Saturday of the third week in ordinary time.

Hebrews 11:1-2,8-19; Luke 1:69-75; Mark 4:35-41

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The icon captures the climactic moment in the gospel story: Jesus calms the storm, and the disciples are amazed: 'Who then is this, that even wind and sea obey him?' 


But before the awe comes terror. Jesus is asleep in the stern, as the wind tosses the boat around on the rising waves. Many times during the last several months, this particular story from Mark's gospel has come to mind. I have felt like the disciples, in a boat at the mercy of the storm. And I have pleaded with the master also: 'Teacher, do you not care if we perish?' 


Jesus asks whether they have no faith. The evidence, actually, is that they do. They're the boatsmen. If getting safely through the storm required skill, there would have been no reason to wake Jesus. What did they expect him to do? How could he possibly help? Perhaps they did not have much faith, since they seem surprised to find that he was, in fact, able to calm the storm. 


But a little faith is all it takes. (See also yesterday's gospel: Mark 4:26-34.) The letter to the Hebrews shifts in chapter 11 from the great high priest to the faithful men and women of the Old Testament: 'Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. For by it the men of old received divine approval' (11.1-2). Among those so credited is Sarah, who 'received power to conceive, even when she was past the age, since she considered him faithful who had promised' (v. 11). As I read that bit of Genesis, though, Sarah's faith is less obvious: she laughed. 


The disciples in Mark's gospel are notorious for not getting the point. That seems to be the way, though, and God doesn't seem to mind terribly. Sarah laughs, but conceives anyway; Jesus scolds the disciples for having 'no faith', but calms the storm, and not long after, sends them out two by two, giving them authority over the unclean spirits. 


Maybe, just maybe, there's hope for me, after all. 

Thursday of the third week in ordinary time

Hebrews 10.19-25; Psalm 23.1-6(LXX); Mark 4.21-25

Through the blood of Jesus we have the right to enter the sanctuary, by a new way which he has opened for us, a living opening through the curtain, that is to say, his body. And we have the supreme high priest over all the house of God. So as we go in, let us be sincere in heart and filled with faith, our minds sprinkled and free from any trace of bad conscience and our bodies washed with pure water. Let us keep firm in the hope we profess, because the one who made the promise is faithful. Let us be concerned for each other, to stir a response in love and good works. Do not stay away from the meetings of the community, as some do, but encourage each other to go; the more so as you see the Day drawing near.
                                                                                                               (Heb 10.19-25; Jerusalem Bible)

Who may ascend the hill of the Lord?
And who may stand in his holy place?
He who has clean hands and a pure heart,
Who has not lifted up his soul to falsehood,
And has not sworn deceitfully.
                                               (Ps 23.3-4; NASB)

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Apparently I was not the first person to think this psalm fit together well with this section of the letter to the Hebrews. As I read the first reading, my first thought was, 'I should have waited; this is a much better fit with the psalm'.

I am left, however, in the same place: humbled by the testimony of Scripture to the faithful love of the God who saves. Through Christ we have been saved, and through the gift of Scripture we come to understand that salvation, and are moved to thanksgiving and praise.

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son,
  and to the Holy Spirit,
  as it was in the beginning,
  is now and ever shall be,
  world without end,
  Amen.

St Timothy and St Titus, Bishops

Hebrews 10:11-18; Psalm 109:1-4 (LXX); Mark 4:1-20


All the priests stand at their duties every day, offering over and over again the same sacrifices which are quite incapable of taking sins away. He, on the other hand, has offered one single sacrifice for sins, and then taken his place forever, at the right hand of God, where he is now waiting until his enemies are made into a footstool for him. By virtue of that one single offering, he has achieved the eternal perfection of all whom he is sanctifying.  (Hebrews 10.11-14, Jerusalem Bible)


Who shall ascend the hill of the Lord?
  And who shall stand in his holy place?
He who has clean hands and a pure heart,
  who does not lift up his soul to what is false,
  and does not swear deceitfully.
He will receive blessing from the Lord, 
  and vindication from the God of his salvation. 
                                        (Ps 23.3-5 [LXX])

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I hope I can be forgiven for having grown a bit weary of the same four verses about Melchizedek that seem to accompany many of the readings from the middle of the letter to the Hebrews. As I read the invitatory psalm for today (an alternate to the usual Ps 94 [LXX]), it seemed to fit well with the passage from Hebrews.

These few verses in particular always used to worry me: I despaired of ever being the one with clean hands and a pure heart, worthy to ascend the hill of the Lord. But eventually I came to realize that the one who has clean hands and a pure heart is Christ, the Lord, the priest who 'has offered one single sacrifice for sins' and, in so doing, 'has achieved the eternal perfection of of whom he is sanctifying'.

The psalm no longer worries me as it once did. Some days, I confess to feeling a bit complacent, though: Jesus has done it all, and my sins have been done away with by his sacrifice. And I am perhaps not as contrite as I should be. Other days--better days, I think--I am humbled by the knowledge and the comfort that this psalm brings me. Not only the big, dramatic sins of the world and its great ones (the Apostle Paul comes to mind here), but for my stupid, petulant, and self-serving sins, Christ has overcome by his life, death and resurrection. At least Paul, I surmise, thought he was doing the right thing, however wrong-headed his persecution of the church was. Often I stumble forward, not even trying very hard to determine what the right thing is: I am, rather, concerned about avoiding pain. I seek the pleasures, small and great, that make life enjoyable and give me something to look forward to after the chores are done.

To think that the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, stoops to take away my sins of ignorance and stubbornness, pettiness and weakness, is humbling indeed. In return, all I have to offer is what has been asked of God's people: a sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving.

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit,
  as it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be,
  world without end,
  Amen.

St Francis de Sales

Hebrews 9:15,24-28; Psalm 97:1-6 (LXX); Mark 3:22-30


O sing to the Lord a new song, 
  for he has done marvelous things; 
His right hand and his holy arm 
  have gotten him victory.


He has remembered his steadfast love and faithfulness
  to the house of Israel.
All the ends of the earth have seen the victory
  of our God.                   (Ps 97.1, 3)

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The reading from Hebrews and the passage from Mark's gospel point differently to the same proof of God's steadfast love and faithfulness to God's people: Jesus, the Christ. The evidence that God continues to remember his steadfast love and faithfulness to us is in the lives of saints like Francis de Sales. The biography Universalis offers is brief, but makes the point perfectly: 


St Francis de Sales was born near Annécy, in Savoy, studied the law, and was ordained to the priesthood despite the opposition of his father. His first mission was to re-evangelize the people of his home district (the Chablais), who had gone over to Calvinism. Always in danger of his life from hostile Calvinists, he preached with such effectiveness that after four years most of the people had returned to the Church. He was then appointed bishop of Geneva, and spent the rest of his life reforming and reorganising the diocese, and in caring for the souls of his people by preaching and spiritual guidance.

  St Francis taught that we can all attain a devout and spiritual life, whatever our position in society: holiness is not reserved for monks and hermits alone. His wrote that “religious devotion does not destroy: it perfects,” and his spiritual counsel is dedicated to making people more holy by making them more themselves. In his preaching against Calvinism he was driven by love rather than a desire to win: so much so, that it was a Calvinist minister who said “if we honoured anyone as a saint, I know of no-one since the days of the Apostles more worthy of it than this man.”

  St Francis is the patron saint of writers and journalists, who would do well to imitate his love and his moderation: as he said, “whoever wants to preach effectively must preach with love.”

Second Saturday in ordinary time

Hebrews 9. 2-3, 11-14; Psalm 46.2-3, 6-9(LXX); Mark 3.20-21

For if the sprinkling of defiled persons with the blood of goats and bulls and with the ashes of a heifer sanctifies for the purification of the flesh, how much more shall the blook of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself without blemish to God, purify your conscience from dead works to serve the living God.  (Heb 9.13-14)

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The interesting word here is conscience. What does it mean for Jesus' blood to 'purify your conscience from dead works'? At first, I wonder at that power: we may go to the Lord in confession and receive absolution. Our sins have been forgiven; but does absolution purify our conscience? It seems to me to be far more difficult to receive grace at that level. Looking again, I wonder whether the 'dead works' of conscience are not exactly that: carrying the burden of sins that God has forgiven.

Perhaps I have always been mistaken about what it means for a Christian to have a clean conscience. A clean conscience, I thought, meant knowing you had done no wrong. But the writer to the Hebrews says otherwise. A pure conscience gets that way by being purified. That, it seems to me, is another thing entirely. Christ's act of reconciling us to the Father overcomes our sin, making us new as if we had not sinned: 'If anyone is in Christ, she is a new creation...'

And I realize just how little I experience and live in that reality. I believe, Lord: help my unbelief.

Feast of St Agnes of Rome

Hebrews 8:6-13; Psalm 84:8,10-14(LXX); Mark 3:13-19


This is the covenant that I will make after those days, says the Lord: 
I will put my laws into their minds, 
and write them on their hearts, 
and I will be their God, 
and they shall be my people.      (Heb 8.10)


Let me hear what God the Lord will speak, 
  for he will speak peace to his people, 
  to his saints, to those who turn to him in their hearts. 
Steadfast love and faithfulness will meet; 
  righteousness and peace will kiss each other.
Faithfulness will spring up from the ground, 
  and righteousness will look down from the sky. 
Yea, the Lord will give what is good, 
  and our land will yield its increase.
Righteousness will go before him, 
  and make his footsteps a way.    (Ps 84. 8, 10-14)

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In which days? Reading these passages calls to mind immediately the tension in which we live, between Christ's death and resurrection, and the union of steadfast love and faithfulness. St Agnes died in that tension, very early in the fourth century, even as the shape of the Christian faith was emerging. And I can't imagine what it would have been like, facing death so young. 


One of the central characters in Graham Greene's novel, The End of the Affair, writes: 'I want the dramatic always. I imagine I'm ready for the pain of your nails, and I can't stand twenty-four hours of maps and Michelin guides. Dear God, I'm no use...Clear me out of the way.' I suspect I would be more like Sarah Miles than St Agnes of Rome when it came to it: I am not that strong. 


My only hope is to be caught up in the exchange of divine love that draws all creation into it, into the kiss of steadfast love and faithfulness, to be hidden away in Christ, who was strong enough, and in whose strength alone I will find my own.






  

Thursday of the second week in ordinary time

Hebrews 7:25-8:6; Psalm 39:7-10,17(LXX); Mark 3:7-12


I have told the glad news of deliverance
  in the great congregation; 
lo, I have not restrained my lips, 
  as thou knowest, O Lord.
I have not hid thy saving help within my heart, 
  I have spoken of thy faithfulness and thy salvation; 
I have not concealed thy steadfast love and thy faithfulness
  from the great congregation.         (Ps 39.9-10)




And he told his disciples to have a boat ready for him because of the crowd, lest they should crush him; for he had healed many, so that all who had diseases pressed upon him to touch him. (Mk 3.9-10)

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There is a connection, I think, between 'the glad news of deliverance' and the healing that people quickly come to expect from Jesus (especially in Mark's gospel). People draw near to Jesus, because he is not just the bearer of God's salvation, he is that salvation.

It is difficult to read passages like this one from Mark without wishing that deliverance was so straightforward: diseases are healed, demons cast out. What's wrong is obvious, and salvation is immediate. People go their way, having been made well by the one in whom all things hold together (Col 1.17). And I wonder what he would say to me, if I appeared before him in Galilee? He would know immediately, in a way that I do not, what it is that ails me. But in what would my faith consist? I suppose all I have to offer is my presence before him, which is the only testimony to my belief that he has the power to make me whole again.