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What God Sees
Today’s readings for Mass again pair Hosea and Matthew. Both are rich with themes and topics, but one that came to mind was the way in which God views the world. When we view the world and all it contains we easily see what is on the surface and perhaps, from time to time, look more deeply into what we see. God sees all the way to the heart of it.
The prophet Hosea is speaking to the northern kingdom of Israel during a time when, outwardly, things looked quite successful. The nation enjoyed prosperity. It had kings, armies, places of worship, and a thriving economy. If you judged only by appearances, you might conclude that everything was going well. But God saw something very different.
The people saw prosperity; God saw spiritual poverty. The people saw impressive altars; God saw hearts that had wandered from him. The people thought they were secure; God saw a nation drifting farther and farther from the covenant. The people were sowing the seeds of their own destruction.
A farmer who scatters seed into a field may not notice anything happening for a while. The field looks the same the next day and even the next week. But eventually the harvest comes. God sees that Israel has been planting seeds of idolatry, injustice, self-reliance, and empty religion. Through Hosea, the Lord says: “They sow the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind.” (Hos 8:7) The harvest they have sown has not yet arrived, but it surely will. God sees what we cannot.
In the Gospel, Matthew tells us that Jesus healed a man who had been unable to speak because he was possessed by a demon. The crowds are amazed even as the Pharisees dismiss the miracle. But Matthew invites us to notice something even more important than the miracle itself. “At the sight of the crowds, his heart was moved with pity for them because they were troubled and abandoned, like sheep without a shepherd.” (Mt 9:36) Again, Jesus sees what others do not.
The crowds simply see people. Jesus sees hearts. He sees burdens that no one else notices. He sees grief hidden behind smiles. He sees fears that are never spoken aloud. He sees loneliness. He sees confusion. He sees people searching for meaning. And what is remarkable is not only what he sees, but how he responds: his heart is moved with compassion. Not irritation. Not condemnation. Compassion.
We spend much of our lives making judgments and assessments based on appearances. We don’t mean to but we do. We assume someone is happy because they are successful. We assume someone is at peace because they smile. We assume someone has no struggles because they appear confident. But we rarely know the whole story.
Only God sees the heart. That realization should make us both humble and compassionate. Humble, because we recognize how limited our own vision is. Compassionate, because we begin to treat people with the same patience that Christ shows us.
There is another comforting truth hidden in these readings. Sometimes we ourselves cannot even see our own hearts clearly. We may not recognize the habits that are slowly pulling us away from God. Or we may fail to see the quiet growth of grace within us. We may think our prayers accomplish nothing. Our small acts of kindness make no difference. Our daily faithfulness goes unnoticed. But God sees all of it.
He sees the seed before it becomes the harvest. He sees the struggle before it becomes holiness. He sees the quiet fidelity that no one else notices. That is why Jesus can say that the harvest is abundant. He already sees what is growing.
In today’s intercessions perhaps we should each ask for one simple grace: “Lord, help me to see as you see.” Help me to look beyond appearances. Help me to recognize the burdens others carry. Help me to notice the quiet work of your grace. And when I cannot clearly see my own path, help me to trust that you do.
In today’s gospel, the people saw a mute man. The Pharisees saw another reason to criticize Jesus. But Jesus saw a human being who was suffering. That is still how Christ looks upon us. He sees beyond our failures, our fears, our confusion, and even our sins. He sees hearts that need a shepherd. And because he sees so deeply, he also loves so completely.
Image credit: Jesus Heals a Mute Possessed Man | James Tissot, c. 1890 | Brooklyn Museum | PD-US
Before the sower goes out
This coming Sunday is the 15th Sunday in Ordinary Time. In the previous post we considered the definition of a parable. In this post we’ll consider the context leading up to this gospel. Last Sunday’s gospel was composed on the final pericope in Matthew 11; today our gospel begins with Mt 13:1. One can rightly ask, “What happened to chapter 12?” As it happens, Matthew 12 is not used on any Sunday or Solemnity in the church’s celebrations – and with respect to bible study, that is a critical omission because Mt 13:1-23, the Parable of the Sower along with its explanation, is Jesus’ response to the events of chapter 12.
In the New American Bible (NAB) translation used by the Church for its proclamation of the gospel, Mt 12 “headers” include the following:
- Picking Grain on the Sabbath – Jesus’ status as the authoritative interpreter of the law is exemplified in the incident of the disciples’ plucking and eating grain on the sabbath. The account ends with the clear message: “… the Son of Man is Lord of the sabbath.” (v.8)
- The Man with a Withered Hand – The question of sabbath observance continues as Jesus initiated a challenge to the Pharisees rooted in his earlier question to them: “If you knew what this meant, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice” (v.7). This account ends with the Pharisee plotting to put Jesus to death.
- The Chosen Servant – In the midst of the rising opposition to Jesus from the Pharisees, Matthew pauses and places Jesus’ response in the context of the OT Servant of the Lord. Jesus was fully aware of the rising opposition (v. 15) but continued his healing activity (vv. 15–16). His modesty and gentleness in the face of hostility are viewed as the fulfillment of Isa 42:1–4.
- Jesus and Beelezebul – The healing of a possessed man who was blind and mute provides the occasion for exploring the source of Jesus’ power. The healing (v. 22) produces two reactions: wonder on the part of the crowds whether Jesus is the Son of David or Messiah (v. 23), and hostility from the Pharisees, who are convinced that he is the instrument of Satan (v. 24).
- A Tree and its Fruits – Jesus takes the offensive with three warnings: (1) Closeness to Jesus is absolutely essential, and the Pharisees must recognize it or run the risk of being on the wrong side when God’s kingdom comes (v. 30). (2) The only unforgivable sin is attributing the work of the Holy Spirit to an evil spirit, as the Pharisees were doing in the case of Jesus. Failure to recognize the Son of Man for what he is may be understandable and even pardonable, but failure to recognize the source of his power is inexcusable (vv. 31–32). (3) The Pharisees’ opposition to Jesus stems from their wickedness, and in the final judgment they will be judged with regard to their willingness or unwillingness to confess that Jesus is empowered by the Holy Spirit (vv. 33–37).
- The Demand for a Sign – Despite all the miracles that Jesus had already worked, the scribes and Pharisees ask for more signs. The basic meaning of the sign of Jonah seems to involve the preaching of repentance to non-Jews and its acceptance by them. In verse 40, Matthew has given a second interpretation of the sign of Jonah: the three days spent by the prophet inside the fish (see Jonah 2) were a type or a foreshadowing of the three days between Jesus’ death and his resurrection.
- The Return of the Unclean Spirit – The passage about the evil spirit’s return is joined to the sign of Jonah by its reference to “this evil generation” (vv. 39, 45), and to the entire section beginning at 12:22 by its concern with evil spirits.
- The True Family of Jesus – The long treatment of unbelief and rejection that began in the missionary discourse of chapter 10 and continued in the incidents of chapters 11–12 concludes with the definition of the true family of Jesus as those who do God’s will.
Chapter 12 tells how widespread is the opposition (or resistance) to Jesus’ saving message: Pharisees, the people, and perhaps even those closest to Jesus – his disciples and family. Signs of power and healing only lead to requests for more signs. Why do people not believe? Is there any explanation for the condition of things we have arrived at by the end of Matthew 12? Indeed there is; the explanation begins with simple words: “A sower went out to sow” (13:3)
Image credit: “The Sower” Vincent van Gogh (June 1888), Van Gogh Museum, Public Domain
Speaking to the Heart
Today’s readings for Mass pair Hosea and Matthew. At first glance, they seem unrelated. The Book of Hosea speaks of God courting Israel like a faithful bridegroom. The Gospel of Matthew recounts two healing miracles: the raising of a synagogue official’s daughter and the healing of the woman with the hemorrhage. But when read together they reveal something wonderful about God – He never stops pursuing the human heart.
The prophet Hosea lived during one of the darkest periods in Israel’s history. The people had turned away from God. They had become unfaithful to the covenant. If anyone had reason to give up on a relationship, it was God. Yet listen to what he says: “I will allure her; I will lead her into the desert and speak to her heart.” (Hos 2:16) God does not say, “I’ll wait until she deserves my love.” Or, “When she finally gets her life together, I’ll take her back.”
Instead, God takes the initiative. He pursues. He invites. He speaks to the heart. God makes one of the most beautiful promises in all of Scripture: “I will espouse you to me forever: I will espouse you in right and in justice, in love and in mercy.” (v.21)
That same divine love appears in the Gospel; not in words this time, but in the actions of Jesus.A synagogue official comes to Jesus carrying every parent’s worst nightmare. His daughter has died. At the same time, a woman who has suffered for twelve years quietly reaches out to touch Jesus’ cloak. According to the Law, her condition made her ritually unclean. For years she had likely lived not only with physical suffering but also with isolation.
Two very different people. One is respected. The other lives on the margins. One approaches Jesus openly. The other comes quietly from behind. Yet Jesus welcomes both. He allows the woman to touch him, and then he says: “Courage, daughter! Your faith has saved you.” (Mt 9:22) Think about the word “Daughter.”
Jesus does not define her by her illness. He does not call her “the sick woman.” He calls her by a relationship: daughter. Then Jesus goes to the house of the official, takes the little girl by the hand, and gives her back to life. What do these two miracles have in common? They reveal the heart of God.
Jesus is always moving toward those who are suffering, those who are grieving, those who feel forgotten, those who have reached the end of their own strength. That is exactly what Hosea proclaimed centuries earlier. That remains true today. God never stops pursuing the human heart; He always makes the first move.
We might think: “I’ll get back to consistent prayer when my life is less busy.” or “I’ll go to confession once I’ve worked things out.” or “I need to be a better person if I want God in my life.” Today’s readings tell a different story. God has already made the first move.
Long before we began searching for him, he was searching for us. Long before we reached out to touch his cloak, he had already stretched out his hand toward us. The spiritual life is not primarily about our search for God. It begins with God’s search for us. Every desire to pray, every stirring of conscience, every longing for peace, every moment we feel drawn back to the Lord is already evidence that he is pursuing our hearts.
Perhaps the best response we can make today is simply to stop running and allow God to speak to our hearts. To trust, like the woman in the Gospel, that even the smallest act of faith is enough for Christ to begin his healing work.
God does not keep his distance. He is the Bridegroom who comes looking for his beloved. He is the Savior who walks toward the sick and the grieving. He is the Lord who never grows tired of seeking those he loves.
So stop running and listen to the God who is already speaking to your heart.
Image credit: The Woman with an Issue of Blood | James Tissot, c.1890 | Brooklyn Museum of Art | PD-US
Parables
This coming Sunday is the 15th Sunday in Ordinary Time in Lectionary Cycle A. We read from Matthew 13, known as a “day of parables.” What is a “Parable”? Definition: “At its simplest a parable is a metaphor or simile drawn from nature or common life, arresting the hearer by its vividness or strangeness, and leaving the mind in sufficient doubt about its precise application to tease it into active thought.” (C. H. Dodd, The Parables of the Kingdom, New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1961, p. 5) Less accurate, but perhaps more to the point – when heard, a parable should give you pause and turn your world upside down.
As captivating as Jesus’ parables are, we do not always have the full cultural context for grasping the nuance. Consider the parable of the “Prodigal Son.” Unless one understands the honor-and-shame culture of 1st century Palestine, some of the impact will be lost. The parable of the “Talents” loses some of its edge when one does not understand the significance of the amount in play and why in the world someone would in fact bury the funds. The parable of the “Good Samaritan” is reduced to the parable of a “good guy willing to help” unless one knows who the Samaritans are and what the Jews hearing the story would have thought of a Samaritan being the “hero” of the parable. But then again, that is why we study the Bible in every generation.
Given Dodd’s definition of a parable, what are the implications of this definition? Felix Just, SJ offers that:
- The meaning of most parables is not so obvious, or at least it shouldn’t be. If we assume we know what Jesus is talking about, we are probably missing the main point; if we are too familiar with the story (having heard it so often before), we might not think carefully enough about its real meaning.
- Most parables contain some element that is strange or unusual. They should cause you to say, “Wait a minute! That’s not how farmers do their work! That’s not what kings usually do! That’s not what normally happens in nature!” And this strange element should cause you to think!
- Parables do not define things precisely, but rather use comparisons to describe some aspect of how God acts or interacts with human beings. Yet to say “A is like B” does not mean that “A is identical to B in all respects”; so one should be careful not to misinterpret or misapply the parables.
Pope Benedict XVI, in his Angelus message (July 10, 2011), commented on why Jesus used parable. He said that for Jesus the parable was “autobiographical” because “it reflects the experience of Jesus himself and of his preaching” as “different effects are achieved depending on the kind of reception given to the proclamation.” Pope Benedict said that Jesus makes a distinction between the general crowd and the apostles. “To those who have already decided for him, he can speak openly of the Kingdom of God” while to others he must speak in metaphor “to stimulate precisely the decision, the conversion of heart” needed. Jesus’ parables “require effort to interpret, challenging one’s intelligence but also one’s freedom.” In grace, one has to decide to engage the parable. “God does not force us to believe in Him, but draws us to Himself through the truth and goodness of his incarnate Son. Love, in fact, always respects freedom…After all the real ‘Parable’ of God is Jesus himself, his person, under the form of his humanity, hiding and yet revealing the same deity.” In this way “God does not force us to believe in Him, but draws us to himself through the truth and goodness of his incarnate Son.”
Image credit: “The Sower” Vincent van Gogh (June 1888), Van Gogh Museum, Public Domain
Tired but not burdened
Back in the day, I camped and backpacked in the wilds of Virginia and West Virginia. Generally, it was just for a weekend – maybe two or three days – along with a group of friends. We would carry everything in/out. I remember having fun, enjoying it all, but I always felt like I needed a day to recover. Perhaps it was the infrequency of carrying a load, the hiking, and all that goes with the adventure, but come Monday, there was always a stiffness about my neck, arms, shoulders, upper back and all the rest that is connected to those parts. I could still feel the aftereffects of the pack’s burden. “Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest.” It sounded like the perfect scripture for the post-camping Monday mornings.
Continue readingRestore or Create Something New?
Today is an ordinary Saturday in the liturgical cycle, but here in the United States it is also the 4th of July more properly known as Independence Day – a remembrance of the point in time when the colonies declared their independence from England. All this led to what is known in the U.S. as the Revolutionary War – or at the time in England as “the rebellion.”
We’ll eventually get to the readings, but this was an interesting week for the Church. Depending on one’s perspective, this week marked a war of independence or rebellion within the Catholic Church. On Wednesday July 1 the leadership and adherents of the Pius X Society (SPXX) were declared as excommunicated and formally in schism. Technically their actions were latae sententiae. That means an automatic excommunication occurred the very moment a person commits a specific, grave offense against canon law, without the need for a church court or bishop to issue a formal judgment. Some would argue that has been true since 1988 when SPXX consecrated bishops without the required papal mandate as did again on July 1st. Pope Leo simply and formally declared that they were schismatic and had separated themselves from the Catholic Church.
A summary of the underlying reasons might be simplified as falling into three areas all stemming from the Second Vatican Council. One might read in other places that the SPXX does not hold that council to be ecumenical or validly called, but such is not the case. During the council, there were approximately 250 bishops who shared Archbishop Marcel Lefebvre’s concerns and voted together as a block. This is as opposed to the approximately 2,200 voting bishops who did not share his concerns. For example, on the topic of Religious Liberty 97% of the bishops voted in favor. In the end, almost all of the “traditionalist” block ultimately chose canonical obedience once the council ended. Because Pope Paul VI promulgated the Council approved documents, the vast majority of the traditionalist block accepted the results under papal authority. After the Council only Bishop Antônio de Castro Mayer, of the Diocese of Campos, Brazil, publicly stood with Lefebvre and was later served as the co-consecrator alongside Lefebvre during the unauthorized ordination of the four SSPX bishops in 1988.
Today and back then, the SPXX agree that the Council was validally called, but they hold that certain documents of the Council contain doctrinal errors and object to specific teaching:
- Religious Liberty: Vatican II teaching that individuals possess a right to religious freedom. SPXX argues that contradicts historical church doctrine that “error has no rights” and that states should recognize the Catholic Church as the only true religion.
- Ecumenism and Interreligious Dialogue: Church’s efforts to build bridges with other Christian denominations and non-Christian religions (such as Judaism). SPXX holds that this implies all religions are equally valid paths to salvation, which dilutes Catholic identity.
- Collegiality: SPXX critiques the shift toward shared governance between the Pope and the bishops’ conferences, which they argue weakens the traditional, centralized authority of the papacy.
The SSPX only celebrates the pre-Vatican II Tridentine Latin Mass – but that is not a point of contention. They do not celebrate in local languages because they consider the Novo Ordo mass as flawed and weakened.
The readings are taken from the Prophet Amos and the Gospel of Matthew and they seem particularly appropriate for today. When Amos says, “On that day I will raise up the fallen hut of David…” (Am 9:11) he is not promising a return to the golden days of David and Solomon. History cannot simply be rewound. Instead, God promises to fulfill his covenant in a way Israel could never have imagined. Likewise, Jesus says: “New wine is poured into fresh wineskins.” (Mt 9:17) Jesus does not reject Israel. Nor does Amos promise to restore the past. Both point toward renewal, not nostalgia.
As people we often long for “the way things used to be.” Older folks might long for the days they lived and remembered. Younger folks might long for the days about which they have only heard stories. Either way, God’s promise is rarely: “I’ll take you backward.” His promise is: “I’ll take you forward.”
The temptation for Israel was to dream of another David. The temptation for us is to dream of another “good old days.” But God consistently surprises his people. The Exodus was greater than anyone expected. The return from the Babylonian exile was different than anyone imagined. The Messiah came not as a conquering king but as a suffering servant. The Kingdom arrived not through military victory but through the Cross and Resurrection. God’s future always exceeds our imagination.
Sometimes we ask God to restore what we have lost. We pray for our health to return, for relationships to be repaired, for our parish to become what it once was, for our families to recover happier days. Those are good prayers. But today’s readings gently remind us that God rarely works by simply turning back the clock. Amos speaks of rebuilding, but Jesus speaks of new wine. God is not simply interested in restoring yesterday. He is preparing tomorrow. The question is not whether God is doing something new. The question is whether we are willing to become new wineskins, ready to receive the surprising future he has prepared.
One of the admonitions of St. Francis to his followers concerned the conviction of one person. Francis taught that if one friar was convinced of the movement of the Holy Spirit within him to take action, that was not a signal or permission for him to take that action. The friar was to take the idea, plan, etc. to the fraternity of brothers through whom the Holy Spirit was also active. The friar was to submit himself to the wisdom of the fraternity which was to submit itself to the movement of the Holy Spirit.
We are called to believe that Christians of good faith and intention will be led forward by the Spirit both in our individual and communal life…and let God surprise us.
Blessed are those…
Today is the Feast of St. Thomas the Apostles. The readings include the well known account from John 20:24-29 when Thomas, in response to the testimony of the other apostles, says: “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger into the nailmarks and put my hand into his side, I will not believe.” And from that episode these days he is “Doubting Thomas.” The story of Thomas’ initial refusal to believe is, of course, as old as the Gospel of John itself from the late first century. But the nickname “Doubting Thomas” and the idiomatic expression developed much later.
The Church Fathers were much more interested in what Thomas became than in his moment of hesitation. For example, John Chrysostom emphasizes Thomas’s confession, “My Lord and my God.” Augustine says that Thomas “saw one thing and believed another” i.e, he saw Christ’s humanity but confessed his divinity. Gregory the Great wrote: “The disbelief of Thomas has done more for our faith than the faith of the believing disciples” because Thomas’s careful examination became stronger evidence for later believers. None of them reduce Thomas to a permanent label. For them, the climax of the story is not doubt. It is faith.
In the Middle Ages the episode became enormously popular in art, drama, and preaching. It was usually called “The Incredulity of Thomas” (Incredulitas Thomae). This remained the standard title for centuries. The expression “a doubting Thomas” as a common English idiom appeared in the late nineteenth century, with the earliest documented English usage around 1883.
Ironically, the nickname misses John’s point; he is not primarily interested in Thomas’s doubt. The story ends with one of the highest Christological confessions in the New Testament: “My Lord and my God!” (Jn 20:28). Thomas’s story occupies only six verses (20:24–29), while Christian tradition remembers him for a single week of unbelief rather than, according to ancient tradition, decades of faithful missionary work culminating in martyrdom in India.
So, is there a more appropriate moniker? When the apostles tell Thomas that they have seen the Lord (v.25) the Greek is: Heōrakamen ton Kyrion. The verb heōrakamen is in the perfect tense and so does not simply mean “we saw him.” The perfect tense is an ongoing, continuing experience which is best understood as “We have seen him, and that experience continues to shape us.” The apostles are giving testimony.
Thomas’ reply is equally important: “Unless I see… unless I put my finger… unless I put my hand… I will not believe.” The last phrase is literally, “I certainly will not believe.” He does not say: “Jesus cannot have risen.” Nor does he argue that resurrection is impossible. Rather, he is saying: “I will not believe your testimony unless I myself experience what you experienced.”
This becomes even more interesting in the broader context of John’s Gospel. One of John’s major themes is witness (martyria). John the Baptist bears witness. The Scriptures bear witness. The works of Jesus bear witness. The Father bears witness. The Beloved Disciple bears witness. Eventually, the apostles bear witness. Thomas represents the first Christian who is asked to believe through the testimony of others. That sounds remarkably familiar. Because that is precisely the position every Christian after the apostolic generation occupies.
Is Thomas doubting the Resurrection? In one sense, yes. He has not yet come to believe Jesus has risen. But in another sense, the immediate object of his doubt is: Can I trust the testimony of these men? Remember the circumstances. Only a few days earlier these same Apostles had all fled, they were hiding behind locked doors, they were frightened, confused, and emotionally devastated. Now they suddenly claim: “We have seen the Lord.”
Thomas has to wonder if this is wishful thinking, group delusion or something else. What Thomas essentially says is “That is an extraordinary claim. I need more than your word.”
In the gospel account from this point the structure of the story provides that Jesus appears and invites Thomas to touch his wounds, but without touching Jesus, Thomas responds: “My Lord and my God!”
Then Jesus says “Blessed are those who have touched.” … wait, no He does not say that. He says: “Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed.” Jesus is contrasting those who have seen with those who believe without seeing. That final beatitude is addressed directly to later Christians who must rely upon apostolic testimony.
I think St. John intended a gentle irony. At the beginning of the story, Thomas refuses to trust the testimony of the apostles. By the end of the Gospel, the Church will ask every generation to trust the testimony of Thomas himself. Thomas becomes the witness he initially hesitated to trust.
Doubting Thomas? He was struggling to trust the witness of the very people who claimed to have encountered the risen Lord. In that sense, Thomas is the first person asked to believe because of apostolic testimony. And that is exactly where we stand. None of us has physically seen the risen Christ. We believe because the apostles saw him, were transformed by him, and handed on their witness through the Church.
That leads naturally into the first reading from Letter to the Ephesians: “You are… built upon the foundation of the Apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the capstone.” (Eph 2:20)
The pairing of the readings is elegant. Thomas is not only the apostle who comes to faith; he is one of the apostles upon whose witness the Church is built. The Gospel traces his journey from demanding proof to becoming a trustworthy witness himself, while Ephesians reminds us that our own faith rests upon that apostolic foundation. That is a fitting message for the Feast of St. Thomas: we honor not merely a man who overcame doubt, but an apostle whose testimony continues to support the faith of the Church.
Image credit: The Incredulity of Saint Thomas by Caravaggio (Michelangelo Merisi), c. 1602 | Public Domain
Jesus’ Invitation
28 “Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. 29 Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for your selves. 30 For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.”
The last three verses of the chapter contain many echoes of the invitation of Jesus Ben Sira (Sir 51:23–27; cf. also Sir 6:24–31) for men to come and learn from him and take up wisdom’s yoke, so that they may find rest. No doubt Jesus and his hearers knew and valued this book, but Jesus’ invitation reveals a higher authority: it is his own yoke that he offers, and he himself gives the rest which Ben Sira had to win by his ‘little labors’.
The word labor (kopiao) is translated literally. But there is also a figurative sense beyond “to be engaged in hard work, implying difficulties and trouble.” The figurative sense means “to become emotionally fatigued and discouraged,” e.g., “to give up, to lose heart” [EDNT 2:307]. We hear that in other places when the same word (kopiao) is translated as “weary” – Come to me, all you who are weary. The invitation to rest is not just for the physically tired but also those whose emotional energies are spent.
In its own way the invitation to rest in these verses spell out that this is the result of the unique relationship of the Father and the Son. Just as only God knows Wisdom (Wis 8:4; 9:1-18), so only the Father knows the Son. Just as only Wisdom makes known the divine mysteries (Wis 9:1-18, 10:10), so Jesus is the revealer of God’s hidden truths. As the personified divine Wisdom calls people to take up her yoke and find rest (Sir 51:23-30; Prov 1:20-23; 8:1-36), so Jesus extends the same invitation. For Matthew, Jesus is not the messenger of Wisdom, but is identified with the heavenly Wisdom of God; he speaks not only for Wisdom, but as the divine Wisdom.
The yoke was sometimes in the Old Testament a symbol of oppression (Isa. 9:4; 58:6; Jer. 27–28), but was also used in a good sense of the service of God (Jer. 2:20; Lam. 3:27). Later it came to be used commonly in Jewish writings for obedience to the law—the ‘yoke of the law’ is one every Jew should be proud to carry. Such a yoke should not be oppressive, for after all the function of a yoke (the sort worn by humans) is to make a burden easier to carry. But through the seemingly arbitrary demands of Pharisaic legalism and the uncertainties of ever-proliferating rabbinic case law the law had itself become a burden, and a new yoke was needed to lighten the load. Jesus’ yoke is easy (chrēstos normally means ‘good’, ‘kind’ – and perhaps in a play on words chrestos is only one letter different from christos = “Christ”), not because it makes lighter demands, but because it represents entering into a disciple-relationship (learn from me) with one who is meek and humble of heart (cf. 2 Cor 10:1). The words echo the description of God’s servant in Isaiah 42:2–3; 53:1–2, and especially the words of Zechariah 9:9 which Matthew will pick up again at 21:4–5. It is also the character Jesus expects, and creates, in his disciples (5:3ff.)
You will find rest for your selves is an echo of the Hebrew text of Jeremiah 6:16 (lxx), where it is the offer of God to those who follow his way; Jesus now issues the invitation in his own name!
Image credit: Pexels via Canva, CC 0
Jesus’ Declaration
27 All things have been handed over to me by my Father. No one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son wishes to reveal him.
It is important to note that Jesus is not depicted as a religious genius who has discovered the divine mysteries. Simply put, Jesus is the beloved Son who is on intimate terms with the Father. It is the divine initiative of the Father who has given all things (v.27) to the Son. This is not a message or a relationship that Matthew suddenly thrusts upon us as an assertion on the part of Jesus. Matthew’s narrative has prepared the reader by means of preceding declarations about Jesus.
- Immanuel, the Son miraculously born to Mary, signifies the unique saving presence of God with his people (1:23).
- Matthew’s narrative of Jesus’ baptism mentions the pleasure the Father takes in the Son in words echoing Isaiah 42:1 (3:17; cf. 17:5).
- Satan was unable to shake the Son from his resolve not to test the Father (4:1–11).
- Jesus did miracles to show that the Father had given the Son of Man authority to forgive sins on the earth (9:6).
- In times of persecution, the disciples must confess the Son if they wish the Son to confess them to the Father (10:32–33, 40).
But one would be hard pressed to speak of the Son in terms more exalted than those used in 11:27, which uncompromisingly yet elegantly says that saving knowledge of God the Father comes only through the selective revelation of Jesus, the exclusive mediator of salvation.
The exclusive communion between Father and Son is of the essence of their relationship. For anyone else to share in this knowledge, however, is a matter of revelation, and as such is not a natural right, but a matter of divine choice. Thus God’s sovereign initiative in revelation, set out in vv. 25–26, is applied specifically to our knowledge of God: it does not come naturally (see 1 Cor. 2:6–16 for a spelling out of this theme). It depends on God’s choice, or, more specifically, the Son’s choice. Thus Jesus unequivocally describes himself and his will as the key to humanity’s approach to the Father; there is no other.
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Comfort, Confirm or Change
Today’s readings for Mass continue the odd pairing: Amos and Matthew. Amos the fiery prophet to the Northern Kingdom of Israel during a time of prosperity for the elite, but not so much for the poor who did not participate in the prosperity and at the same time faced corrupt courts and dishonest business practices. At same time Amos is also critical of the empty religious observance: “I hate, I spurn your feasts… Let justice surge like water, and righteousness like an unfailing stream.” Meanwhile, Matthew continues his mission account: Jesus casting demons out of two possessed men, with the demons entering a herd of swine. One is about worship and justice; the other is an exorcism. Yet both readings ask the same penetrating question: What happens when the living God actually comes among us? Not surprisingly, the answer is that God’s presence always demands a decision.
Amos is preaching to people who are quite religious. They attend festivals, offer sacrifices, sing hymns, and keep the festivals as required by the Law. The problem is not that they have abandoned worship. The problem is that worship has become disconnected from life. Through the prophet Amos God says: “I hate, I spurn your feasts… I will not accept them.” God is rejecting worship that is externally correct but internally false because the same people who praise God in the Temple exploit the poor in the marketplace. That is why Amos concludes with perhaps his most famous words: “Let justice surge like water, and righteousness like an unfailing stream.” (Am 5:24). God desires worship that transforms the worshiper.
In the Gospel, Jesus arrives in Gentile territory. Immediately, the demons recognize him. The people are not so quick on the uptake. The demons cry out: “What have you to do with us, Son of God? Have you come here to torment us before the appointed time?” (Mt 8:29) Notice the contrast. The demons cannot pretend Jesus is simply another traveling rabbi. His presence forces a confrontation. Something has to change.
After witnessing an extraordinary liberation, the restoration of two men who had been living among the tombs, the townspeople do not rejoice. As Matthew tells us: “The whole town came out to meet Jesus, and when they saw him they begged him to leave their district.” (v.34) Why? Matthew does not explicitly tell us. Perhaps they feared Jesus’ power. Perhaps they were upset over the economic loss of the swine. Perhaps they simply preferred the familiar to the disruptive presence of God. Whatever the reason, they choose comfort over conversion.
That is precisely Amos’ accusation. Israel wanted religion without transformation. The townspeople wanted life restored to normal without the unsettling presence of Jesus. In both readings, God’s presence exposes what people truly value. Amos asks: Do you love justice more than ritual? Matthew asks: Do you desire Christ more than comfort?
Both readings reject a faith that remains comfortable and unchanged: God is not satisfied with shallow religion. You cannot worship God while ignoring justice. You cannot encounter Jesus without making a choice. Neither reading presents God as simply making people feel comfortable. Instead, God disrupts, reveals, challenges and calls. This is often how grace works.
Which is more frightening? Two violent demoniacs living among the tombs or the possibility that Jesus might actually change my life? The townspeople apparently preferred the first. At least they knew how to live with it. The presence of Jesus meant everything might change.
Sometimes we are not so different.
The living God does not come merely to comfort us or to confirm us in our present way of life. He comes to reclaim us. And every encounter with him asks us to decide whether we will welcome that transformation or ask him, politely, to leave us alone.
Image credit: cropped image of Baie 102 of Église de la Madeleine (Verneuil-sur-Avre) | PD-US
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