Old and New

Old and New

This is a reflection on the Mass readings of the day.


The pairing of today’s readings is fascinating.

In the first reading, St. Paul describes Mosaic Law, epitomized in the Ten Commandments, as the “ministry of death.”

Jesus in the gospel, on the other hand, is adamant that no letter or part of a letter of the Law will not disappear, and the Law must be followed. He came not to abolish the Law, but to fulfill it.

So which is it? Is Jesus the fulfillment of the ministry of death? Does the old Law pass away, or remain and come to fruition?

Startling as it may sound, Jesus is, in a way, the fulfillment of this “ministry of death.” The old Law was a ministry of death inasmuch as the command to avoid sin was in itself sterile and fruitless, because compliance with this command could not bring life. Humanity remained doomed to death.

But in introducing the new “ministry of the Spirit,” the ministry of life, as it were, Jesus replaces the mortal destiny of man with the destiny of eternal life. He allows mortality to take away His life, and in doing so, opens the path to life in Him.

It is not that the Commandments themselves are forever linked to death. Rather, in linking them now to life, Jesus ushers in the new Law of the Spirit, and fulfills the very destiny of the old Law and the Commandments, which was never meant to remain as futility and death.

The difference between the old Law and the new Law is not the difference between following the Commandments and living in the Spirit. Rather, it is the difference between fulfilling the Commandments with no path to salvation, and fulfilling them in the fullness of the Spirit’s joy, with an eye to eternal life.

Ideas for conversation with the Lord: Ask Jesus for help in living as a New Testament Christian, not one of the faithful prior to His coming. Ask Him for the joy of confidence in the victory of the Spirit, that turns the fulfillment of God’s will in our lives into our focal passion and desire.

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Scent of Glory

Incense Smoke

This is a reflection on the Mass readings of the day.


Following Jesus’ example in today’s gospel, do you ever pray to the Father, “Glorify me, Father?” Might seem selfish. Might seem strange. But Jesus shows us that it is neither.

Desiring glory for oneself is not a vice, but a virtue. That is, it is a virtue when we look for glory in the right place. Jesus’ request has a note of intimacy in it; His glory derives from the relationship of love between Him and His Father, not from individual achievement or conquest. Still, there is achievement involved. The achievement is that of saying “yes” to the will of the Father in all things, even though for Jesus–and for us–this involves a battle against some of our most fundamental instincts. And the glory is not self-aggrandizement, but rather it is a gratuitous, loving gift from the Father.

We catch a scent of this glory on St. Paul in the first reading (along with the musky, earthy smell of one who travels all over the known world in ancient times). Paul’s glory likewise is a gift from God–from the Holy Spirit. Paul stands tall in his confidence that he understands God’s will for him and is dead set on fulfilling it. Like Jesus in the Gospel, he is full of love and solicitude for those entrusted to him, and he fully, freely embraces the destiny God has placed before him. This gives him incomparable stature–glorious stature.

We may well ask God, as ardently as we wish, “Glorify me.” He will answer our prayer by leading us to a loving and complete surrender to His will, which–no matter what our temperament, our talents, or even our insecurities–will bring with it, by the gift of the Holy Spirit, a state of admirable and enviable glory and greatness.

Ideas for conversation with the Lord: Ask Jesus to inspire in you a Napoleonic passion for glory, but for the glory that He sought–the glory that only God can bequeath. Ask Him to make of you nothing less than what His Father has designed you, and He has redeemed and exalted you, to be.

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Hey Wait, I Thought…

Surprise

This is a reflection on the Mass readings of the day.


Sometimes, somewhat enlightened by the perspective of history, we scoff at the disciples of Jesus for expecting Him to take over as an earthly ruler; even immediately prior to His Ascension back into Heaven, after all He had been through, they still asked Him if the time of Israel’s earthly restoration had come (cf. Acts 1:6).

But if we look at the Old Testament prophecies from the perspective that they had, their persistent emphasis on the earthly kingdom of Israel does not appear so outlandish. The prophecy of the definitive rule of a descendant of David is a persistent theme in Scripture. How were the disciples to know that the literal return of the Kingdom of Israel would not occur with the coming of the Messiah?

Today’s first reading is another example. One almost imagines this prophecy and its fulfillment as fruit of a sense of humor on God’s part. The prophecy speaks of Jerusalem drawing rulers from afar and receiving rich gifts from them. How would anyone reading the prophecy imagine that the three rulers to come would arrive quietly and leave in secret, and that their gifts wouldn’t be showered upon the literal city of Jerusalem, but presented to its infant heavenly King in the humblest of stables?

We may feel smug, imagining that while the disciples were clueless, we have been clued in. We understand that there is some metaphor in the prophecies that foreshadow Jesus, even while He fulfills them marvelously, profoundly.

But are we so fully read in on the history of salvation? What about our own lives? Sure, we have a sense of the importance of our vocations, as the disciples ultimately did, but do we fully understand how and when the story ends? And what about the relevance of each day of our own lives to the bigger picture? Do we have a handle on that? And, aren’t we too guilty of taking an overly earthly viewpoint of things, at times–jubilant when our political candidate wins, seeing it as some sort of divine sign, and becoming utterly deflated when our candidate loses?

The truth is, we have gained beautiful insights through Revelation about the mission of Jesus and of the Church. Still, when it comes to our own lives, we walk in the chiaroscuro of faith and trust, just like the disciples, just like Our Lady (who did so most elegantly).

If the disciples ultimately just needed to place their trust in the person of Christ, without full understanding, then so do we.

Ideas for conversation with the Lord: Ask Jesus to help you respond to the mysteries of your Christian life with humble trusting faith. Read Mary’s Magnificat proclaimed to Elizabeth in Luke 1, and examine with her if you rejoice with such confident gratitude, in the midst of the many uncertainties your life holds (as hers did). Ask Jesus to help your trust to be focused on His Person, rather than your understanding of the ins and outs of His plan.

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Worthy is the Lamb

Lamb

This is a reflection on the Mass readings of the day.


Blessed Carlo Acutis, the modern Catholic computer programmer with an especially deep devotion to the Eucharist, once said, “Sadness is looking at oneself, happiness is looking at God. Conversion is nothing but a movement of the eyes.”

A movement of the eyes. Jesus and St. Paul talk all about this in today’s readings. In the gospel, Jesus uses the circumstance he observes of people grabbing places of honor at a party to make this point. It is not wrong to wish to be honored. But we do not attain honor by exalting ourselves–rather, by taking the lowest place and working from there.

This is a huge irony that merits a moment’s consideration. On the one hand, Jesus actually encourages the quest for honor and greatness, by pointing out which approaches are effective in attaining it, and which are not. On the other hand, however, the means he points out for attaining greatness and honor is precisely NOT to appropriate it.

So, as we quest for true greatness and meaningful honor, how do we acquire the counterintuitive habit of looking to stay in the background? Blessed Carlo says it best. We do so by moving our eyes from ourselves–even though it is we ourselves who want to be happy–to the Person who actually makes us happy, Jesus Christ. If He is our joy, if our basis for personal security comes from Him and His love for us, we naturally want to see Him grow in our own and others’ estimation–our life becomes all about Him. And then, He takes care of the rest, including any need we have for honor and greatness. For one loving glance from Him confers more true greatness and honor than the adoring cheers of a crowd of thousands.

This is how St. Paul found His sense of personal greatness. On the one hand, in perfect line with today’s gospel, he considered himself the least of the apostles (1 Cor. 15:9). On the other hand, today we see that he is equally content with death or life, because “to me, life is Christ.” His eyes are on Christ, and so he has no complexes in his own regard. He doesn’t need to focus on building his own image.

When we fall in love with the divine greatness, the infinite mercy and tender providential care of Jesus, our own honor and greatness becomes a non-issue–a given. Because true greatness is neither a fruit of our own self-aggrandizing, nor even of our achievement. Like the theological virtues, it is a gift bestowed on us in the act of drawing near to Him who defines the stature of every created thing.

Ideas for conversation with the Lord: Take you eyes for a moment off your own sense of self-worth and achievement, and consider the worth of Jesus: “Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive power and riches, wisdom and strength, honor and glory and blessing.” (Rev. 5:12). Consider Him glorified in Heaven for His divinity first of all, but also for His loving, merciful, sacrificial act of redemption. Then consider that, crazily, He respects you, even admires you as His Father’s great creation–even imperfect as you are. Consider that you need no other source of self-esteem. Adore Him for His greatness; thank Him for His love for you.

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