Same Old Song

Aaron and Jacob explore the readings for the Second Sunday of Advent (Year C): Malachi 3:1-4, Philippians 1:3-11 and Luke 3:1-6.

The return of Same Old Song! Jacob Smith and new co-host Aaron Zimmerman dive into the lectionary readings for the First Sunday of Advent (Year C): Jeremiah 33:14-16, 1 Thessalonians 3:9-13, and Luke 21:25-36.

In this episode we discuss the lectionary readings for the fourth Sunday in Lent (A): 1 Samuel 16:1-13, Ephesians 5:8-14 and John 9:1-41.

Show Notes:

Sigmund Freud theorized that depression is anger turned inward. Child psychologist Dorothy Martyn defines it as “a loss of stature in your own eyes.” As we all know, anger at oneself and loss of stature can be justified. In my own life, depression has always had a trigger, usually a perceived failure of some kind— something as significant as the break-up of a relationship or as trivial as the purchase of the wrong kind of air-conditioner.

Still, anyone who has been depressed, or dealt with a depressed person, knows that it is a sickness that cannot be cured by the sufferer. No amount of telling a depressed person not to be depressed— or explaining to them why they shouldn’t be— has any effect, other than often making the situation worse. In fact, the condition feeds on itself to the point where the depression can become indistinguishable from the person. To a depressed person, the Apostle Paul’s assertion that apart from the Lord we are not only in darkness, but that we are the darkness, does not sound so far-fetched.

So what is the answer? Can a depressed person be helped? How does the light get through? Sometimes nothing works, not even medication. But other times, the “black sail” is pierced by compassion. Someone, maybe a good therapist or pastor, tries to understand and empathize with the pain rather than oppose it, and as a result, the depression begins to lift. Light shines into the darkness from outside, in the form of a loving and patient advocate.

It is not surprising, then, that Jesus is called the Light of the World (John 8: 12). He was and is the very embodiment of Compassion, the one who died for people who have every reason to be depressed. But through his death and resurrection, we are made light. Our feelings, as dark as they may be, no longer have the final word. We can boldly join The Smiths in singing, “There is a light that never goes out.”

As sheer drama, this trial scene [in chapter 9] is one of the most brilliant passages in the gospel, rich in the tragic irony of which the evangelist is master. The one-time blind beggar stands before his betters, to be badgered into denying the one thing of which he is certain...But the defendant proper is Jesus himself, judged in absentia. In some sort, the man whom Christ enlightened pleads the cause of the Light. When he is "cast out" it is Christ whom the judges have rejected.

In this episode we discuss the Lectionary texts for the third Sunday in Lent (A): Exodus 17:1-7, Romans 5:1-11 and John 4:5-42.

Show Notes:

In his autobiography, Days of Grace, tennis champion Arthur Ashe wrote: “I have always been a firm believer in the therapeutic value of adversity. Of all people, athletes must reach an accommodation with losing, and learn to make the best of it.” Ashe died of AIDS received through an injection given by a tainted needle. He wrote his story knowing that he was leaving behind fame, fortune, and a lovely family.

For every Olympic athlete we watch as they receive their gold medal, there are thousands of others who almost made it, but didn’t. I was present when a friend lost his chance of going to the 1964 Tokyo Olympics by a hair. His non-Christian father was mortified at his failure, but my friend grew through it into a strong servant of Christ.

Compare that with the sign on the walls of the Princeton University boathouse: “Show me a good loser, and I’ll show you a loser.” The secular mind dismisses the “therapeutic value of adversity” as weakness.

But Paul invites us in Romans 5: 1-5 to “stand” in a different place, the place of “grace.” In this place, we discover a past in which we are at peace with God, a present in which we have full access to His mercy, and a future hope in sharing in His glory. But these gifts were won at the cost of suffering, namely Christ’s, and remain ours as we rethink the role of suffering in God’s world.

Looking at verses three and four, suffering has such a therapeutic role in our lives that, rightly received, it enables us to endure the present while looking in hope to the future. This, says Paul, is the root of character— something that is always hammered out on the anvil of pain.

Fortunately, we do not have to gut this out as if it were up to us to manufacture character with steely determination. There is a waterfall of love cascading down on our heads, which turns character-building into spontaneous excitement, and suffering into joy.

As Our Lord had already said to the woman at the well in Samaria, a woman with an insatiable thirst for me, "Whosover drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life" (John 4:14).This is an amazing offer. Not only does the Lord claim to fill the thirsty soul's need, but promises to make him able to quench the spiritual thirst of others. This alone fits the pastor for his task of pastoral cure. In the feeding of the five thousand Christ had also proclaimed Himself the Bread of Life, the Bread of God coming down from heaven for the life of the world, so that "he that cometh unto Me shall never hunger: and he that believeth on Me shall never thirst" (John 6:48, 33, 35).

The indissoluble union of God and man within His own Person is also part of the claim Our Lord made at this Feast of the Tabernacles (John 8:14, 16, 23, 28, 29, 51, 58). The words of Christ, are, He claims, the words of God. When He invites us to union with Himself, it is God who invites us. His gracious offer of Himself with the promise to satisfy all our urgent need for life is God's gracious offer to Himself.

In this episode we discuss the lectionary texts for the Second Sunday in Lent: Genesis 12:1-4a; Romans 4:1-5, 13-17 and John 3:1-17.

Show Notes:

I’ve managed to see Scorsese’s Silence twice in the last couple of weeks. It literally silenced me. It’s a surpassingly beautiful movie — but its genius lies in the complexity of its understanding of what faith really is. For some secular liberals, faith is some kind of easy, simple abdication of reason — a liberation from reality. For Scorsese, it’s a riddle wrapped in a mystery, and often inseparable from crippling, perpetual doubt. You see this in the main protagonist’s evolution: from a certain, absolutist arrogance to a long sacrifice of pride toward a deeper spiritual truth. Faith is a result, in the end, of living, of seeing your previous certainties crumble and be rebuilt, shakily, on new grounds. God is almost always silent, hidden, and sometimes most painfully so in the face of hideous injustice or suffering. A life of faith is therefore not real unless it is riddled with despair.

There are moments — surpassingly rare but often indelible — when you do hear the voice of God and see the face of Jesus. You never forget them — and I count those few moments in my life when I have heard the voice and seen the face as mere intimations of what is to come. But the rest is indeed silence. And the conscience is something that cannot sometimes hear itself. I’ve rarely seen the depth of this truth more beautifully unpacked. Which is why, perhaps, the movie has had such a tiny audience so far. Those without faith have no patience for a long meditation on it; those with faith in our time are filled too often with a passionate certainty to appreciate it. And this movie’s mysterious imagery can confound anyone. But its very complexity and subtlety gave me hope in this vulgar, extremist time. We cannot avoid this surreality all around us. But it may be possible occasionally to transcend it.

In this episode we discuss the Lectionary texts for the first Sunday in Lent: Genesis 2:15-17; 3:1-7, Romans 5:12-19 and Matthew 4:1-11.

This week we reflect on the readings for this week in year A, which is the eighth and last Sunday in Epiphany: Exodus 24:12-18, 2 Peter 1:16-21, Matthew 17:1-9.

Show Notes:

All these themes—appearance of the glory, divine condescension, building of a tabernacle—return in the tale of the transfiguration, a set of parallels not lost on the fathers of the church. Indeed, the Greek Fathers were fond of drawing parallels between this epiphany of the incarnate Son and its important forerunner in the Old Testament. What Brevard Childs, in his Exodus, wrote in summary of chapter 24 could just as easily be transferred to the moment of the transfiguration: “But in light of God’s complete otherness [which occasioned all the concern for purity of body and character—GAA], the all-encompassing focus of the chapter falls on God’s mercy and gracious condescension. It is this theme which lies at the heart of the witness of the Sinai Covenant.”

It is clear, in any case, that in these verses 2 Peter is addressing both the power and danger of biblical texts. Modern Christians know both well. Biblical texts often speak to us with all the wonder and clarity of the morning star rising in our hearts. These same texts divide us from one another. As we well know, we often choose who will be in or out of a community by how they read or do not read certain texts. 2 Peter witnesses to both. It includes as aggressive an attack on Christian opponents as we have in the New Testament. And it includes a series of wonderful and gentle images of the Christian life. The Bible is a powerful and dangerous text.

These connections also shed new light on the meaning of the fundamental claim of the prologue to John’s Gospel, where the Evangelist sums up the mystery of Jesus: “And the Word became flesh and pitched his tent among us” (Jn 1:14). Indeed, the Lord has pitched the tent of his body among us and has thus inaugurated the messianic age. Following this line of thought, Gregory of Nyssa reflected on the connection between the Feast of Tabernacles and the Incarnation in a magnificent text. He says that the Feast of Tabernacles, though constantly celebrated, remained unfulfilled. “For the true Feast of Tabernacles had not yet come. According to the words of the Prophet, however [an allusion to Psalm 118:27], God, the Lord of all things, has revealed himself to us in order to complete the construction of the tabernacle of our ruined habitation, human nature” (De anima, PG 46, 132B, cf. Daniélou, Bible and Liturgy, pp. 344f.)

This week we reflect on the readings for this week in year A, which is the seventh Sunday in Epiphany: Leviticus 19:1-2, 9-18; 1 Corinthians 3:10-11, 16-23 and Matthew 5:38-48.

Show Notes:

I work as a chaplain for a non-profit hospice in Las Vegas. Anyone who has served as a chaplain will tell you that the work can be routine but it is never dull. The problems and situations that you find yourself working through with people in hospice run the gamut from the touching to the tragic to the hilarious (“hospice humor” is a thing – next time you meet a hospice worker, ask). But one thing has never come up in seven years. Nobody has ever asked me if they’ve gotten their politics correct. I’ve never heard a confession that someone had not stood up for marginalized people enough. Never have I had to absolve somebody on a deathbed for “being complicit in unjust structures.” There has never been a long dialogue between a hospice patient and me examining if the Kingdom has been sufficiently brought about by someone’s earthly efforts. Politics has a way of becoming a non-factor in one’s life after a terminal diagnosis.

http://www.latimes.com/local/lanow/la-me-ln-foster-father-sick-children-2017-story.html

This week we reflect on the readings for this week in year A, which is the sixth Sunday in Epiphany: Deuteronomy 30:15-20, 1 Corinthians 3:1-9 and Matthew 5:21-37.

Show Notes:

According to Gowan (1998), the prophets to ancient Israel did not preach a legalistic message of moral reformation but an evangelistic message of faith in the God who raises the dead. From the first days of the human race in Eden, the curse threatened against sin is "dying you shall die," and the same curse hangs over Israel after Yahweh cut covenant with it at Sinai. The message of the prophets is not, "Israel has sinned: therefore, Israel needs to get its act together or it will die." The message is, "Israel has sinned; therefor Israel must die, and its only hope is to entrust itself to a God who will give it new life on the far side of death." Or even, "Israel has sinned; Israel is already dead. Cling to the God who raises the dead." This is precisely the prophetic message of 1-2 Kings, which systematically dismantles Israel's confidence in everything but the omnipotent mercy and patience of God.

Some Protestants don’t view Roman Catholics as Christians, and won’t acknowledge the Roman Catholic Church as a true church. A Reformational Catholic regards Catholics as brothers, and regrets the need to modify that brotherhood as “separated.” To a Reformational Catholic, it’s blindingly obvious that there’s a billion-member Church of Jesus Christ centered in Rome. Because it regards the Roman Catholic Church as barely Christian, Protestantism leaves Roman Catholicism to its own devices. “They” had a pedophilia scandal, and “they” have a controversial pope. A Reformational Catholic recognizes that turmoil in the Roman Catholic Church is turmoil in his own family.

Let us try to draw out the essential points of this conversation in order to know Jesus and to understand our Jewish brothers better. The central point, it seems to me, is wonderfully revealed in one of the most moving scenes that Neusner presents in his book. In his interior dialogue Neusner has just spent the whole day following Jesus, and now he retires for prayer and Torah study with the Jews of a certain town, in order to discuss with the rabbi of that place—once again he is thinking in terms of contemporaneity across the millennia—all that he has heard. The rabbi cites from the Babylonian Talmud: “Rabbi Simelai expounded: ‘Six hundred and thirteen commandments were given to Moses, three hundred and sixty-five negative ones, corresponding to the number of the days of the solar year, and two hundred forty-eight positive commandments, corresponding to the parts of man’s body. “‘David came and reduced them to eleven…. “‘Isaiah came and reduced them to six…. “‘Isaiah again came and reduced them to two…. “‘Habakkuk further came and based them on one, as it is said: “But the righteous shall live by his faith”’ (Hab 2:4).” Neusner then continues his book with the following dialogue: “‘So,’ the master says, ‘is this what the sage, Jesus, had to say?’ “I: ‘Not exactly, but close.’ “He: ‘What did he leave out?’ “I: ‘Nothing.’ “He: ‘Then what did he add?’ “I: ‘Himself’” (pp. 107–8). This is the central point where the believing Jew Neusner experiences alarm at Jesus’ message, and this is the central reason why he does not wish to follow Jesus, but remains with the “eternal Israel”: the centrality of Jesus’ “I” in his message, which gives everything a new direction. At this point Neusner cites as evidence of this “addition” Jesus’ words to the rich young man: “If you would be perfect, go, sell all you have and come, follow me” (cf. Mt 19:21; Neusner, p. 109 [emphasis added]). Perfection, the state of being holy as God is holy (cf. Lev 19:2, 11:44), as demanded by the Torah, now consists in following Jesus. It is only with great respect and reverence that Neusner addresses this mysterious identification of Jesus and God that is found in the discourses of the Sermon on the Mount. Nonetheless, his analysis shows that this is the point where Jesus’ message diverges fundamentally from the faith of the “eternal Israel.” Neusner demonstrates this after investigating Jesus’ attitude toward three fundamental commandments: the fourth commandment (the commandment to love one’s parents), the third commandment (to keep holy the Sabbath), and, finally, the commandment to be holy as God is holy (which we touched upon just a moment ago). Neusner comes to the disturbing conclusion that Jesus is evidently trying to persuade him to cease following these three fundamental commandments of God and to adhere to Jesus instead.

This week we reflect on the readings for this week in year A, which is the fifth Sunday in Epiphany: Isaiah 58:1-12, 1 Corinthian 2:1-16 and Matthew 5:13-20.

Show Notes:

Peace in the universe through peace with God, the union of above and below—that is how we can describe the essential intention of worship in all the world’s religions. But this basic definition of the attributes of worship is marked concretely by an awareness of man’s fall and estrangement. Of necessity it takes place as a struggle for atonement, forgiveness, reconciliation. The awareness of guilt weighs down on mankind. Worship is the attempt to be found at every stage of world history to bring back the world and one’s own life into right order.And yet an immense feeling of futility pervades everything. This is the tragic face of human history. How can man again connect the world with God? How is he supposed to make valid atonement? The only real gift man should give to God is himself. As his religious awareness becomes more highly developed, so his awareness that any gift but himself is too little, in fact absurd, becomes more intense. Historically, this sense of inadequacy has been the source of grotesque and horrific forms of cult. The most extreme example is human sacrifice. Superficially, it seems to give the deity what is best, and yet more deeply it has to be seen as the most horrific evasion of the gift of self, the most horrific and therefore the most to be rejected. Thus, as religion becomes more highly developed, this terrible attempt at atonement is more and more discarded, but it also becomes clearer that in all worship it is not the real gift but a mere replacement that is given. The sacrificial system of all the world's religions, including Israel's, rests on the idea of representation- but how can sacrificial animals or the fruits of harvest represent man, make expiation for him? This is not representation but replacement, and worship with replacements turns out to be a replacement for worship. Somehow the real thing is missing.

The Messiah was expected to bring a renewed Torah—his Torah. Paul may be alluding to this in the Letter to the Galatians when he speaks of the “law of Christ” (Gal 6:2). His great, passionate defense of freedom from the Law culminates in the following statement in chapter 5: “For freedom Christ has set us free; stand fast therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery” (Gal 5:1). But when he goes on to repeat at 5:13 the claim that “you were called to freedom,” he adds, “Only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love be servants of one another” (Gal 5:13). And now he explains what freedom is—namely, freedom in the service of good, freedom that allows itself to be led by the Spirit of God. It is precisely by letting oneself be led by God’s Spirit, moreover, that one becomes free from the Law. Immediately after this Paul details what the freedom of the Spirit actually consists in and what is incompatible with it.

The “law of Christ” is freedom—that is the paradox of Paul’s message in the Letter to the Galatians. This freedom has content, then, it has direction, and it therefore contradicts what only apparently liberates man, but in truth makes him a slave. The “Torah of the Messiah” is totally new and different—but it is precisely by being such that it fulfills the Torah of Moses.

The greater part of the Sermon on the Mount (cf. Mt 5:17–7:27) is devoted to the same topic...