No Strings Attached

From the prophet Isaiah: “All you who are thirsty, come to the water! You who have no money, come, receive grain and eat; come, without paying and without cost.”  Sounds good, perhaps too good to be true? So…what’s the catch? I mean nobody gets something for nothing. There is always a string attached, a debt incurred, or something in the small print. Such are the thoughts of a person who is ensconced in a transactional worldview.

A transactional worldview is not simply about money. It is a way of seeing all of life through the lens of exchange: I give in order to get. It can become so ingrained that people begin to relate to God, other people, and even themselves in transactional terms.  It crops up in so many subtle ways, e.g. when we catch ourselves thinking about relationships as a type of calculation. Instead of asking: “How can I love this person?” the question becomes: “What am I getting out of this relationship?” It is rarely as draconian as that, but do you “keep score” in your marriage? Do you discover that friendships are maintained only while they are useful? Helping others is a gateway to gain approval, influence or to “bank” a future favor? Or maybe you feel cheated whenever your kindness is not returned.

Christian love gives without any guarantee of return.

And about others…have you ever caught yourself thinking, “Can this person advance my career? Can this friendship benefit me? Is this relationship worth the investment of my time?”

This is very different from the Gospel’s view of persons as ends in themselves, loved simply because they are children of God.

Ok, maybe the whole transactional approach to people was a little cold and Machiavellian. But in what way do you think about achievement? A transactional mindset often operates with an inner voice whispering: “My worth depends on what I accomplish.” Perhaps you are driven to always be productive; constantly comparing yourself with others. Do you find it difficult to rest because you haven’t earned it? Is failure evidence of personal worthlessness?

Grace says something radically different: your dignity precedes your performance.

Do you find it easier to give than to receive? Uncomfortable with compliments? Struggle to accept forgiveness? Reluctant to accept help? Feel guilty receiving generosity from another? All the while there is the whisper: “Nothing valuable should come free.”

Makes God’s grace difficult to receive and embrace.

Is your forgiveness conditional? “I’ll forgive them after they apologize.” or “I’ll reconcile after they change.”

I guess we should be thankful that God doesn’t operate that way.

How about your life of faith? Some may work the “checklist”: I fulfilled my Sunday obligation – check. Said my prayers – check.  Is this just a busy life keeping on track or without realizing it, did worship become payment rather than encounter?

All you who are thirsty, come to the water! You who have no money, come, receive grain and eat; come, without paying and without cost.

Why can we sometimes be this way? What makes this way of being attractive or at least seductive? Because transactional thinking gives us a sense of control. If life is an exchange, then we imagine: “If I do A, I’ll get B.”

Grace is unsettling because it cannot be controlled.  It must be received.

Throughout Scripture, God invites us to move from transaction to covenant. Where a transaction asks: “What is the minimum required?” A covenant asks: “How can I be faithful?” A transaction says: “I’ll love you if…” A covenant says: “”I have chosen to love you.” A transaction keeps accounts. A covenant remembers persons as gifts from God.

Recall the disciples at the feeding of the five thousand. Their first instinct is transactional: “Send the crowds away so they can buy food.”  Jesus, the source and foundation of the Covenant, comes at it completely differently. He does not ask: “Who has enough money?” He asks: “What do you have? What will you contribute?” Turns out it’s not a lot, only five loaves and two fish. But it is enough.

The miracle begins when the disciples stop calculating and start trusting. That is the movement Isaiah is inviting us to make. God says: “Come, without paying and without cost.” The Kingdom begins where transactions end and gift begins.

A transactional view of life often produces anxiety, because everything depends on our ability to earn, prove, achieve, or maintain. A covenantal view produces gratitude, because we begin each day already possessing the greatest gift: we are loved by God before we have accomplished anything.

An abiding attitude of gratitude determines your altitude. And it costs nothing. No catch. No string attached. No fine print. Just eternal life.


Image credit: James J. Tissot, ‘Miracle of the Loaves and Fishes’ (1886-94), Brooklyn Museum, NYC | PD-US

The Persian Gulf, Iran, and Just War Theory

A parishioner recently asked me what I thought of the current war in the Persian Gulf region. It was part question, “What do you think about….” and part answer: “You don’t want Iran to have a nuclear weapon, do you?” coupled with “and besides strategic bombing can probably bring this to an end.”  Not exactly an open ended question.

It is always of interest to me to wonder about to whom the question is addressed.  Was it for me, the Franciscan priest or former nuclear submariner or perhaps both? Then again, maybe that doesn’t matter. I think the answer will always come from “both.” Some might expect the Franciscan priest to take a position that war is always morally wrong. But Franciscans “think and breathe” with the Catholic Church, a Church that never places war as a first option but also evaluates each war in the light of the Just War tradition expressed by St. Thomas of Aquinas. So what is the “Church” saying?

Read more: The Persian Gulf, Iran, and Just War Theory

One of the interesting features of the debate over the U.S. strikes on Iran is that there are respected Catholic scholars on both sides, although I would say that the majority of bishops and moral theologians who have spoken publicly have expressed serious reservations or concluded that the action did not satisfy the just war criteria. (Catholic Review) The limited number of scholars and intellectuals who have argued that the strikes could be morally justified have generally made their case on traditional Thomistic just war grounds, rather than appealing to a newer theory of preventive war (discussed later in this post).

George Weigel is probably the most prominent Catholic intellectual to argue that the strikes were morally justified. He contends that many commentators have misunderstood or misapplied the just war tradition. To that end he proposes three fallacies that people, leaders and scholars apply to Just War Theory:

  • Fallacy No. 1: There is a “presumption against war” in just war thinking.
  • Fallacy No. 2: Preemptive military action or striking the first blow is not permissible.
  • Fallacy No. 3: “Last resort” is the first principle in the just war tradition.

Agree or disagree, but from that analysis, Weigel’s principal arguments for considering the U.S. military action as permissible include:

  • Just cause: Iran’s decades-long sponsorship of terrorism, repeated attacks through proxies, and pursuit of nuclear weapons constituted a grave and continuing threat, not merely a speculative future danger.
  • Legitimate authority: The United States acted through its constitutional political leadership in concert with an ally.
  • Last resort: Diplomatic efforts had been attempted over many years and repeatedly failed.
  • Proportionality: A limited strike on nuclear infrastructure was, in his view, morally preferable to allowing Iran eventually to acquire nuclear weapons or engaging in a much larger regional war later.

Weigel’s broader complaint is that many modern commentators have turned just war theory into an almost impossible standard that no military action could satisfy.

Edward Feser is interesting because he is a Thomist with deep knowledge of Aquinas. However, he reached the opposite conclusion from Weigel. Feser argued that:

  • there was no objectively imminent attack on the United States;
  • Catholic teaching does not permit preventive war simply because another state may become more dangerous later;
  • the evidence for necessity had not been publicly demonstrated;
  • therefore the traditional requirement of just cause was not met.

Professor Robert P. George of Princeton has been more cautious. Rather than declaring the war either just or unjust, he has emphasized a classical Thomistic point: outsiders often lack access to the intelligence necessary to make a definitive prudential judgment. The morality of the decision depends partly upon facts known only to those charged with responsibility for the common good. This echoes the Catechism’s statement that evaluating these conditions belongs principally to those responsible for the common good (CCC 2309), while still allowing scholars and bishops to question whether those conditions have actually been met.

Preventative or preemptive, the changing nature of war in the modern age, public demonstration of evidence, the common good – all these considerations. “What do you think about….” is not a conversation for the sidewalk in front of the church. And what about the Church?

I am not aware that the USCCB (US Conference of Catholic Bishops) have made a statement/analysis on whether the war is ad jus bellum (a just war at the beginning). Its statements can be found on the USCCB Iran Resource page. Reading them chronologically shows a remarkably consistent position extending back to 2015. Recurring themes include: support for diplomatic engagement; concern over nuclear proliferation; insistence that military force be truly a last resort; repeated warnings that another Middle East war would carry grave humanitarian consequences. The overall tone has been one of caution, de-escalation, and skepticism about the resort to military force, rather than an explicit declaration that the military action was or was not a “just war.”

But several bishops publicly argued that the criteria were not satisfied. Among them:

  • Cardinal Robert McElroy argued that the United States was not responding to an objectively verifiable imminent attack and therefore lacked a sufficient just cause. (America Magazine)
  • Archbishop Timothy Broglio, the Archbishop for the Military Services, expressed serious doubt that the campaign met the traditional just war criteria. (The Guardian)

At this writing there is no definitive statement but certainly, and always, a leaning into a peaceful resolution. Given my interest in World War II, I am drawn back to the comparisons with the Asia-Pacific War (1937-1945). In a previous post in a series about that war I noted that the Church teaches that war can be morally justified under certain conditions, which are rooted in the principles of just cause, legitimate authority, right intention, and proportionality. (Found in paragraphs 2307 to 2317 of the Catechism). The conditions fall into three broad categories: jus ad bellum (before the war), Jus in bello (during the war), and jus post bellum (after the war)

During World War II, Catholic moral theologians generally agreed that Germany’s aggression constituted a just cause for resistance. Likewise, Japan’s aggression in China justified military action. But were there adequate just-war reasons for the U.S. to enter the War prior to Pearl Harbor? While the U.S. was isolated from the war in Europe by the Atlantic Ocean, all throughout 1941 German U-Boats were attacking U.S. flagged merchant vessels as they carried supplies to England. The Pacific Ocean placed Japan thousands of miles from U.S. territories but Japan’s savagery and execution of the war in China, other Japanese actions against SE Asian countries, and more all signaled hostility with the U.S. was looming.  The questions being raised in 1939-1941 were:

  • Was there a grave and certain threat? 
  • Was it imminent?
  • Has the last resort truly been reached?
  • Could any U.S. action properly be characterized as defense, or was it a form of preventive war?

For U.S. scholars and bishops the theoretical debate came to a screeching halt on December 7, 1941 with the attack on Pearl Harbor and Oahu. What followed was broad and deep consensus that the U.S. action  met the criteria of jus ad belllum.  But could there have been military action before a direct attack on the United States occurred?

That comparison raises a profound Thomistic question that has never been fully settled: How should Aquinas’ requirement of “just cause” be applied when a grave threat is developing but has not yet become an immediate military attack? Can a preventative war be a just war?

Preventive War Theory?

If that was a valid line of inquiry 80+ years ago, what should the questions be in the face of the strategic and tactical realities of nuclear weapons, ballistic missiles, terrorism, and cyberwarfare? Is classical Thomistic just war theory suited to an age when the early warning signs of war are no longer months and years in the making but operate in the realm of the current moment. It is in this milieu that some theorists are thinking of new categories of jus ad bellum. To be clear, there is no accepted “new theory of preventive war” within Catholic teaching. Rather, there are several proposals by moral theologians and philosophers that attempt to reinterpret the traditional requirement of just cause. It helps to distinguish three concepts.

Classical CategoryDescriptionTraditional Catholic View
Defensive warResponding to an actual armed attackClearly permitted if other criteria are met
Preemptive warStriking because an enemy attack is imminent and unavoidableGenerally considered permissible
Preventive warStriking because an adversary may become dangerous in the futureTraditionally viewed with great skepticism or rejected

Aquinas never discusses “preventive war” as we might understand it. His concern is the restoration of justice after an injury. The assumption is that some wrongful aggression has already occurred or is occurring. This worked reasonably well in the Middle Ages, when armies required months to mobilize. It becomes much harder once weapons can destroy entire cities within minutes.

After 1945 Catholic theologians recognized that waiting until the first missile lands may be morally absurd. Suppose an enemy has fueled nuclear missiles, launch crews are at their stations, and intelligence shows launch orders have been issued. Must one wait until the missiles are airborne? Most Catholic theologians answered no. This led to renewed attention to the older distinction between preemption and prevention.

Although not Catholic, Michael Walzer has probably had the greatest influence on modern just war discussions. In Just and Unjust Wars (1977) he argues that there exists a point at which a threat becomes so imminent that waiting would itself be immoral. He revived what he called the Caroline standard, originating from an 1837 diplomatic exchange between the United States and Britain.  There the justification must be “instant, overwhelming, leaving no choice of means, and no moment for deliberation.” Walzer argues that modern technology may require interpreting “imminence” more broadly than simply seeing enemy troops cross a border. Many Catholic scholars have found this persuasive.

John Courtney Murray, SJ died before many of these debates matured but his work anticipated them. He emphasized that governments have a positive obligation to protect the common good. This raised the question: can rulers wait until millions are dead before acting? Murray never endorsed preventive war, but he opened the discussion about prudential judgments in an age of strategic weapons and more rapid response times.

After September 11 and especially during debates over Iraq, George Weigel argued that:

  • terrorist organizations cannot be deterred in traditional ways;
  • rogue states seeking weapons of mass destruction create a qualitatively different threat;
  • therefore “imminence” cannot be defined only by troop movements.

He did not simply endorse preventive war. Instead he argued for a broader understanding of what constitutes an imminent danger. His critics reply that this effectively collapses the distinction between preemption and prevention. The critics include Germain Grisez, David Hollenbach, SJ, and Lisa Cahill.  During the run-up to the 2003 Iraq War, both Pope John Paul II and Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger repeatedly questioned whether the conditions for just cause and last resort had been met. Ratzinger remarked in 2003: “There were not sufficient reasons to unleash a war against Iraq.”  That statement is significant because it suggests the Vatican continued to interpret the traditional criteria quite strictly.

The debate in the late 20th century focused on nuclear weapons but today’s concerns are artificial intelligence, cyberwarfare, autonomous weapons, and hypersonic missiles. These technologies compress decision time from weeks to minutes or even seconds. Witness the recent AI initiated cyber attack on another AI system that was outside human control or knowledge until the need was done. The compression of decision time not only changes the debate on immanence, but has led some contemporary Thomists to ask whether Aquinas’ concept of injury should be newly understood as not requiring an actual attack, but in the view that an attack that is demonstrably inevitable, or the irreversible acquisition of the capability to inflict catastrophic harm.

Suppose a Catholic moral theologian in the 1930s had known that Germany would invade most of Europe and murder millions, or that Japan would initiate a campaign of atrocities in China and eventually attack Pearl Harbor. Would Aquinas’ criteria have permitted military intervention before those later aggressions occurred? That question sits at the heart of the modern debate. It is not fundamentally about preventive war as a new doctrine. It is about whether just cause should be understood as requiring a completed injury, an imminent injury, or an injury whose occurrence is morally certain.

From the standpoint of Catholic moral theology, what strikes me is what the USCCB did not do. The Conference did not issue a point-by-point application of Catechism §2309:

  • Was there “lasting, grave and certain damage”?
  • Had “all other means” been exhausted?
  • Was there a “serious prospect of success”?
  • Would the use of arms produce greater evils?

Instead, the bishops consistently emphasized diplomacy, de-escalation, prayer, protection of civilians, regional stability, and the moral presumption against widening the conflict. It has been their consistent approach to the 1991 Gulf War, the 2003 Iraq War, and earlier tensions with Iran, and now the 2026 conflagration. Those are good and true aims but there has to be a presumption of opponents not seeking a zero-sum solution. It seems difficult to think of those aims having the conditions of possibility in the USSR-Ukraine war.

So…what do I think about the current war in the Persian Gulf region. If the question is a “just war” question it’s complicated. The U.S. administration seems to be making a preemptive war argument which is a bit of a stretch even in a generous estimate. When asked in Congressional hearings no member of the administration would answer the question of whether there was a clear and imminent threat to the U.S. Is there a preventative war argument to be made – striking because an adversary may become dangerous in the future?

Iran is the largest supporter and financier of state terrorism as well as an advocate for the destruction of Israel and the United States. Do they have the means to match action with rhetoric? Are they an honest dialogue partner? And in an age when technology and cyber are collapsing the space and time between peace and war, is traditional Catholic just war theory suited to this era. That I will leave to better minds than mine.

What concerns me more is that the reports of the last five months from the Middle East are not good. By any measure, declared or not, we are at war with the nation of Iran. The last formal declaration of war, a power vested in the U.S. Congress, was made on December 8, 1941. In the aftermath of the attack on military installations on the island of Oahu/Pearl Harbor by the Empire of Japan, war was declared with a clear goal in mind: the military defeat and unconditional surrender of Japan. Since then our military has fought in military actions – without formal declarations of war – in Korea, Vietnam, Bosnia/Serbia Kuwait, Gulf War (Desert Shield/Storm), the Balkans, Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria/ISIS, and a range of actions under the umbrella of the global war on terrorism. And now, Iran.

Underneath all of this is the 1973 War Powers Resolution, commonly called the War Powers Act. The Resolution was enacted in 1973 over President Nixon’s veto in response to Vietnam and concerns that presidents had committed U.S. forces to prolonged conflicts without congressional approval. Congress sought to ensure that the President could respond immediately to emergencies, but Congress retained ultimate authority over sustained military operations. The Resolution does not grant the President new authority to wage war. Rather, it attempts to limit and regulate the President’s existing constitutional authority as Commander in Chief while preserving Congress’s constitutional power to declare war. The President may introduce U.S. forces into hostilities only in three circumstances: a declaration of war by Congress; specific statutory authorization by Congress; or a national emergency created by an attack upon the United States, its territories or possessions, or its armed forces. The 9-11 attacks met that political criteria. Does the current conflict?

Ironically, one of the principal criticisms of the Resolution is that, although intended to restrain presidential power, many presidents have interpreted it as implicitly recognizing that they may initiate military operations for up to 60 days without congressional authorization and then having another 30 days to report to Congress. The intent of this additional 30 days was for orderly withdrawal of forces from combat. The current Secretary of Defense reported to Congress as required and asserted that the report “reset the clock” for an additional 60 days of conflict. We are now approaching 6 months of armed conflict with Iran. There seem to be no guardrails.

The War Powers Resolution states that Congress could require the President to withdraw troops by passing a concurrent resolution. A concurrent resolution passes both houses, does not go to the President, and therefore cannot be vetoed. However, after the Supreme Court’s decision in INS v. Chadha invalidated single-chamber legislative vetoes, and the broader joint-resolution mechanism became constitutionally doubtful. If Congress wishes today to compel troop withdrawal, it generally must pass a bill through both houses; present it to the President; and likely overcome a veto with a two-thirds majority if necessary. Ironically, this makes it harder for Congress to force withdrawal than Congress envisioned in 1973.

Justice Byron White dissented vigorously to INS v. Chadha, arguing that legislative vetoes were a practical necessity. White warned that eliminating them would shift enormous power to the Executive Branch. Time has proven his prediction largely proven correct.

Aquinas insists that legitimate authority is one of the three essential conditions for a just war. But Aquinas does not specify how a constitutional system should allocate that authority. The American Constitution divides authority between Congress (declaring war, funding armies) and the President (Commander in Chief). The War Powers Resolution was Congress’s attempt to maintain that constitutional balance. 

Recent Supreme Court decisions seem to give increasing leeway to Executive Power and, for me, the question of constitutional balance is at the heart of the moral question. Regarding military action, we as a nation, seem to have reached a point where we are now reliant on the moral compass of a single person, the President of the United States, upon whom there are virtually no constraints. 

So…what do I think about the current war in the Persian Gulf region? We have no reliable moral compass that can operate effectively in this constitutional arrangement.  As a Church we have a moral voice and a duty to raise it, but I wonder if we have a Just War theory that is suited to the age.

And now what…

This coming Sunday is the 18th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Lectionary Cycle A. 

Many times I have heard (or read) a reflection, sermon, or commentary that dismisses miracles and then turns to other explanations. Most often heard is that Jesus got the people present to share what they already had – “that is the real miracle” – or so goes the commentary. Recently while reading a site I routinely peruse, I was surprised to see, “I wonder if the “miracle” of the feeding is not so much what Jesus does as what happens among the crowds in the presence of Jesus.”  My thoughts were instantly, “Seriously…..are we gonna’ do the ‘sharing is the real miracle’ thing?” The author continued:

“Maybe the crowds experienced the transformative power of Christ’s presence when he ordered them to make themselves comfortable on the grass, as if they were honored guests at a meal. And when he blessed the loaves, the crowd sensed this meal was special. Perhaps as the disciples moved through the crowds distributing the food, no one feared there wouldn’t be enough, and so they didn’t think of themselves and their own needs. The men shared with their wives and sisters and mothers, and the children were fed first. Maybe Jesus’ compassion was contagious in the way they cared for each other. And Jesus’ healing touch inspired them to be grateful for a simple meal abundant by wilderness standards.”

While in no way dismissing the miracle, there are some important questions raised along the lines, “and now what….” In the Christian endeavor the answer is inevitably “on-going conversion” or “transformation” or some expression that says the special wilderness meal is not the end-point, but only the beginning. So too with the Eucharist, the encounter with Christ in the breaking of the bread, is only the beginning.

The beginning of what?  Compassion for others because of the compassion Christ has for us? Taking on the seemingly non-sensible, wilderness-impossible project because we are told “give them some food yourselves?” Becoming active in the distribution of God’s graces and gifts?

It is one of the questions we all face: “… and now what?”


Image credit: James J. Tissot, ‘Miracle of the Loaves and Fishes’ (1886-94), Brooklyn Museum, NYC | PD-US

Miracle – fish and loaves

This coming Sunday is the 18th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Lectionary Cycle A. 

Taking the five loaves and the two fish, and looking up to heaven, he said the blessing, broke the loaves, and gave them to the disciples. But there is more to this meal than physical sustenance; eating together is a symbol of unity. Instead of being dismissed and dispersed (v. 15), the crowds are welcomed into a new community. Once gathered Jesus takes on the role of the head of the family evident in the actions of blessing and giving. Blessed is the normal giving of thanks before a meal, the responsibility of the head of the Jewish family. The actions and words are the same as those in the meal at Emmaus (Luke 24:30), and no doubt in other meals where Jesus presided over the disciple ‘family’. It is striking that the four verbs ‘take’, ‘bless’, ‘break’ and ‘give’ occur with minor variations not only in all six accounts of the two miraculous feedings and in that of the Emmaus meal, but also in all four accounts of the Last Supper (including 1 Cor. 11:23–24). It was a daily Jewish ritual, but in Christian memory it became filled with fuller meaning, as both these experiences in the ‘lonely place’ and the last meal in the upper room pointed forward to that great feast at which Jesus would be host to all his people of every race.

Bread and fish were basic Galilean rations; it was a very ordinary meal. But the command to sit down (anaklinomai, literally ‘recline’), while it may only reflect the effect of being on the ground rather than at table, may also be a hint of the more formal banquet at which guests reclined on couches. This is not a casual snack, but a formal occasion. While a meal of bread and fish with no wine is hardly a ‘banquet’, it symbolizes the gathering of the people of God which will be consummated then. John clearly saw in this event a eucharistic element, and while this specific connotation belongs to the period after the Last Supper, it is not surprising that the incident came to be seen in the light of the Last Supper, itself a symbol of communion, and a foretaste of the Messianic banquet (26:29).


Image credit: James J. Tissot, ‘Miracle of the Loaves and Fishes’ (1886-94), Brooklyn Museum, NYC | PD-US

Compassion

This coming Sunday is the 18th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Lectionary Cycle A. 

When Jesus heard of it he withdrew (v.13). News of John’s imprisonment by Antipas and now the report of John’s death has the same effect. As in 12:15 and 15:21 the withdrawal takes him away from a place of danger or confrontation. A direct confrontation with Antipas would not advance Jesus’ mission and, in the light of what had happened to John, was a risk to be avoided, especially in view of Antipas’ view of Jesus as a new John.

Matthew makes it clear that Jesus is seeking not just safety but also solitude for himself and his disciples. The disciples are not mentioned at this point, but their presence is always assumed when Matthew speaks of Jesus traveling (not least by boat, which needed a crew), and they will be present in v.15 (“When the disciples approached”). In the meantime the “neighborhood wire” is active, passing along the news that Jesus of Nazareth is in the area – and the crowds gather. Despite Jesus’ desire for solitude, he is now too popular to escape notice.

his heart was moved with pity for them (v.14). Given the sense in which “pity” is used in American English, many translations are opting for the appropriate “compassion.” Remember that Jesus’ short term objective was solitude and prayer. Yet his response is compassion for the people who have come to see him (whatever their motives) and are without food. It is the response of God to his people, and perhaps as importantly, it is the response of the Good Samaritan, the one who discerns God’s call to carry out God’s will. It is the response to the very human situation.

“This is a deserted place and it is already late; dismiss the crowds so that they can go to the villages and buy food for themselves.” The disciples are right to be concerned. Few towns were nearby, and towns were generally small, at most accommodating only a few visitors in towns of a few hundred people. Further, most of the day’s bread would be consumed by evening (Mt 14:15). It would have been nearly impossible for roughly ten thousand people (five thousand men plus women and children-v. 21) to fend for themselves in the countryside.

Given the numbers involved, Jesus’ response, “You give them something to eat,” must have seemed like a hollow joke; cf. Elisha’s similar command to his servant, 2 Kgs 4:42–43. Even their own provisions of five loaves and two fish are not enough for a group of thirteen. So had they been expecting to find hospitality (as in 10:9–13) somewhere nearby, despite the isolation of the area? If so, the arrival of the large crowd had upset their calculations. To surrender even this meager provision to Jesus was either an act of reckless obedience or evidence of a more confident faith in Jesus than we have seen the disciples displaying elsewhere. 


Image credit: James J. Tissot, ‘Miracle of the Loaves and Fishes’ (1886-94), Brooklyn Museum, NYC | PD-US

Waiting with Quiet Conviction

There are seasons in life when faith feels less like certainty and more like waiting. We pray for healing, but the illness remains. We pray for reconciliation, but the relationship is still broken. We pray for guidance, but the way forward remains unclear. We pray for a child or grandchild who has wandered from the faith, but nothing seems to change. In those moments, we may know what God has promised. We may believe that he is faithful. But we have not yet seen the fulfillment. That is where both Jeremiah and Martha stand in today’s readings.

Jeremiah is exhausted by his vocation. He has spoken God’s word faithfully, but instead of success he has experienced conflict, isolation, and rejection. He cries out: “Woe to me, mother, that you gave me birth!” This is not the voice of someone who has lost all faith. It is the voice of someone who has tried to remain faithful and is tired of the cost. Yet in the middle of his lament, Jeremiah says:  “When I found your words, I devoured them;  your words were my joy and the happiness of my heart.

Jeremiah still remembers what first sustained him. God’s word had become part of him. He had not merely heard it. He had consumed it. It had nourished his heart and given meaning to his life. But now he is struggling because the word he embraced has not yet produced the outcome he hoped for. He has God’s promise, but he is still waiting for deliverance.

Martha is in a similar place. Her brother Lazarus has died. Jesus is late on the scene. She says to him: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” There is both faith and pain in that sentence. Martha believes Jesus could have helped. She trusts his power. But she is also grieving what did not happen. Her prayer was not answered in the way she expected. And yet she does not walk away. She remains in conversation with Jesus. “But even now I know that whatever you ask of God, God will give you.” Martha does not understand what Jesus is about to do. She has no clear picture of how this story will end. She is still standing in grief. But she holds on.

Then Jesus says: “I am the resurrection and the life.” He does not explain what He is about to do, rather the first action is the gift of Himself to Martha.  That may be the deepest lesson in these readings.

While we are waiting for God’s promise to be fulfilled, God often gives us his presence before he gives us an answer. We want to know when things will change. God says, “I am with you.” We want to know how the story will end. God says, “Trust me.” We want a solution. God gives us his Word.

This does not mean that our questions are wrong or that faithful people never become discouraged. Jeremiah complains openly. Martha tells Jesus exactly how she feels. Faith is not pretending that everything is fine. Faith is bringing our disappointment to God and refusing to stop speaking with him. It is possible to grieve and still believe. It is possible to be confused and still trust. It is possible to feel tired and still hold on to God’s word.

God responds to Jeremiah with a promise: “They will fight against you, but not prevail over you, for I am with you, to deliver and rescue you.” God does not promise that Jeremiah’s struggle will disappear immediately.He promises that the struggle will not have the final word.

Jesus makes the same promise to Martha, only in an even greater way: “Whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live.” Death itself will not have the final word.  This is the faith Christians are called to live.

We hold on to God’s word while waiting for God’s promise. We do not always know when healing will come. We do not always know how reconciliation will happen. We do not know when grief will become lighter or when a prayer will be answered. But we know the One who has spoken.

And in the end, Christian hope rests not in our ability to predict what God will do, but in the character of the God who has promised to remain with us. Most of the Christian life is lived somewhere between Jeremiah’s words: “Your words were my joy” and Martha’s confession: I have come to believe.

We remember what God has said. We continue to believe.  And we wait with the quiet conviction that the Lord who has begun the story has not abandoned it.


Image credit: The Raising of Lazarus, Duccio di Buoninsegna (c.1310), Kimberly Museum of Art, Public Domain

More than inspirational

This coming Sunday is the 18th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Lectionary Cycle A. The miraculous feeding of a very large number of people in the wilderness is one miracle that is told in each of the four canonical gospels. Despite the consistency of the narrative there are, in every age, those who reject the miraculous offering that Jesus only inspired the people to share. Or they dismiss the narrative as apocryphal – or at best an altered memory of a large feast that imagined the coming banquet of the Kingdom. Keener (403) points out that nothing would be more memorable than a feeding miracle, especially in the context of the culture of their day. Keener offers four points:

  1. First, the disciples were right to be concerned about the people’s hunger but intended to solve the problem in a purely natural way (e.g. 1 Kings 17:16 and 2 Kings 4:43). Our expectations of what God can do often are too small; providing food in the wilderness was technically impossible, but God had used Moses, Elijah and Elisha for feeding miracles.
  2. Second, like God of the Hebrew scriptures, Jesus takes what his servants bring to him and multiplies it. (Ex 4:1-3; 2 Kings 4:1-7)
  3. Third, God does miracles only when his people need them – and the need is very evident in this wilderness area.
  4. Fourth, sharing is not the narrative thrust of Matthew’s writing. The ending points to thing outside and beyond the people present: (a) we are not to be intimidated by the magnitude of the problem because God is with us, and (b) the surprising leftovers point to the continuation of this miracle (greater than manna which had no leftovers) into the Apostolic Age.

Adding to Keener’s insight, there is also the clear Eucharistic intention in the use of four verbs ‘take’, ‘bless’, ‘break’ and ‘give’ which occur with minor variations not only in all six accounts of the two miraculous feedings and in that of the Emmaus meal, but also in all four accounts of the Last Supper. 

That being said, at the event itself, the Eucharistic foretaste would be unknown and so Keener’s understanding of the event in Old Testament terms is appropriate.


Image credit: James J. Tissot, ‘Miracle of the Loaves and Fishes’ (1886-94), Brooklyn Museum, NYC | PD-US

Imagery

This coming Sunday is the 18th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Lectionary Cycle A. Eugene Boring (323-4) notes that this miracles account appears six times in the NT gospels and incorporates a wide variety of imagery from Scripture, as well as the Jewish and Christian traditions. Looking to all the various accounts, Boring lists the prominent imagery:

  • the wilderness setting for the people of God en route from captivity to the promised land
  • recalcitrant Israelites / disciples, who doubt that food can be provided in the wilderness (Ex. 16:2-3);
  • God leads the people who are like sheep without a shepherd as the narrative calls to mind Ps 23 and its green grass;
  • the giving of manna (Ex 16, Nb 11);
  • Elisha’s miraculous provision of food (2 Kings 4:42-44) in which there are provisions left over;
  • Jesus, accused of being a glutton (Mt 11:19) provided table fellowship for all;
  • Jesus’ Eucharistic last meal with his disciples in which he takes on the role of the head of the new family, providing food and pronouncing the blessing; and
  • the messianic banquet as part of the gathering of all creation seen in the bread and sea creatures.

The imagery points across the full breadth of salvation history, pointing to Jesus’ fulfillment as the “great prophet like Moses” and the Exodus experience, keying upon the miraculous feeding by Elisha in 2 Kings, pointing forward to the Last Supper and institution of the Eucharist, as well as indicating the breaking in of the Kingdom of Heaven in the typology of the great banquet with so much food that everyone had their fill and there are still foods leftover.

On this mountain the LORD of hosts will provide for all peoples a feast of rich food and choice wines, juicy, rich food and pure, choice wines. (Isaiah 25:6)


Image credit: James J. Tissot, ‘Miracle of the Loaves and Fishes’ (1886-94), Brooklyn Museum, NYC | PD-US

Divine and Human Mercy

From a Sermon by Saint Caesarius of Arles, bishop

Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy. My brothers and sisters, sweet is the thought of mercy, but even more so is mercy itself. It is what all men hope for, but unfortunately, not what all men deserve. For while all men wish to receive it, only a few are willing to give it.

How can a man ask for himself what he refuses to give to another? If he expects to receive any mercy in heaven, he should give mercy on earth. Do we all desire to receive mercy? Let us make mercy our patroness now, and she will free us in the world to come. Yes, there is mercy in heaven, but the road to it is paved by our merciful acts on earth. As Scripture says: Lord, your mercy is in heaven.

There is, therefore, an earthly as well as heavenly mercy, that is to say, a human and a divine mercy. Human mercy has compassion on the miseries of the poor. Divine mercy grants forgiveness of sins. Whatever human mercy bestows here on earth, divine mercy will return to us in our homeland. In this life God feels cold and hunger in all who are stricken with poverty; for, remember, he once said: What you have done to the least of my brothers you have done to me. Yes, God who sees fit to give his mercy in heaven wishes it to be a reality here on earth.

What kind of people are we? When God gives, we wish to receive, but when he begs, we refuse to give. Remember, it was Christ who said: I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat. When the poor are starving, Christ too hungers. Do not neglect to improve the unhappy conditions of the poor, if you wish to ensure that your own sins be forgiven you. Christ hungers now, my brethren; it is he who deigns to hunger and thirst in the persons of the poor. And what he will return in heaven tomorrow is what he receives here on earth today.

What do you wish for, what do you pray for, my dear brothers and sisters, when you come to church? Is it mercy? How can it be anything else? Show mercy, then, while you are on earth, and mercy will be shown to you in heaven. A poor person asks you for something; you ask God for something. He begs for a morsel of food; you beg for eternal life. Give to the beggar so that you may merit to receive from Christ. For he it is who says: Give and it will be given to you. It baffles me that you have the impudence to ask for what you do not want to give. Give when you come to church. Give to the poor. Give them whatever your resources will allow.


Sermon 25,1: CCL 103, 111-112

From parables to miracles

This coming Sunday is the 18th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Lectionary Cycle A. From the several weeks of parables we have heard over the previous several Sundays, the Gospel of Matthew returns to the narrative in which Jesus’ miracles increasingly become the source of controversies. R.T. France outlines this section as follows noting the varying response to Jesus’ teaching and miracles (13:54–16:20)

  • Nazareth rejects Jesus (13:54–58) – questioning the source of his wisdom and deeds of power – and taking offense at him. “A prophet is not without honor except in his native place and in his own house.”
  • Herod Antipas thinks Jesus is John the Baptist revived (14:1–12)
  • Jesus feeds a large crowd (14:13–21) – our gospel reading this Sunday
  • Jesus walks on the water (14:22–33)
  • The popularity of Jesus as a healer (14:34–36)
  • Dispute with Pharisees and scribes over defilement (15:1–20)
  • A Gentile woman’s faith (15:21–28)
  • Healing ministry among the Gentiles (15:29–31)
  • Second feeding of a crowd (15:32–39)
  • Jesus’ repudiation of Pharisees and Sadducees (16:1–12)
  • Jesus is the Messiah (16:13–20)

Stories of the rejection of Jesus will be interrupted by three miracle stories, the first of which is the miraculous feeding of the 5,000. The narrative is introduced by Jesus’ suspicion concerning Herod’s interest in him causing him to depart to a deserted place, but the crowds follow. After curing some of the sick, Jesus provides enough food for five thousand men, plus women and children (vv. 15–21). There is a pattern to Matthew’s narrative in which miracle and confrontation ebb and flow – and in the midst are accounts of faith and disbelief. The narrative plays out the parables that preceded it: the net is indeed cast wide and all kinds of fish, wheat, weeds, and more are caught in the net of the Kingdom.

The parables that are especially notable in Matthew 13 (a day of parables) are focused and revolve around the phrase, “the kingdom of heaven is like…”, making clear it is in contrast to the kingdom of this world. That contrast between the two kingdoms continues and this time using the setting of the banquet. In the passage immediately preceding our gospel, King Herod presides over a banquet whose excess results in the death of John the Baptist. Herein Jesus presides over a banquet, not in a palace but in the wilderness, not among the powerful but rather the weak and poor, and results in life.


Image credit: James J. Tissot, ‘Miracle of the Loaves and Fishes’ (1886-94), Brooklyn Museum, NYC | PD-US