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Receiving the Spirit
In today’s readings both St. Paul and Jesus have something to say about receiving the Holy Spirit. I wondered what the Early Church Fathers might have to say about receiving the Spirit. Some use receiving the Spirit in context of a different point they are trying to make. But others have deep insight about receiving the Spirit as a key divine event in the human person. They reflect on God entering, inhabiting, sanctifying, transforming, empowering and even beginning within us the life we will possess fully, not just now, but also in eternity.
In his Catechetical Lectures, St. Cyril of Jerusalem, is addressing adults preparing for Baptism. It is not a theological treatment on pneumatology but rather a preparation for people who expected sacramentally to receive the Holy Spirit at their initiation. Cyril strives to help the people realize that receiving the Spirit means receiving Someone. In Lectures 16 and 17, he notes that the Spirit isn’t merely an influence or divine power. Rather, the Spirit acts personally. The Spirit speaks, calls, sends, teaches and sanctifies. It is an interpersonal relation.
Cyril explicitly cites our Gospel: “How much more shall your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to them that ask him.” But what interests Cyril is what happens when this gift is received. Speaking about Christ breathing the Spirit upon the Apostles in John 20 and then Pentecost, Cyril sees degrees of capacity for receiving God’s gift: the Apostles genuinely receive the Spirit, and yet Pentecost brings a still greater outpouring. He paints a picture as the human person like a vessel being enlarged to receive more.
So often receiving the Spirit is depicted as something that happens once, but Cyril makes the point that receiving the Spirit is something we are continually becoming capable of receiving even more deeply. We received the Spirit sacramentally in Baptism and Confirmation. But that doesn’t mean God has exhausted what the Spirit can do within us. Cyril’s image allows the prayer of Luke 11:13 to remain meaningful for baptized Christians: “Father, give me your Holy Spirit.” Not because the Spirit is absent, but because we are not yet completely open to everything the Spirit desires to do in us.
St Irenaeus, his writings, echoes Cyril to a degree when he offers that the Spirit accustoms us to God. Irenaeus describes Christians as already receiving a portion of the Spirit with a pledge of more to come. He describes this wonderfully when he writes that: “little by little [we become] accustomed to receive and bear God.” Think about what that means: the Holy Spirit is teaching us to grow and ever be more capable of bearing a greater presence of God in our lives. For Irenaeus, salvation isn’t merely God changing our legal status. It is God gradually transforming human beings so that we become capable of sharing divine life. The Spirit dwelling within us is already the beginning of that future.
In the first reading St. Paul asks: “Did you receive the Spirit from works of the law, or from faith in what you heard?” (Gal 3:2) Often that is taken primarily as part of Paul’s argument about justification, and indeed it is. But Paul already knows they have received the Holy Spirit and so he appeals to their experience.
Then in v. 5: “Does, then, the one who supplies the Spirit to you and works mighty deeds among you do so from works of the law or from faith in what you heard?” He is making the point that something has already happened to them. Their experience, their Christian existence itself was evidence of God’s action. That is what makes rumors of their return to circumcision and Torah observance so incomprehensible to Paul. God has given you his Spirit. You have already received the thing you are trying to earn. He is asking, why are they now behaving as though God’s life must be acquired through something they accomplish?
All of this together reinforces the idea that the Spirit is gift, not achievement or reward. The Spirit is something earned by sufficient religious performance.
This is the point St. Augustine makes in his homily on Luke 11. Augustine emphasizes that Christ would not urge us so persistently to ask unless God truly desired to give: God is more willing to give than we are to receive. When you join Augustine’s thought to that from Irenaeus, it means the Spirit gradually makes us capable of receiving what God desires to give.
Consider how that might make us think differently about today’s Gospel. We hear: “And I tell you, ask and you will receive; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks, receives; and the one who seeks, finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened. “Ask and you will receive; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened…” and immediately begin filling in the blank. Ask for what? And we ask about of current needs and future hopes, no doubt legitimate prayers.
But consider Jesus’ words: “How much more will the Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him?” Jesus isn’t promising that persistent prayer eventually persuades God to give us whatever particular outcome we’re requesting. He promises something much greater: God gives us God in the Holy Spirit.
Maybe that’s why the answer to prayer sometimes doesn’t look like what we asked for. We ask God to remove a difficult situation but the Spirit gives us courage to live through it. We ask God to change someone else and the Spirit begins changing us. We ask God to show us exactly what to do but the Spirit gives us patience to wait. We ask God to take away suffering and the Spirit somehow enables us to discover Christ within it.
The gift isn’t always a changed circumstance. Sometimes the gift is a changed person within the circumstance.
May the real question is how much of me have I allowed the Holy Spirit to receive so as to change me. What parts of my life do I insist on keeping control? My decisions, relationships, plans fears…?
Maybe we over-complicate our prayer. Might it be as simple as teaching me to receive and bear God? And then “buckle up” as we let the Spirit change us.
The King Responds
This coming Sunday is the 28th Sunday of Ordinary Time. The king patiently responds to the refusal to attend the banquet, but patience goes so far. Some ignored the invitation and went away, one to his farm, another to his business. The rest laid hold of his servants, mistreated them, and killed them. (Mt 22:5-6) Continue reading
Our Lady of the Rosary
One of the great things about teaching in the OCIA classes is the questions which come from people who are not yet baptized or people from other Christian denominations who seek to be in full communion with the Catholic Church. Sometimes they are the “big” questions about Sacraments and papal infallibility, but sometimes they are questions which ask about things we cradle-Catholics don’t think about because,… well, they have just always been there.
This past summer one of the “new” Catholics chatted with me on the sidewalk in front of Church. The conversation centered around Marian feasts and celebrations. Basically the person noticed that there were a lot of Marian celebrations – most of which they understood – but they wondered about the Memorial of Our Lady of the Rosary: why is it celebrated and how is it different from other days. And besides, the gospel for the Memorial is Luke’s account of the Annunciation, which is the event in the life of Mary the Church celebrates as a Solemnity.
So why do we celebrate the Feast of Our Lady of the Rosary?
The historical origin of the Feast of Our Lady of the Rosary lies in the naval Battle of Lepanto on October 7, 1571. Pope St. Pius V, a Dominican pope with a strong devotion to the Rosary, called Christians throughout Europe to pray the Rosary as a coalition fleet of Christian states, called the Holy League, confronted the Ottoman navy. After the unexpected victory of the Holy League, Pius V attributed the outcome to God’s grace obtained through the intercession of the Blessed Virgin Mary and the prayers of the faithful. In thanksgiving, he established a feast called Our Lady of Victory. Two years later, Pope Gregory XIII changed the title to The Feast of the Holy Rosary. Over time the celebration was extended to the universal Church and eventually fixed on October 7, the date on which it remains today.
While Lepanto explains why there is a feast day, the feast ultimately celebrates a devotion that had already become a central means of Christian prayer: the Rosary
Most Marian feasts commemorate one of four things: events (e.g. the Annunciation), dogmas (e.g. the Immaculate Conception), Marian apparitions (e.g. Our Lady of Guadalupe), or Marian patronages (e.g. Our Lady Help of Christians). The Feast of Our Lady of the Rosary celebrates neither a dogma nor a moment in Mary’s life. Instead, it celebrates the Rosary itself as a privileged means of contemplating the mysteries of Christ.
In the Rosary, the focus is not first on Mary but on the Incarnation, the Passion, the Resurrection, and the entire mystery of salvation, as viewed through Mary’s eyes. St. John Paul II famously described the Rosary as a “compendium of the Gospel.” In that sense, the feast is almost as much a feast of Christ-centered meditation as it is a Marian feast.
Unlike many Marian feasts that direct attention to a singular privilege or event, Our Lady of the Rosary points believers to a lifelong practice of prayer. In that sense, it is perhaps the Church’s most explicitly devotional Marian feast. It honors Mary precisely because she teaches the Church how to gaze upon Christ. As Pope Paul VI wrote in Marialis Cultus, the Rosary is “a Gospel prayer, centered on the mystery of the redemptive Incarnation.” That may be the deepest reason why the feast occupies a distinctive place among all Marian celebrations: it celebrates Mary not only as one who receives grace, but as the one who leads the Church into the mysteries of her Son.
Image credit: “Christ at the home of Martha and Mary” | Charles de La Fosse | Private collection in a castle in Lorraine (France); Galerie Didier Chéreau, Paris | PD-US
The Invitation
This coming Sunday is the 28th Sunday of Ordinary Time. “The kingdom of heaven may be likened to a king who gave a wedding feast for his son. He dispatched his servants to summon the invited guests to the feast” (Mt 22:2-3) Rabbinic and Hellenistic sources indicate that a two-stage invitation was quite normal – an ancient “Save the Date” coupled to the actual invitation itself. In the 1st century, the invitation was sent well in advance of the banquet. The invitation was acknowledged and accepted by those invited, who then received a courtesy reminder on the day of the banquet itself.
The problems begin “on the day” – but they refused to come. A second time he sent other servants, saying, ‘Tell those invited: “Behold, I have prepared my banquet, my calves and fattened cattle are killed, and everything is ready; come to the feast.”’ (Mt 22:3-4). The invitees who had committed themselves to attend the banquet simply declare their unwillingness/refusal to come (ouk ēthelon elthein). What are we to make of this reaction? There are two avenues often pursued: one personal, one political (of sorts). One could take the approach that the invitation to come was a threat to the invitees’ own pursuits. They want to do what they want to do when they want to do it. One goes to his field and another to his business. These aren’t excuses (as in Luke 14:18-20), but personal concerns that they think are more important than the king’s invitation to this most important celebration for his son.
On a political scale, refusal of a king’s invitation, especially by so many and so suddenly suggests something is afoot. There are two likely things: a general snubbing and disrespect toward the king, or perhaps more sinisterly, a conspiracy and that would be tantamount to rebellion (2 Sam 10:4). But then the king is a patient and accommodating person (again, cf. the preceding parable).
Either way, the unwillingness/refusal to come share the festive occasion with the King is to send the signal that loyalty and commitment are waning. In religious terms, people are wandering from the Covenant. Yet, the king does not strike out or retaliate, but sends a second group of slaves. This element of the story is peculiar to Matthew. Not only do those invited continue to refuse, but some go so far as to abuse and kill the messengers as well. If “a second time” (v.4) is considered the day of the feast – and there is good reason to do so since “everything is ready” – then it may be that Matthew is not talking about early and later prophets, but the Christian evangelists of Matthew’s own time. Certainly, many of the late-1st century evangelists were ignored; some were martyred.
Image Credit: Parable of the Great Banquet by Brunswick Monogrammist (circa 1525) National Museum, Warsaw | Public Domain
Becoming Martha
In today’s gospel I think poor Martha is sometimes made to be the foil of the story. We easily remember the ending. Mary has chosen “the better part” and poor Martha is left worried and anxious about many things. In our minds, Mary becomes the model disciple while Martha becomes the woman who just doesn’t quite get it. I think Martha needs to be reconsidered.
“A woman whose name was Martha welcomed him.” (Lk 10:38). Jesus arrives, and Martha opens the door inviting Him in. Before Mary can sit at the feet of Jesus, someone has to welcome Jesus into the house. And there is something wonderfully faithful about that.
Luke is very intentional about the order of things (cf. Luke 1:3). Immediately before today’s gospel Jesus told the parable of the Good Samaritan. The Samaritan sees the wounded man, stops, cares for him, takes him to an inn and pays for his care. Jesus concludes the parable with the admonition: “Go and do likewise.” (Lk 10:37). Turn the page and we find Martha “doing.” Lots of people think today’s gospel is somehow telling us that service is somehow inferior to prayer. He has just told us to serve, so something else must be going on.
The text tells us that Martha was “burdened with much serving.” The word in Greek has the sense of being pulled away, distracted. And therein likely lies the problem. She has become so busy serving Jesus that she is being pulled away from Jesus.
That’s a danger religious people understand very well. We can spend enormous amounts of time doing things for God: a ministry in the parish, teaching faith formation, festival volunteering – the list is endless. And add to that all the enormous amount of time doing things for your family. We priests are not immune from such busyness. We can spend the whole day working for Jesus but very little time with Jesus. It is easy to let all these good things distract us from the reason we are doing them.
Eventually Martha reaches the breaking point. She comes to Jesus and says: “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me by myself to do the serving? Tell her to help me.” (Lk 10:40) You have to love Martha’s honesty. She doesn’t break out in a prayer or calculate her words. She tells Jesus exactly what she thinks: Mary is the problem. But then Jesus becomes part of the problem: “Lord, do you not care?”
That question may be more familiar to us than we would like to admit. I think everyone of us can remember a time when we felt overwhelmed and we wondered if God cares. Jesus did not admonish Jesus for asking, nor does he admonish us. He simply says: “Martha, Martha…” He sees what all that doing has done to her: “You are anxious and worried about many things.”
Martha wanted Jesus to change Mary, but Jesus’ response is akin to saying: “Before we talk about her, let’s talk about what is happening inside you.” And notice that Jesus doesn’t tell Martha to stop serving. He calls her back to the center: “There is need of only one thing.” What is that “one thing”? Is it to imitate Mary, in a way become Mary?
Let us pause for a moment and consider the next time we encounter Mary – when her brother Lazarus dies. “When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went to meet him; but Mary sat at home.” (Jn 11:20) Martha gets up and goes to Jesus. She’s still Martha: active and direct and still unafraid to tell Jesus exactly what she thinks: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” But something is different. During their conversation, Martha says: “I have come to believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one who is coming into the world.” (Jn 11:27) That is one of the great professions of faith in John’s Gospel.
The woman we remember for being distracted by many things has come to recognize the one thing necessary. Or better, the one Person necessary. Martha didn’t need to become Mary. Martha needed to become a deeper Martha.
And perhaps that is what Jesus wants for us. He isn’t necessarily asking us to abandon our responsibilities. Meals still need to be prepared, children cared for, work to be completed, people who need our help, and a parish that still needs volunteers. The Good Samaritan still has to stop beside the road and Jesus forever says, “Go and do likewise.”
Let us do what is ours to do, the good things God has given us to do. But don’t become so busy doing things for Jesus that we lose sight of Jesus.
Martha opened the door and welcomed him into her house. Somewhere along the way, she became distracted by everything that needed to be done. And Jesus gently called her back. Perhaps today he is doing the same for us. Amid all the things that seem so urgent, all the things demanding our attention, all the things we think absolutely must get done, we need to hear the echo: there is need of only one thing.”
Don’t lose sight of the One you welcomed into the house in the first place.
Image credit: “Christ at the home of Martha and Mary” | Charles de La Fosse | Private collection in a castle in Lorraine (France); Galerie Didier Chéreau, Paris | PD-US
Matthew’s Version
This coming Sunday is the 28th Sunday of Ordinary Time. Among the various sources of Christian tradition, this parable of the wedding banquet has been preserved in three distinct versions. The simplest rendering of the parable can be found in the non-canonical Gospel of Thomas. In this version, the parable consists of a series of refusals to a dinner. Each of the guests who begged off did so for reasons of business or commerce. Consequently the host sent servants into the streets to bring back whomever they could find. Luke’s version of the parable (Luke 14:16-24), also preserves the reversal motif and bears evidence of the evangelist’s conviction that the poor, outcasts, those otherwise marginalized from society will find a welcome in the kingdom.
However, when Matthew’s rendering of this parable is compared to these other sources, there are several obvious differences. The main portion (vv. 1-10) of the parable is offered as an allegorical presentation of salvation history. The host has become a king (God) who was preparing a wedding banquet (symbol of kingdom) for his son (Jesus). The two groups of servants were probably representative of the Hebrew prophets and the Christian apostles, whereas the invited guests who repeatedly refused the king’s invitation and brutalized the servants were intended to portray Israel. People from the byroads represented the gentiles to whom the gospel was also to be extended.
In verse seven, the parable takes a strange twist; the city of the guests is destroyed. Starting a war while the meal is prepared and on the table strains even the wide range of flexibility allowed to parables. Add to that the mention of the burning of the murderers’ city – especially in the light of the Lucan tradition of the story and we begin to suspect something added from Matthew’s community – or something Luke thought to omit Most scholars believe that the Matthean community and evangelist were referencing the destruction of Jerusalem which occurred in 70 C.E. at the hands of Titus and the Roman army. Matthew projected this event back into this parable of Jesus. By so doing he was simply updating the history of salvation as it had unfolded by the time his gospel reached its final form in the mid-80s C.E.
Matthew makes this story the climax of the progression of this three-parable set: The first of the triad, the parable of the two sons (21:28–32), focuses on the (more than a) prophet John; the second, the parable of the lord’s vineyard given to others (21:33–46), pictures the whole prophetic line climaxing in Jesus, the Son who is killed. This third parable is understood from Matthew’s own post-Easter perspective, facing the parousia and final judgment. This final parable thus follows the perspective in picturing the history of salvation from the original calling of Israel to the last judgment, and places Jesus and the church in the succession of Israel’s prophets, persecuted and rejected by Israel.
The parable has the same audience as the preceding one except that now he specifically includes the Pharisees. Matthew’s insertion of “again” (palin, or “once more”) connects the parable to the preceding one as well, as do all the points we noted above. This means that the Matthean meaning cannot be derived from the parable alone, but only from the narrative structure of which it is now an integral part.
Image Credit: Parable of the Great Banquet by Brunswick Monogrammist (circa 1525) National Museum, Warsaw | Public Domain
Heavenly Warning
Given that last week we celebrated the Feast of the Archangels and of Guardian Angels, it is with curiosity that I notice in today’s first reading to the Galatians St. Paul writes: “But even we or an angel from heaven should preach to you a gospel other than the one that we preached to you, let that one be accursed!” It made me wonder what he had in mind.
In reading different commentaries, it seems that most scholars don’t think Paul has a specific angelic appearance or rival claim in mind. In Jewish tradition, angels were regarded as messengers of God. Paul himself elsewhere refers to the Law as having been mediated through angels (Gal 3:19). Given people understand angels as messengers from God, Paul is likely employing a rhetorical argument: even the highest conceivable authority cannot overturn the gospel once it has been received. And so, Paul is amazed that the Galatians are “so quickly deserting” the gospel (Gal 1:6).
We know from Galatians that other teachers had come among Paul’s Gentile converts insisting on circumcision and observance of the Mosaic Law in order to belong fully to God’s people. This is not a matter of church discipline; it strikes at the heart of the gospel itself. Paul is clear: Gentiles do not become Christians by first becoming Jews. Justification comes through faith in Christ and salvation is God’s gift of grace.
Paul is saying, in effect, “You have heard the real McCoy.” In fact, he immediately corrects even the suggestion that there might be competing gospels: there is no “other gospel” at all. There is the Gospel and there are distortions of it. Paul’s point is that the truth of the gospel is not validated by the status of the messenger; the messenger is judged by fidelity to the gospel. Even a heavenly messenger must be rejected if the message contradicts the apostolic gospel. Not another missionary, not an angel and remarkably, not even Paul himself has authority to change the Gospel. Think about his claim: even his own visionary credentials are subordinate to the gospel already proclaimed.
Paul’s principle also resonates with the Church’s later discernment of claims to private revelation. An authentic private revelation cannot contradict, correct, or add something essential to the apostolic faith already handed down. Even an approved apparition adds nothing to the Deposit of Faith; at most, it helps the Church live more fully what has already been revealed in Christ.
As people of faith, then, we stand humbly before the Gospel and the apostolic faith handed down to us. Paul reminds us that no messenger stands above that Gospel: not another preacher, not an apostle, not even an angel from heaven. The Gospel is not judged by the authority of the messenger; the messenger is judged by fidelity to the Gospel.
Image credit: ChatGPT – Dalle3 AI generated using the text of the post.
The Wedding Banquet of the King
This coming Sunday is the 28th Sunday of Ordinary Time, Lectionary Cycle A. This Sunday our text is the third of three parables: (the two sons 21:28-32; the tenants in the vineyard 21:33-46; and now the wedding banquet 22:1-14). All three have images of father and son(s). The first two also have the image of a vineyard. The last two have the sending of servants, the murder of servants, and the punishment of the murderers. In each case, there is a distinction between those who do the will of the father/landlord/king and those who don’t. Scott (Hear Then the Parable) talks about all three parables starting with the first one:
The parable is the first of three that challenge the legitimacy of the Jewish leadership. They all expose Matthew’s ideology of the true Israel demonstrating the claims of the Pharisees to be false and those of the church true. The parables of the two sons, the wicked tenants, and the king who gave a marriage feast exhibit a progression from John the Baptist to the rejection of Jesus and punishment of those who rejected him through the final judgment, when those without a wedding garment will be cast out. [p. 81]
Luke’s version of the parable (Luke 14:16-24), also preserves the reversal motif and bears evidence of the evangelist’s conviction that the poor, outcasts, those otherwise marginalized from society will find a welcome in the kingdom. However, when Matthew’s rendering of this parable is compared to these other sources, there are several obvious differences. The main portion (vv. 1-10) of the parable is offered as an allegorical presentation of salvation history. The host has become a king (God) who was preparing a wedding banquet (symbol of kingdom) for his son (Jesus). The two groups of servants were probably representative of the Hebrew prophets and the Christian apostles, whereas the invited guests who repeatedly refused the king’s invitation and brutalized the servants were intended to portray Israel. People from the byroads represented the gentiles to whom the gospel was also to be extended.
The contribution of the Matthean church can also be detected in the incident regarding the guest who was ejected from the feast (vv. 11-13). Aware that God’s invitation to salvation was extended to all of humankind, good and bad alike, the early Christians were also aware that not everyone who received an invitation would remain as a guest. The improperly dressed guest represented those who had not cooperated with or appropriated the invitations that God had offered. As a result of his/her unresponsiveness, the improperly dressed guest forfeited a place at the banquet. It was then a reminder to the Matthean church that the divine invitations to love are a daily invitation. Thus one must possess a willingness to be daily transformed by God’s grace and according to God’s will. To do otherwise is to refuse the invite to the “wedding feast” or to appear improperly attired. Either open the road to an eternity of insatiable hunger and unquenchable thirst.
Image Credit: Parable of the Great Banquet by Brunswick Monogrammist (circa 1525) National Museum, Warsaw | Public Domain
A Final Thought
This coming Sunday is the 27th Sunday in Ordinary Time. The old tenants lost their place because they failed to produce the required fruit, and it is the distinguishing mark of the new “nation” that it will produce it. The point is not developed here, but this qualification potentially carries a warning also to the new “nation.” If it in turn fails to produce the fruit, it cannot presume on its privileged position. The next parable will contain a sobering final scene to just that effect (22:11–13).
Reflection (from Eugene Boring, The Gospel of Matthew, 415)
Who is represented by the “you” from whom the kingdom is taken? Who is the “nation” to whom it is given? In the context, the addressees are clearly the chief priests and Pharisees… the Jewish leadership, not the people as a whole. Thus some scholars… have contended that Matthew here and elsewhere claims only that God will replace the present false leadership with faithful leaders. This requires understanding “nation” (ἔθνος ethnos, which is also the word for “Gentile”) in an unusual sense, a new group of leaders for Israel. The more natural way is to understand ethnos as “nation” or “people,” so that (as in 1 Pet 2:9) those to whom the kingdom is given are the renewed people of God, the church of Jews and Gentiles, who are called by God in place of unfaithful Israel. Many Christians throughout history have been too willing to understand the text this way, which has fueled the fires of anti-Judaism and anti-Semitism. Many Christians today are hesitant to understand the text in any way that encourages a false understanding of supersessionism, that God has rejected Israel and replaced it with the church (Jewish and Gentile) as the people of God. Neither past mistakes nor present Christian sensitivity to Jewish-Christian relations should inhibit our allowing Matthew to mean whatever he meant. If he believed God had now rejected the Jews as the elect people of God and replaced them with the church composed of people called from all nations, including Jews, historical honesty should accept this. Historical exegesis may document this as Matthew’s view, even if his situational-conditioned perspective must not be allowed to dominate our own, which must be informed not only by this text but by other canonical perspectives as well, such as that of Paul, another Jew who had become a Christian and who saw a larger plan of God that embraced both Israel and church (Romans 9–11).
This text does not speak explicitly, however, of Israel’s being rejected, but of the “kingdom of God” being taken from “you”; in Matthew’s view, the saving activity of God continues in that community where taking up the “yoke of the kingdom” means adherence to the Torah as fulfilled in the teaching of Jesus (cf. 5:17–48; 28:20). Matthew, like the modern reader, here struggles with a difficult problem, one that he perhaps had as much difficulty in resolving with systematic clarity and consistency, as does his modern reader. Even if the objective meaning remains not entirely clear, contemporary readers can still legitimately ask whether they have set up other phony sovereignties in place of the one God, and thus might be addressed in the “you” from whom the kingdom is taken
Image credit The Parable of the Wicked Tenants, Maarten Van Valckenborch, c. 1585, Kunsthistorisches Museum | Public Domain PD-US
Guardian Angels
Today is the Memorial of the Guardian Angels. I think the majority of us grew up with images, holy cards, and picture books of an angle every and always hovering over our shoulder, standing watch, guarding and ready to act at a moment’s notice to protect from the wiles and ways of the devil. So… are guardian angels just a tale the children are told, a metaphor for the continual care of God, or something to help us sleep better at night safe from nightmares.
The Catechism of the Catholic Church ( para. 336) teaches that each person has a guardian angel assigned to them by God. These angels are spiritual beings who protect and guide us throughout our lives. They help us to grow in holiness and lead us closer to God. Specifically, the Catechism states that “from its beginning until death, human life is surrounded by their watchful care and intercession”. This means that our guardian angels are always with us, watching over us and helping us in our journey of faith. Additionally, the Catechism emphasizes that we can petition our guardian angels for help and guidance, encouraging a personal relationship with them (CCC 336). This acknowledgment of angels, including guardian angels, is rooted in Scripture and tradition, affirming their role as intermediaries between God and humanity.
The most direct biblical text is Jesus’ statement: “See that you do not despise one of these little ones; for I tell you that in heaven their angels always behold the face of my Father who is in heaven. (Matthew 18:10) The expression “their angels” was understood by many Church Fathers as referring to angels entrusted with the care of particular persons.
Other important passages include “For he will give his angels charge of you to guard you in all your ways.” (Psalm 91:11-12) In Acts 12:15 when Peter, miraculously freed from prison, knocks at the door, the disciples say: “It is his angel.” (emphasis added). Might this suggest that first-century Jewish Christians were already familiar with the notion of a personal angel associated with an individual? Additionally, Hebrews 1:14 offers: “Are they not all ministering spirits sent forth to serve, for the sake of those who are to obtain salvation?”
The idea did not emerge in a vacuum. In Second Temple Judaism there was already a developed belief that angels were assigned protective roles. Nations were thought to have angelic patrons (Daniel 10). Individuals were believed by some Jewish traditions to have angelic protectors. The Book of Tobit provides a dramatic example of angelic guidance through the angel Raphael, who accompanies and protects Tobias (Tobit 5-12). While Raphael was not Tobias’ “guardian angel” in the later technical sense, the book strongly illustrates God’s care through angelic mediation.
The early Church Fathers generally accepted the existence of guardian angels. St. Basil the Great wrote: “Beside each believer stands an angel as protector and shepherd leading him to life.” St. Jerome, commenting on Matthew 18:10, remarked: “How great the dignity of souls, since each one has from birth an angel commissioned to guard it.” The debate among the Fathers was usually over the nature and extent of angelic guardianship, not over its existence. By the end of the patristic period, belief in guardian angels was widespread and largely uncontroversial.
St. Thomas Aquinas gave the classic theological explanation, arguing that God’s providence governs creation through secondary causes. Angels, as higher intelligences, participate in God’s care for humanity. In the Summa Theologiae (I, q.113), Aquinas concludes that each person is assigned a guardian angel because of humanity’s vulnerability in the journey toward salvation.
In the past I have been asked what is the Fraciscan perspective on guardian angels. Simply put, we stand with the Church’s teaching and traditions. A different question that could have been asked was about St. Francis’ perspective. To be clear, I know of no place in his writings where he mentions guardian angels, but St. Francis frequently viewed angels less as spiritual “bodyguards” and more as fellow creatures participating in the praise of God. In the Earlier Rule (para. 23), Francis joins “all the angels in heaven” with the whole creation in blessing the Lord. Based on that one might say that the Franciscan emphasis tends to be relational and ecclesial: guardian angels are signs that God does not guide us in isolation but within a network of relationships extending even into the heavenly realm.
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