for David's failure to protect or avenge the rape of Absalom's sister, Tamar, by Amnon. Or perhaps he is simply vain and selfish. It is not entirely clear. But what is clear is that, Absalom means David harm, while David loves his son.  David must flee the city and he retreats to the Mount of Olives, where he weeps without ceasing--reminding me of Jesus in Gethsemane. To be betrayed, even hated, by your own son must be a terrible thing. While traveling, David is subject to insults and taunts by a man named Shimei. David prevents his servant from dealing with Shimei to stop this, saying instead:

Perhaps the Lord will look upon my affliction and make it up to me with benefits for the curses he is uttering today.

These words also remind me of Jesus' Passion, where he silently endured the taunting of the Roman soldiers, the Pharisees, and one of the criminals being executed alongside Him.  

David works out a plot with his servant, Hushai, to lead Absalom into an ill-advised battle. David is convinced by his advisors to stay back and not engage in the battle himself. He heeds the advice, but directs his soldiers to treat Absalom gently. The plot succeeds, and David's army prevails. But notwithstanding David's instructions, his close advisor Joab sees to it that Absalom is killed as he hangs helplessly from a tree. Absalom, son of David, dies hanging from a tree. Sounds like the Lord's crucifixion. It is hard to imagine a parallel is being drawn between Absalom and Jesus, so I am struggling to understand the significance of these details. 

Messengers return from battle, bringing word of victory, and of the death of Absalom.

1 Samuel 1-2

I read and re-read this opening section of the story of Samuel, marveling at the many ways it prefigures the story of Mary and the birth and childhood of Jesus. Hannah, a woman thought barren, is so faithful, so trusting in the Lord. She pours out her heart to God; she shares her bitterness and her disappointments with Him; and she trusts in Him despite her "deep sorrow and misery" with Him. And God hears her prayer. Eli, the priest, offers her words of hope that God will grant what she has asked. She leaves the temple with renewed hope--her burden seems lifted and she is no longer downcast. Soon after, she conceives a son, Samuel. Keeping her promise to God, she gives her young son to Eli, the priest in the temple, that Samuel might serve the Lord for the rest of his life. In doing so, she offers words of thanksgiving that greatly resemble the Magnificat of Mary proclaimed at the Annunciation--beginning with "My heart exults in the Lord." How trusting indeed in God is Hannah that she can proclaim with joy her gratitude at a time she is giving up her only son to God. I also marvel that Mary, Mother of Jesus, must surely have been familiar with this story and seen the echoes of it in her own life. Perhaps she even drew inspiration and confidence from it. What an inspiring model of faithfulness Hannah is. 

Good Friday

I am in Paris on vacation with my family, and so my postings may be less frequent. Yesterday was Good Friday, and we visited Notre Dame for a most extraordinary ceremony. For nearly 800 years, Notre Dame has been the home of what many believe is the actual crown of thorns "worn" by Jesus during His Passion. The crown has been encased in gold for eighty percent of its circumference, with the remaining twenty percent or so encased in a clear tube in which it may be seen clearly.

On Good Friday, Catholics assemble in Notre Dame to venerate this relic. We joined this awesome procession. Notre Dame was flooded with tourists taking pictures of those venerating the Crown, and the veneration by each visitor was actually broadcast on big screen TVs inside and outside Notre Dame. For me, this reduced the solemnity of the moment and made it feel more like a trip to a sporting event or some other public spectacle. It was, for me at least, very difficult to be truly focused on the moment, and it felt in some ways like a missed opportunity. 

Also on Good Friday, we visited a small church tucked away on a downtown Paris side street, in which Mary appeared to St. Catherine Laboure. The result of the multiple visits by Our Lady was the creation of the Miraculous Medal. The saint's uncorrupted body is displayed in the small chapel there, and it too was brimming with visitors. This group acted much more like reverent believers than the visitors to Notre Dame, and the atmosphere was, fortunately, much different and far more inspiring.

O Mary conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to thee.

Ruth

The Book of Ruth is a short book, almost an interlude, unlike anything before it. God does not appear or speak, nor do any angels. It is a single story about one woman, Ruth. Ruth is not from one of the twelve tribes, but she marries a man whose father was from the land of Judah. When her husband and father-in-law die, she accompanies her mother-in-law, Naomi, on her journey back to Judah. Naomi tries to discourage Ruth, since she sees little future for Ruth in Judah, but Ruth insists on remaining with Naomi, saying:

Do not ask me to abandon or forsake you, for wherever you go I will go, wherever you lodge I will lodge, your people shall be my people, and your God my God. Wherever you die, I will die, and there be buried.

Her fidelity to Naomi extends even to her embracing the God of Israel as her God. This passage is so beautiful. It could easily be inserted into a marriage vow, for instance. It is also a wonderfull statement of fidelity and discipleship--a promise to follow without regard to obstacles. 

Ruth is faithful and pious and hardworking. Her story becomes known among the people of Judah. She follows Naomi's guidance and as a result becomes the wife of Boaz, a prominent landowner and kinsman of Naomi. We are told that she bears a son, Obed, whose son is Jesse and whose grandson is David, the future king. Jesus, of course, is of the line of David, through his stepfather, Joseph. So, from a woman not born of the Chosen People, God sends a great king and then, ultimately, the Great King and Savior. This foretells the universality of the salvation that is humanity's through Jesus' birth, death, and resurrection. 

Judges 13-16

The story of Samson is next. Is he Achilles, the sometimes brooding warrior with a physical vulnerability that proves his downfall? Or is he Oedipus, an otherwise good king undone by a prophecy and a riddle, who ends life with his eyes gouged out? Or instead is he Hercules, a man born of woman and a god/angel, who performs superhuman feats of strength? I cannot help thinking of these legends while reading about Samson. He killed a thousand men with the "fresh jawbone of an ass"??!! Are you kidding me? His story just feels different to me than what I've read so far. 

But Samson is, at bottom, a man like me. He is volatile and impulsive. He is brooding and secretive. He is crafty and violent. He is vulnerable. He is a man. He was intended by God. And he was beloved by God, as I am in all my imperfections. One idea I take away from his story is that all of us, even I, can do heroic things, if I only call on God for strength as Samson did. Blinded, humiliated, chained to the temple columns, he called on God for strength and brought the temple down on the Philistines within it, himself included. A final act of trust in God, it brought about the destruction of the temple and his own death as well. It prefigures Jesus, who through his own death destroyed the old temple, and rose again in three days to rebuild it.

Even when I feel defeated, as I have lately, I must remember Samson and remember to call on God for strength.  And to be grateful because He is always there for me. Always.

Judges 9-12

This passage provides a glimpse of an especially flawed character. Abimilech, son of Gideon, assembles a band of shady characters, paying them with silver shekels from the temple of Baal. Together, they murdered Gideon's 70 (!) other sons--all except the youngest, Jotham, who escaped. Jotham warned the citizens of Shechem of what would befall them if they placed their faith in Abimilech. As time passed, a conflict with Shechem arose and Abimilech and his army captured that city and slaughtered its inhabitants in most gruesome ways. He and his army proceeded to the city of Thebez, where he was undone by a woman who dropped half a millstone on his head from a tower that he and his army were storming. To avoid the "shame" of being slain by a woman, Abimilech ordered one of his own men to take his life before his millstone injury killed him. This is presented as God's justice providing an appropriate punishment to Abimilech. Two more judges, Tola and Jair, appear and disappear with hardly a mention, and then Israel falls into the hands of the Ammonites and Philistines because of their unfaithfulness to the Lord. 

For 18 years the Israelites suffered, and at first God turned a deaf ear to their cries for mercy, offended by their disobedience and by their lack of gratitude for all He had done for them. But the Israelites continued to cry out, "We have sinned. Do to us whatever you please. Only save us this day." They cast out the false idols they had been worshipping. In a beautiful image, we learn that the Lord was moved: "He grieved over the misery of Israel." Isn't that an incredible notion? God grieved for the Israelites because their lack of gratitude, their faithlessness, their sinfulness, their turning away from Him, had resulted in deep suffering in their lives. 

Does God grieve for me when I turn away from Him and cause myself to suffer? Does God the Father suffer when I suffer in this way? There was a heresy known as Patripassianism about which I hope to write more at some point. It advanced this notion that God the Father suffers. But there is apparently no room in Catholic doctrine or philosophy for this concept. If God is perfect, He has no lack. Suffering implies a lacking of a sort--an emptiness or absence where happiness or joy or fulfillment should be. Since God lacks nothing, He cannot suffer. Only in the humanness of Jesus Christ does God allow Himself to experience suffering. But God the Father cannot suffer. I find this difficult to accept. Not because God the Father isn't perfect, but because God the Father is a father, like me. It is hard for me to conceive a father NOT suffering in watching his children suffer. This passage, where God "grieved over the misery" of the Israelites is a far more fatherly image to me than the Father I meet in Catholic doctrine. The parables of Jesus, such as the Prodigal Son and the Good Shepherd reinforce this notion of a suffering Father for me.

This passage continues with the story of Jephthah and some other minor judges, leading up to the time of Samson, to be covered in the next passage.

Joshua 22-24

The men from the two-and-a-half tribes of Israel who had settled east of the Jordan are released with Joshua's blessing to return to their homes, having kept their promise to Moses. A misunderstanding later arises on the part of the tribes that remain in Canaan regarding an altar the eastern tribes build on their side of the Jordan. This misunderstanding nearly leads to bloodshed, but dialogue and trust between the tribes lead to a peaceful and productive resolution. The altar built in the east was meant as a remembrance of the true altar that houses the Ark--not a competing sanctuary. Trust and dialogue within our Church, and among various Christian denominations, are critical in helping us all ultimately find our way to Jesus.  

As Joshua nears the end of his life, he recounts to the Israelites all the blessings and wonders God has done for them from the time of Abraham to the present, and says:

Now acknowledge with your whole heart and soul that not one of all the promises the Lord, your God, made to you has remained unfulfilled. Every promise has been fulfilled for you, with not one single exception.

Indeed, our God is a faithful God. 

Joshua reminds the people to "fear the Lord and serve him completely and sincerely."  Describing for the Israelites the choice they face--to serve either the Lord or the false gods of the past--Joshua puts his own choice simply and beautifully:

As for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.

Soon after, Joshua dies. But not before reminding the people, yet again, that they must serve the Lord by following His law, His statutes, and His decrees.

Joshua 9-12

The story of the Israelites' conquest of the Promised Land continues, as, with God's help, they engage and defeat 31 kings and their kingdoms. In doing so, they overcome superior numbers and a number of confederations among kings. And at the Lord's instruction, they slaughter every man, woman and child in those kingdoms (save Rahab and her family, as noted previously). What a horrifying swath of bloodshed they cut through the land. I understand that at some level this must be a metaphor for the ultimate triumph of God's kingdom, for the importance of trusting in Him and being "firm and steadfast." But it also reads like a remorseless and sickening annihilation. I just don't know what to make of it, honestly. It plays into my own fear that, as a sinner, if I stray too far from God, I might be viewed as one of these enemy kingdoms--outside the walls of His protection. Jesus, by His death and Resurrection, is the new covenant that God has promised us--promised me. And I do believe it. But reading passages like this still really scares me.         

Joshua 1-4

According to the introduction in my New Catholic translation, the Book of Joshua is "a prophecy of the spiritual conquest of the world through the Church under the leadership of Jesus, the Messiah." This reinforces my own tendency so far to understand the Old Testament through the prism of Jesus and the New Testament. Early in this book, the Lord repeats multiple times these words of encouragement: Be firm and steadfast. The Catholic Church is at a crucial juncture. The Throne of St. Peter is empty. And this has not happened in the usual way. Rather, BXVI has left the office by resignation, not death. During Lent. And while we trust in the Holy Spirit, there are many of us who are nonetheless unsettled by it all. We need to be reminded to be firm and steadfast. And why should we be? The Lord explains to Joshua why:

I command you: be firm and steadfast! Do not fear nor be dismayed, for the Lord, your God, is with you wherever you go.

I am unsettled in certain aspects of my own life. I am afraid and dismayed. These words come to me at a propitious time. I need to be firm and steadfast, because God is with me wherever I go. 

This section of Joshua has the story of the "harlot" Rahab, who protects the spies sent by Joshua. To repay her, those spies promise that she and her family will come to no harm when the Israelites cross the Jordan to make war on its inhabitants. At their direction, she hangs a scarlet cord in her window, so the invaders will know which family to spare. The red cord echoes the blood painted over the doors of the Israelites in Egypt to signal to the angel of death to pass over their house during the final, awful plague brought on by Pharaoh's intransigence. Led by Joshua, the Israelites follow the ark to the Jordan, where the river is parted for them--echoing the crossing of the Red Sea out of slavery. 

The Israelites pass through the water in safety to escape slavery, and again to reach the promised land. I am reminded of how we are saved from the slavery of sin and death through the waters of baptism. 

Deuteronomy 31-34

Deuteronomy ends with the final words, and then the death and burial, of Moses. How fitting that the Pentateuch's bookends are Adam and Moses. One was responsible for man being cast out of Paradise. The other responsible for leading God's people to the Promised Land. At God's command, Moses teaches the people a song that they are to sing and to teach to the generations that follow. It is a song of God's anger and the consequences of the Israelites' eventual turning away from God, which God has foretold. It is a song of bitterness and regret. He commissions and consecrates Joshua as his successor, at God's command. Then, in a poignant moment, Moses ascends Mt. Nebo in order to view the Promised Land, which he is forbidden from entering. Moses gives a final blessing to the tribes, except the tribe of Simeon. (Why that tribe is omitted, I cannot tell.)  And then he dies and is buried and is mourned.  Thereafter, his successor, Joshua, "is filled with the spirit of wisdom" and the Israelites give him their obedience. 

The book ends with a short, yet powerful, statement of praise for Moses, which in part reads: Since then no prophet has arisen in Israel like Moses, whom the Lord knew face to face. None until Jesus.

Deuteronomy 14-17

The Book of Deuteronomy continues with Moses' explication of the laws by which the Israelites are to govern themselves in Canaan. We see a continuation of certain currents. The Israelites are a specially chosen people. God is a jealous God, who prescribes harsh punishment for those who worship other gods. The Israelites are to treat each other justly and mercifully, as God has treated them. 

Two elements of this passage took my thoughts immediately to the New Testament.

Instructing the Israelites about how to deal with a person in the community who "does evil in the sight of the Lord" by serving or worshipping other gods, Moses teaches that the punishment is stoning, but only after two or three witnesses have testified against the perpetrator.  He continues:

At the execution, the witnesses are to be the first to raise their hands against him; afterward all the people are to join in.

I am reminded of the woman caught in adultery brought before Jesus by the Jewish leaders, who were trying to trap Him. When He suggested that the person in the community who had no sin cast the first stone, the people who had gathered drifted away and she was spared.  God is just; God is merciful. The way these two truths are juxtaposed, both in the Old and New Testaments is very mysterious to me.

Moses also spoke of the possibility that the Israelites might subject themselves to governance by a king. He directs with regard to that king:

Nor shall he make his people go back again to Egypt to acquire [horses], against the Lord's warning that you must never go back that way again.

St. Joseph is described as a man of faith in the New Testament. I think back to his being told in a dream by God, shortly after Jesus' birth, to take the baby and Mary to Egypt. It deepens my awe and admiration for his faith in God, as that dream and that instruction from God must have gone against his instincts based on everything he had been taught and had heard from Scriptures his whole life.  That is trust in the Lord. If only I had just a tiny fraction of that trust.

Rembrandt's Return of the Prodigal Son

I was asked to write a Lenten reflection on Rembrandt's Return of the Prodigal Son.  

I thought I would share my reflection:

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I have always found it painful to look at Rembrandt’s Return of the Prodigal Son.  Not because it isn’t beautiful, for it is.  Rembrandt is rightly recognized as one of history’s greatest painters, best known for his portraits.  Here, somewhat out of character for him, Rembrandt has actually painted something happening.  He’s given us a moving scene of a father and son reuniting.  The son is humbled, wasted, bedraggled, sorrowful—pitiful, really.  The father, for his part, looks like he has reached out to embrace his son but missed, as the son has fallen at his feet.  In his finery, the father lays his hands tenderly on his son’s back, lovingly pulling him close.  It is achingly beautiful.

But the reason I find the painting difficult to look at is the way Rembrandt has painted me, there on the right.  Yes, I am the older son.  Look at me.  I stand above my father and brother.  Do you see me looking down at them, disapproving of them, wringing my hands, and judging them?  It’s all there, isn’t it?  My face is pinched.  While my father’s arms are open, mine are closed.  While my father bends to embrace and comfort my brother, I keep my distance. 

And why shouldn’t I?  My brother turned his back on us; walked away from us; abandoned us.  He spent half of my father’s inheritance.  He has incredible nerve coming back here and throwing himself at my father’s feet now.  And what is my father thinking?  What about me?  I worked hard.  I did everything my father asked.  I stayed!  Where’s my fatted calf?  Let my brother throw himself at my feet, and beg for forgiveness; let him tell me how he’ll make it up to me.  Then maybe we can talk.

And I’m right, am I not?  I have read God’s Word.  You can read it, too.  Read Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers.  It’s all there.  God tells Moses to exile the sinners and to stone those who don’t obey His commands; He teaches “an eye for an eye”; and He prohibits the faithless from entering the Promised Land.  Why?  Because God is just.  God is fair.  We live in a world that would be chaos without laws and without rules.  If there aren’t consequences when the rules aren’t followed, then what is justice?  But the message of Jesus’ parable seems quite different.

Well, what did Rembrandt think?  Let’s look at the choices he made.  He could have painted this scene many ways.  In fact, the “moment” he chose to paint does not even “occur” in the parable Jesus told.  There is no scene where the brothers are together. The father is alone when he embraces the younger son. Later, the father steps out of the party alone to speak to the older son, who has refused to join the celebration.  Rembrandt could have chosen not to paint me at all; or he could have painted me looking away.  But he didn’t.  If you look carefully at me, you’ll see that I am not standing straight.  My upper body has begun to tilt toward my father and brother.  I am all about justice and doing the right thing, but Rembrandt somehow knows that even my heart is drawn to my father’s love and mercy, to my brother’s humility and sorrow.  All hearts are called to God’s love and mercy—although we don’t always recognize it. 

There is something incredible and incomprehensible about the father’s choice and about God’s choices—to create us, to love us, and to forgive us again and again.  God’s justice is not our justice.  His capacity for forgiveness and his desire to forgive are boundless.  Jesus surely had this in mind when he shared the parable, and Rembrandt when he painted this scene.  For my part, although I am the older son, I will try to allow myself to be drawn toward God’s mercy as someone called both to forgive and to be forgiven.

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Numbers 33-36

The Book of Numbers closes with a passage that recounts all of the stops along the way of the Israelites' forty-year journey from Egypt to the land of Canaan. It summarizes the setting of the boundaries of the Promised Land, the allotment of land to the twelve tribes (two-and-a-half of which have elected to live just outside of Canaan), and the setting aside of land for the Levites. I find the discussion of the land of asylum an interesting concept: a place where someone who has unintentionally killed another can go and be protected from vengeance by the dead person's "avenger."  There the "killer" must remain until the death of the high priest in order to be protected. I am not sure, honestly, what I think about the concept of Purgatory--maybe a discussion for another time--but this reminds me of that concept. The land of asylum is a temporary place for someone who is culpable for an action, but not a grievous or horrific action that signifies a complete turning away from God and neighbor. Not until the high priest (Christ?) dies is the exile free from retribution for his sin. 

Why does God free me from my sins?  Why does He forgive me? I have done nothing to merit that forgiveness, obviously. I am on a journey to the Promised Land, like the Israelites.  I grumble and complain like the Israelites. I forget His many kindnesses; I want more. Occasionally, I hear His message through some "Moses" in my life--my wife, my children, a friend, a song, nature, a work of art, a poem. But it is only "occasionally" because my heart is not properly attuned to His message. He has to "shout". It is easy for me to read these passages and wonder how the Israelites could have been so stubborn, so arrogant, so blind, so forgetful.  And then I look in the mirror . . . 

Numbers 1-3:32

Numbers is the fourth book of the Pentateuch.  It describes the 38 years covering the end of the encampment at Mt. Sinai through the journey in the desert to their arrival at the border of  the Promised Land. It begins with a census of the Chosen People commands by the Lord. Thus, the journey of the law, from Sinai to the Promised Land begins with a census. Similarly, the story of the birth of the New Law, the fulfillment of the law, Jesus Christ, also begins with a census.  The census ordered by the Romans is the reason Joseph and Mary journeyed to Bethlehem, of course. 

Leviticus 18:19-21:24 Part 2

I don't anticipate doing the "part 2" thing very often, but I passed over something very important in my previous post regarding this section of Leviticus, and I must go back to it. In this section, the Lord essentially re-explains the Ten Commandments to Moses, elaborating on them further and providing examples to facilitate a better understanding of what is meant by them. I am struck by this: Take no revenge and cherish no grudge against your fellow countrymen. You shall love your neighbor as yourself. This last sentence is, of course, cited by Jesus as the second greatest of the commandments in Matthew 22. In all my years of reading and hearing the story of Jesus' identifying the two greatest commandments, I had assumed that these were "new" and revolutionary. New or not, what a challenge it is! I am a grudge-holder, sadly, so this statement speaks to me directly and powerfully. I hold them against others and I hold them against myself. In fact, I am often much quicker to forgive others than myself. Yet both sides of the statement are equally important. It is not "You shall love your neighbor more than yourself," nor is it "You shall love your neighbor less than yourself." 

Leviticus 15:1-18:18

The Lord institutes the Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur), on which the priest confesses "all the sinful faults and transgressions of the Israelite community" in order to make "atonement for himself and his household as well as the whole Israelite community." It is a day of fasting  to be observed on a set day each year, "so that you may be cleansed of all your sins before the Lord." On that day, the priest places the sins and transgressions of the community on the head of a live goat that is then sent away to the desert. I did not know until now that this is where the concept of a scapegoat came from! The Lord instructs Moses about the sacredness of blood, since "the life of a living body is in its blood." The Lord is very explicit about not partaking in blood, making me wonder if this might be a contrast to other religious rituals of that time. The Lord instructs Moses regarding the sanctity of sex, although it is essentially a list of sex one may not have, rather than a positive discussion. Not exactly John Paul II's Theology of the Body. In this section, however, there is also this powerful statement: Keep, then, my statutes and decrees, for the man who carries them out will find life through them. I am the Lord. Jesus the Lord ultimately fulfills the law and is the Way to new life. 

Leviticus 8-13:39

Aaron and his sons undergo the ceremony of ordination, the details of which were commanded and carefully prescribed by God to Moses. At the end of the ceremony, Aaron "raised his hands over the people and blessed them. Then the glory of God was revealed to all the people." God reveals His glory through the priest-mediator. This is a concept that continues to this day. Jesus of course is the ultimate Priest and Mediator. In some ways, so too is Mary--a mediatrix who intercedes for us in a special way. Catholic priests have a mediating role as well.  Their special, integral role in the sacrifice of the Mass, established through their ordination, becomes the medium through which we can eat and drink Christ's body and blood. I am not sure, though, what to make of the brief story of Nadab and Abihu, two of Aaron's sons. Consecrated as priests, they make the mistake of burning incense not approved by God, and because they offered up before the Lord a "profane fire", the Lord causes a fire to come forth and consume them. Moses attempts to explain the Lord's ways to Aaron, but he says nothing in response. As I said, I am not sure how to understand this. It seems an incredibly harsh punishment for an act that I do not see the evil in. Perhaps Aaron's silence reflects an inner conflict between love for his sons and his respect and trust in the ways of the Lord. But I wonder if Moses, who repeatedly challenged and questioned God, would have stayed silent had it been two of his sons. Another aspect of the priest's role as mediator is captured in the following direction that God gives directly to Aaron: You must be able to to distinguish between what is sacred and what is profane, between what is clean and what is unclean; you must teach the Israelites all the laws that the Lord has given them through Moses.  So, the priest does not simply mediate the sacrifices that cleanse sins, but also must teach the law and must discern between clean and unclean and good and evil.  Priests are called to these very weighty responsibilities in the Church today as well. Finally, Aaron and the other priests are given an important role in diagnosing leprosy, which is a focal point of a long section in Leviticus. This section suggests to me that leprosy serves as a metaphor for sinfulness. It is a disease that eats away at the body just as sin eats away a person's spirit.  At my spirit.  Like leprosy, sin has a social dimension as well, as both can be contagious and can infect and negatively impact a whole community.