On Being the Temple of God

Posted on November 8, 2024 by andrewmarrosb

The brief story of the widow putting two small coins into the temple treasury, the only coins she had to live on, has often been touted as an edifying story about sacrificial generosity. I’ve come to seriously doubt that Jesus intends us to see it that way. Yes, the woman is generous and one can think of her many successors who built St. Patrick’s Cathedral in New York with their hard-earned pennies. But just before the woman comes with her two small coins, Jesus has castigated the scribes who “devour widows’ houses.” Moses and the prophets constantly championed the widows and orphans, and yet a person who is supposed to be championed is instead devoured by the system. What Jesus knew and the poor widow didn’t, is that the temple was a lost cause; it was going to be destroyed.

But Jesus also knew that the temple was a holy place. Hence his fury that it had been turned into a den of thieves. When Jesus was a child, he knew that the temple was the place where he should be about his Father’s business. (Lk. 2: 49) Religious anthropologists know very well that there is a human need for sacred space, space that focuses one on God and makes one feel closer to God. Hence the devotion of the poor widow in Jerusalem and the widows and other people with meager resources donating towards the building of St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

The destruction of the temple in 70 A.D. was a shock to both the Jewish and Christian communities and both communities had to build their traditions out of the ruins. After all, the first followers of Jesus also worshiped in the temple when it was still extant. The Jews recreated their tradition by embodying the Temple sacrifices through their daily practice developed in the Talmud. As for Christianity, John, in his Gospel, quoted Jesus as saying that if the temple should be destroyed, he could rebuild it in three days, meaning, as John goes on to say, that Jesus was referring to his body as the real Temple. (Jn. 2: 19–21) The author of Hebrews picks up this theme. By being the once-and-for-all offering for sin, Jesus has replaced the temple where sin offerings were made, with his own body. (Heb. 9: 24–28) For Christians, then, the temple has been replaced by Jesus as the focal point, the sacred space. But if Jesus has entered the heavenly sanctuary not made by human hands, as the author of Hebrews says, then where does a Christian find holy space?

Over the centuries, many church buildings have been built to fulfill this need, some of them overwhelming cathedrals, others storefronts. For me, one of the most moving entries into sacred space was a modest building, unadorned except for a cross strategically placed so as to be hard to notice, with a worn linoleum floor inside. But this is where a small group of Christians had worshiped for years in East Germany. These people had spent their whole lives giving up two small coins in their worship of God.

But, as the Risen Jesus revealing himself in the breaking of the bread shows, Jesus, is not only the true Temple of God but he makes all of us into the Temple that is His Body. That is why Paul, in line with John and the author of Hebrews, says that we are made the Temple of God by and in Christ. (1 Cor. 3: 16) Just as Jesus is the Temple by giving his whole life, we are part of the same Temple when we give all of our lives to God and neighbor. That is, the temple of God is everywhere as is the case in the Book of Revelation, where there is no temple because the Lamb has become the Temple. (Rev. 21: 220 At St. Gregory’s, it strengthens our prayerful focus on God to have the abbey church to go to several times a day, just as it helps to have set times for prayer to help us cultivate an attitude of prayer at all times. When we had a couple of weeks when we couldn’t pray in the church because the furnace had broken down, I missed the sense of focus the church gives us. But it is at least as important not to imprison our prayerful focus on God in a church space, but to keep the walls permeable to the rest of the world so that we are always in God’s Temple because we are God’s Temple. As the true Temple, Jesus broke bread at an inn just as we break bread at the Eucharist in the church.

Dwelling in the Land of the Suffering Servant

Posted on October 19, 2024 by andrewmarrosb

The passage from Isaiah known as the Song of the Suffering Servant (Is. 53: 4–12) takes us to a foreign country where we have difficulty finding our way and understanding the language. The itinerary is too long and complicated to attempt a thorough tour, but the overall ambience is one of crushing suffering. The Servant is “struck down,” “wounded,” and “afflicted.” But not just struck down and wounded and afflicted as, say, a person dying of cancer might be, but somebody “wounded for our transgressions.” Perhaps one could say that there are a few familiar sights that remind us of normal life. We know that people sometimes suffer for the wrong-doing of others, and perhaps we feel we have ourselves suffered on account of others, but we don’t normally encounter the suffering inflicted on a person in so concentrated a form. But what is particularly foreign and strange is that the afflicted one “did not open his mouth,” but rather was “like a lamb led to the slaughter.” (Is. 53: 7) Some people can be resigned and dignified when suffering, but it is difficult not to protest when one is so seriously wronged. And this isn’t just somebody being blamed for what somebody else did. This is somebody stricken for the transgressions of a whole people. And yet, “he had done no violence, and there was no deceit in his mouth.” Such willingness to suffer for the wrongs of others without protest is more than most of us can comprehend. The whole notion that such a thing could happen so intensively is as easy to comprehend as a totally unintelligible language. But there is another strangeness as well. The speaker, one we could call our guide, expresses remorse for the suffering of this innocent person. Our guide admits to being guilty of the sort of transgression that resulted in the suffering. Moreover, the guide admits to guilt over allowing the suffering and thinking the suffering was justified, was God’s will. This guide now sees the suffering as “a perversion of justice.” (Is. 53: 8) Sometimes we feel guilt over small matters such as putting ourselves before others and not stepping up in times of need. But such a fundamental move of repentance is rare in so serious a matter. Again, the language is virtually unintelligible.

But just as a foreign land can take on some familiarity for a frequent visitor, so visiting the foreign land of this text can take on the beginnings of familiarity the more we visit it. If we follow the Church calendar, we have at least a yearly visit. And now, outside of the usual time, we have another visit to the text we normally come across on Good Friday. If we gain the beginnings of familiarity, we can begin to ask ourselves if we have, in our own ways, added to the sufferings of this innocent servant, and whether or not we should repent of the burdens we have laid on other people. Perhaps we can begin to learn the language of this land and take the language to heart.

The Epistle to the Hebrews is not the same land as that of the Suffering Servant. It is not as drawn out and intense in the suffering as in Isaiah, but the language is a close variant of that of the Suffering Servant. First, we have a normal high priest who offers sacrifices for sins on behalf of the people. (Heb. 5: 1) It looks like a routine job, though one requiring penance on the part of the priest who sins like all of the other people. (Heb. 5: 2–3) But then suddenly, we have a High Priest who does not make an offering of a lamb led to the slaughter, but makes an offering of himself. This Priest is the lamb led to the slaughter, as was the Suffering Servant. Like the Suffering Servant, this Priest did not protest, but he did make his self-offering with “loud cries and tears to the one who was able to save him from death.” (Heb. 5: 7) Again, we see a radical self-giving that is hard to understand, but the more we visit this land and learn the dialect, the more our hearts move in this direction, leading us to trust the One who heard the cries of the Priest who offered himself.

In Mark’s Gospel, we find ourselves in a much more familiar world where it is much easier to understand the language and customs. Two followers of a charismatic religious leader ask their leader if they can be given the best places at the right and left hands of the leader. (Mk. 10: 35–37) Not surprisingly, the other followers are incensed at this initiative, presumably because these are the places they would rather have for themselves. This kind of jockeying for position is much more like normal life than like visiting a foreign land. The odd thing, though, is that the charismatic leader in question, Jesus, isn’t in their territory at all. Perhaps his body is there with them, but his mind is thoroughly ensconced in the Land of the Suffering Servant, a land where he speaks the language fluently. It is the world of his followers and of ourselves that is unintelligible to him. In fact, when Jesus does speak, he speaks in the language of the Suffering Servant, a foreign tongue to the disciples and to us. Fortunately, Jesus’ teaching is relatively simple, like using a primer for beginners. In this regard, this Gospel fits in well during ordinary time, when we are following Jesus and his disciples and learning for ourselves how to be disciples. Rather than talking about bearing the burdens of other peoples’ transgressions, Jesus simply tells us that the leader must be a servant of all. (Mk. 10: 43) This is the first baby step for learning the language of the Suffering Servant. One can go from there to the more advanced matters of the Suffering Servant’s world, which is Jesus’ world.

We are here presented with two worlds, two universes, even. Perhaps some of us have one foot in both worlds. Since the two worlds don’t mix very well, this would make us be what James, In his epistle, called “double minded.” (James 1: 8) The world of the Suffering Servant, is, however, what Paul called the “mind of Christ.” (1 Cor. 2: 16) The question is whether we will occasionally visit the world of the Suffering Servant as uncomprehending tourists, or make frequent visits and become fluent in the language where the words penetrate the heart. If we become attentive to serving others, there isn’t time to ask for the best places because we are entering the only place that matters.

True Greatness

Posted on July 2, 2024 by andrewmarrosb

It is natural and good to have an affection for the place where one was raised and where one lives. Caring for one’s family, one’s community, one’s city, one’s country is all good. Such affection is the basis for caring for other people. Caring for other people. That is the key. Do we indeed make local affections the basis for caring for people of other cities, of other countries?

In Deuteronomy, Moses grounds his love for his people in God’s love for his people. It is God who has delivered the people from Egypt and is leading them to a new land for them to settle in. Therefore one should fear God for what God has done. (Deut. 10: 21) Moses then expands God’s love for God’s own people by saying that they are commanded to love the stranger. Why love the stranger? Because the Israelites were strangers in Egypt. They should remember their own vulnerability as strangers and care for the vulnerability of other strangers. America is a continent of immigrants, which is to say, strangers. This even goes for those we call Native Americans. For that matter, we find histories of migration for just about any group of people that we know anything about. All of us are vulnerable strangers and all of us should care for vulnerable strangers.

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus presupposes the legitimate and right love one has for one’s own people, then, in the tradition of Moses and going beyond it, stretches this love for the stranger to one’s enemies. (Mt. 5: 44) That is to say, God raises the sun, not only on one’s own people, but on all people. After all, caring for one’s own people is the least we can and should do. Isn’t it caring for the stranger that makes a country great? Isn’t it caring for one’s enemy that makes a country greater still?

There is much talk about making America great again. The anniversary of the founding of our country is a good time to reflect on what made America great, or if it actually needs to be made great in the first place. Since penitence is central to the Christian life, repenting of the ways we fall short of greatness is part of the celebration of our country. Noting failures to care for the stranger, the widow and the orphan, let alone loving our enemies, can lead us to greater efforts. If we can do these things, America will indeed be great.

The author of Hebrews takes up the theme of migration with an added depth. Abraham demonstrates his faith by setting forth to a place that he is to receive as an inheritance, (Heb. 11: 8) but actually Abraham and his descendants were seeking “a better country, that is, a heavenly one.” (Heb. 11: 16) We are all migrants seeking a better country that is grounded in God’s love for all people. One’s own land, one’s country, is important, but it is not of ultimate importance. God is of ultimate importance and God has prepared a better homeland for all of us, one that nobody will have to fight over.

God’s Sabbath Rest

Posted on August 24, 2019 by andrewmarrosb

churchDistanceBlossoms - Copy Jesus’ healing of the woman who had been crippled for eighteen years (Lk. 13: 13–17) is one of many healing miracles where the Evangelist emphasizes its occurrence on the Sabbath. These healings were provocative to the Jewish leaders because they interpreted the Sabbath law to preclude any kind of work. Jesus clearly intended to challenge that interpretation but there is a deeper teaching about the Sabbath that he wants us to learn.

We see hints of this deeper teaching in these stirring words from Isaiah about the Sabbath:

If you refrain from trampling the Sabbath,
from pursuing your own interests on my holy day;
if you call the Sabbath a delight
and the holy day of the Lord honorable;
if you honor it, not going your own ways,
serving your own interests, or pursuing your own affairs;
then you shall take delight in the Lord,
and I will make you ride upon the heights of the earth;
I will feed you with the heritage of your ancestor Jacob,
for the mouth of the Lord has spoken. (Is. 58: 13–14)

For the prophet, one dishonors the Sabbath by grimly pursuing one’s own interests instead of delighting in the Lord. In healing the crippled woman, Jesus was not pursuing his own interests, but that of another. More important, the healing caused much delight in the Lord on the part of the people who witnessed it except for the Leader of the Synagogue. A bit earlier, before speaking specifically of the Sabbath, Isaiah expressed God’s commendation of those who offer food to the hungry and “satisfy the needs of the afflicted.” ( Is. 58: 10) Jesus obviously thought that satisfying the need of an afflicted woman is a way of honoring the Sabbath.

Psalm 95 refers to God’s “Rest” to mean both entry into the Promised Land and the Sabbath Rest as God’s intended end for humanity. The rebellion of the Israelites in the desert threatens to prevent the Israelites from entering God’s “Rest” on both levels. (Ps. 95: 11) The author of Hebrews picks up this theme in its eschatological dimension, noting that Joshua had not led the Israelites into the ultimate Rest when we cease from [our] labors as God did from his.” (Heb. 4: 10)

The author of Hebrews returns to this eschatological theme at the end of the letter when he contrasts the frightening dark cloud of Mount Sinai that the Israelites came to with our coming to “Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to innumerable angels in festal gathering, and to the assembly of the firstborn who are enrolled in heaven, and to God the judge of all, and to the spirits of the righteous made perfect, and to Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel.” (Heb. 12: 22–24) Once again, we have corporate rejoicing. More important, we have the “better word” of Jesus, the Forgiving Victim in contrast to Abel’s blood that inspired vengeance from which God had to shield the murderer.

The Psalmist’s warning that those who murmur against God and Moses will not enter into God’s Rest and the author of Hebrews’s use of the same threatening tone for those who refuse the warning from Heaven sound vindictive but the “better word than Abel” suggests otherwise. I think we do better to realize that God’s Sabbath Rest isn’t so restful as long as we grumble like the Leader of the Synagogue. Nobody was casting him out of God’s Sabbath Rest; he just wasn’t having any part of it.

Inspired by Jesus’ resurrection on the first day of the week, most Christians celebrate the Sabbath on that day when we celebrate the Paschal Mystery of Christ at the altar. Since the Resurrection points to the ultimate meaning of the Sabbath, I would think it is not too much to see this healing by Jesus as one of many foretastes of the Resurrection, an encouragement to celebrate new life from the bondage of illness and injury and social oppression. The healing of just one person seems a small thing compared to the heavenly crowd in Hebrews but the whole crowd rejoiced in the healing, indicating that healing one person entailed healing the whole community. This group rejoicing suggests that the Sabbath Rest is hardly a boring, static existence but a dynamic rejoicing in the interests and healing of others which leaves no room for murmuring and rejecting God’s blessings. We should be too busy rejoicing for that.

On Being a Blessing for All

Posted on March 20, 2018 by andrewmarrosb

BenedictChurchStatue1 Abraham’s call to leave his country and kindred has been a monastic trope ever since there was a monastic presence in Christianity. Entering the monastic life does entail leaving behind the life one had been leading up to that time. It is also a venture into the unknown. Reading books on monasticism or even visiting monasteries do not fully prepare one for life after actually entering. The author of Hebrews said that Abraham did not know where he was going and lived “as in a foreign land.” (Heb. 11: 9) The author of Hebrews was not writing for monastics but for a Christian community under pressure. For this author, all Christians have “no lasting city. (Heb. 13: 14) Abraham did not simply turn his back on his family and his culture. God told him that he would “be a blessing” and through whom all families would be blest. (Gen. 12: 3) This would include being a blessing for the family he had left behind. Monks, for that matter remain involved with their families of origin and offer help when it is needed. Benedict himself had left the Roman culture of his time in which we was well-placed socially to enter a new life in which he became a pioneer for many sons and daughters in the millennium and a half since his life.

St. Paul’s prayer that we “may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth” (Eph. 3: 18) is fitting for the monastic quest as we seek to know God deeply through prayer in the Divine Office, in the Eucharist, and in our hearts. It is significant that this deep prayer, even when done individually, is communal as Paul is praying that the whole Ephesian congregation will seek this depth in prayer. Benedict wanted his monastics to prefer nothing to the Work of God. He also wanted his monastics to “run on the path of God’s commandments, our hearts overflowing with the inexpressible delight of love.”

The closeness to God gained in prayer is imaged in the vine and the branches in John 15. As a branch clings to the vine, so should we cling to Jesus, keep the Abba’s commandments, and “abide in his love.” (Jn. 15: 10) This image of the vine and the branches is communal as the vine connects us deeply to each of the branches. Indeed, Jesus goes on to admonish us to love each other as we have been loved by Jesus and His heavenly Abba. It is through this love and not from intellectual study, that everything made known to Jesus by his Abba is also made known to us. The comprehending of the breadth and length and height and depth of God is a comprehension, partial to be sure, that comes from the same love that would lead us to lay down our lives for our friends if that should be required of us. In his Rule, Benedict would have his monastics serve one another. This applies to serving at tables, serving the sick, and in general tending to the needs of others.

Although we may be pilgrims and wanderers we, like Abraham, remain rooted in the hope for the city “whose architect and builder is God” (Heb. 11: 10) even as, like St. Benedict, we tend to the community we are called to serve in this life so that we may be blessings for all people.

—————

My reflections on the Rule of St. Benedict are available in my books Tools for Peace

On Being Lifted up for Us

Posted on March 16, 2018 by andrewmarrosb

crosswButterflies As we draw near to Holy Week, the lections focus on Jesus’ anticipation of his Passion. Jesus’ famous response to the Greeks about the grain dying in the ground in order to bear fruit suggests a good deal of serenity on Jesus’ part. But one can imagine personifying a grain suddenly experiencing the pain of being ripped apart from within and panicking that it is dying before blossoming out into a new life beyond imagining. If somebody had quoted Jesus’ words to the grain before it happened, would the grain have been serene about what was to come? A brief reflection on our own nervous state about such an occurrence probably gives us the answer to that question.

Jesus seems less serene when he says that his soul is troubled and raises the question if he should ask his Father to save him from this hour. But Jesus’ resolution returns in the very next verse: “No, it is for this reason that I have come to this hour. “ (Jn. 12: 27) The clear echo of Jesus’ anguished prayer at Gethsemane in the synoptic Gospels comes to mind here. Luke is particularly dramatic with the drops of blood dropping to the ground. The Epistle to the Hebrews stresses Jesus’ anxiety more than the Gospels: “Jesus offered up prayers and supplications, with loud cries and tears, to the one who was able to save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverent submission.” (Heb. 5: 7) It is significant that, although Jesus was not saved from death, his prayer was heard. Or was Jesus saved from death?

After his Gethsemane-like words in John, Jesus says: “I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.” John goes on to say: “He said this to indicate the kind of death he was to die. (Jn. 12: 32-33) I agree with the many scholars who take this verse and similar ones in John as conflating the cross and resurrection. John abounds in word plays and here John gives us a double meaning to “lifted up.” Jesus was lifted up on the cross and he was lifted up in the resurrection. This conflation has the danger of minimizing the reality of Jesus’ death, making it a quick and easy passage to the resurrected life. However, I see a strong tension in the way that John makes the expression “lifted up” do double duty. After being lifted up on the cross, the crucifixion remains an enduring reality even after Jesus is lifted in the resurrection. That is, it is not only the Resurrection but the crucifixion that draws people to Jesus. John gives a powerful stress on the victimization of Jesus as the focal point when Jesus says: “Now is the judgment of this world; now the ruler of this world will be driven out.” (Jn. 12: 31) The crucifixion judges the persecutors and the resurrection drives out the persecutory mechanism that has ruled the world. It is because, as the author of Hebrews said, Jesus ‘learned obedience through what he suffered,” (Heb. 5: 8) that he has the power to draw us to him. That is the say, the conflation can work both ways. It seems to dilute the experience of Jesus’ death but it also retains the painful death in the glory of the resurrection. This conflation shows how vital both elements are. Jesus was raised up on the cross as a victim of grave social injustice. God raised Jesus to vindicate Jesus and to demonstrate that the crucifixion, a disgrace in the eyes of the persecutors, was in truth the glory of God. (The Greek word doxa is another double entendre as it means both disgrace and honor.)

We can speculate on how Jesus himself actually experienced his approaching death but can arrive at no definitive answers. Even the New Testament writers who dealt with it give us varying portrayals. It stands to reason that Jesus’ own emotions were at least as complex as the sum of depictions in the New Testament. But, as the author of Hebrews said many times, Jesus is the forerunner into persecution and death to give us the courage to face both ourselves.

Foreigners and Strangers

Posted on July 1, 2015 by andrewmarrosb

I’m not going to brag about how great a country the United States of America is, but I’m not going to condemn it either. The lections assigned for this celebration tell us how to celebrate this day and that is how I’m going to do it.

In Deuteronomy (10:17-21), Yahweh claims to be the God of Gods. That is God is God of all nations, not just Israel and certainly not just of the United States. Yahweh goes on to remind the Israelites of their humble origins as escaped slaves and commands them to lend the same compassion to other foreigners. It is easy for us to forget that all of us here are descended from foreigners, even the Native Americans, although they go way back. Yahweh, who defends the poor and the fatherless, embraces the tired, the poor, the teeming masses yearning to breathe free. As descendants of tired and poor teeming masses yearning to breathe free, we should open this country to those whom Yahweh loves and not just to the energetic, rich people who breathe easily. In order for a country to practice such radical hospitality, it is necessary to practice the same hospitality to all who already live here so that others may wish to come.

When we gather in any way, whether as a family, a community, or a nation, we need to be sure that our bonding is not at the expense of others. That is, we should not need enemies to know who we are or who we think we are. In Matthew 5:43-48, Jesus tells us to love our enemies, which amounts to not considering anyone our enemies, even if they think that of us. Jesus says that pagans greet those who are of “their sort.” Jesus asks much more of us than that. If God gives rain to all, then we should give peace to all. That is, we should treat those of other countries the way we treat our own, provided we treat our own as the passage from Deuteronomy teaches us.

The author of Hebrews (11:816) reminds us that our country, any country, is not ultimate, is not our final dwelling place. Even the most supposedly settled of us were nomads once and fundamentally we still are. We all should be looking for a “better country—a heavenly one” while we live as foreigners and strangers here. If we all live as foreigners, we will not be strangers to each other and we will be surprised at how pleasant our stopping place is on the Way to the better Home.

Human Swords, God’s Peace

Posted on August 16, 2013 by andrewmarrosb

Jesus’ words that he came not to bring peace but a sword (Matthew) or division (Luke) are startling, coming from a man who is commonly referred to as “the Prince of Peace.” Does this mean that Jesus is a war-god of some sort after all? Since Jesus never used a sword and rebuked Peter from using one at Gethsemane, and died rather than call on legions of angels to defend him and beat up his enemies, and approached his disciples and even the persecutor Paul with forgiveness after rising from the dead, it is fair to assume that Jesus is not in the least encouraging swords and divisions, but is warning us that we will have both as long as we experience the world in terms of us vs. them.

The approach to scripture inspired by René Girard and colleagues such as Raymund Schwager and James Alison is strongly committed to an unequivocally loving God who seeks only peace as opposed to any two-faced Janus-like deity who is capriciously loving one moment and wrathful the next. This approach tends to interpret “wrath” associated with God as human projections that distort the truth of God’s unconditional love. Basic to Girard’s thinking is the conviction that humans tend to unify conflictive societies through scapegoating vulnerable victims with collective violence. Society has regained peace—for a time—but at a cost to at least one person. This sort of a peace simply has to be disrupted once and for all by a God who is unequivocally loving and who wishes that not even one person be lost. According to Girard, this is precisely what Jesus did by dying on the cross and exposing the reality of collective violence for what it is.

As a result, we now have a world where there is an ever heightening awareness of victims, but a serious lack of anywhere near a corresponding awareness of the need for forgiveness. Without forgiveness, awareness of victims increases resentment and escalated conflict. Since the awareness of victims does not allow collective violence to bring peace to a society, there is nothing to stop the escalation of violence. As resentment grows rampant, it infects every level of society including the family so that family counselors are in great demand to try and talk people into giving up their resentment against those closest to them. They often fail as much as conflict mediators in political hotspots and for the same reason. Resentment becomes a defining factor of many lives and defining factors are not easily given up. So it is that the coming of Jesus the forgiving victim has brought swords and divisions.

The offer of peace and forgiveness, for all of the divine love behind it, inevitably causes division between those who accept it and those who don’t. There are two possible reactions to such a choice and a unanimous conversion to God’s peace wasn’t in the cards then any more than it is today. (Of course we humans stack the deck heavily against peace.) For those of us who seriously try to choose peace, it is tempting to think we are on the “peaceful” side of this division but we need to realize that the Word, the forgiving victim, is a divisive two-edged sword “piercing to the division of soul and spirit” and “discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart” as the author of Hebrews puts it. That is, the pure forgiveness of the divine victim shows up the least bit of resentment we allow ourselves to harbor in the farthest, darkest, corners of our souls.

The escalation of violence occurring right at the time of this writing is a sure cause of discouragement. What we can do is take hope, primarily for ourselves, but also for our personal relationships and for humanity as a whole that the offer of peace from the forgiving victim remains open to all of us at every time of day and night and this offer will never end no matter what we do with our swords and divisions.

Imaginary Visions of True Peace

The Stories and Spiritual Teachings of a Benedictine Monk

Tag Archives: Hebrews