Reconciliation Lectionary: Psalm 51:14 & 17, 19

Give me back the joy of your salvation,
and a willing spirit sustain in me.

O Lord, open my lips,
and my mouth shall proclaim your praise.

My sacrifice, O God, is a contrite spirit;
a heart contrite and humbled, O God, you will not spurn.

These selected verses conclude the Lectionary’s longest psalm offering, the 51st–nearly in its entirety. Verses 14 and 17 are merged into one stanza. The suggested antiphon is derived from the first of these. Liturgy of the Hours practitioners will recognize one of the most-uttered lines of Scripture in all Christendom.

I don’t know what your attention is drawn to in this psalm, but “spirit,” appearing several times, is noticeable to me this Lent. “Spirit” has perhaps a spotty reputation in some circles these days. Hardcore Catholics dismiss the “spiritual but not religious” moniker. But I can’t say I totally disagree with the sentiment. It seems very Matthew 21:28ff-ish. I’d rather have an interior orientation to God, despite my interjections of refusal, denial, or whatnot. And we might be straying into pharisaical territory ourselves by criticizing those who do all the right religious things on the outside. Do we really embrace the duality that they must be secret sinners? I hope not. This isn’t an either-or situation. Sin is not only tricky, but pervasive.

The psalmist has been pouring out deep feelings, intense contrition, and is obviously in anguish over the harm done to God by sin. These verses suggest to me that if contrition can touch our inmost parts–heart and spirit–then God’s grace has truly had some effect on us. And that is a source of trust–that we can rely on God’s love. Other people may decline to forgive our trespasses, but God sees what is hopefully a deep resolve to reform. And while God may have doubts about external actions, the true battleground of virtue is deep within.

Your thoughts, observations? All of Psalm 51 is here. The cited verses of Psalm 51 are 3-6b (skipping 6cd), 7-14, 17, and 19. Did the framers of the Rite of Penance miss anything?

 

Reconciliation Lectionary: Psalm 51:9-13

As given in number 139 of the Rite of Penance, Psalm 51 is presented almost in its entirety. Thirteen and a half verses are organized into seven stanzas–more text than you’ll find in any responsorial psalm in the Missal. Did those who composed this rite intend this? When do you think an extended musical version of Psalm 51 would be good liturgy? What about this famous setting?

My own sense is that a musical setting of Psalm 51 could well extend into several minutes and involve a more complex dialogue of assembly, soloists, choir, and possibly other narrative forms.

Back to what is given. “Miserere mei …” is not the antiphon, but this:

Give me back the joy of your salvation.

But the core of Psalm 51 contains two other verses more well known as Roman Rite antiphons. Verse 9 is used for the Rite of Sprinkling:

Cleanse me of sin with hyssop, that I may be purified;
Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.

This verse is linked with the following four lines in the longest stanza:

Let me hear the sounds of joy and gladness;
the bones you have crushed shall rejoice.
Turn away your face from my sins,
and blot out all my guilt.

It’s interesting that the framing of stanzas in the Lectionary rather ignore the natural break in the composition between verses 10 and 11. That latter verse begins a poetic echo of verses 3-4: the penitent is calling on God’s mercy again. “Blot … my guilt” parallels the “wipe … my offense” of verse 3.

And we are most familiar with the psalmist’s prayer for a clean heart, and the call of the psalmist for the Spirit of God to sustain a hoped-for virtue:

A clean heart create for me, O God,
and a steadfast spirit renew within me.
Cast me not out from your presence,
and your Holy Spirit take not from me.

My sense is that one can take individual verses out of this psalm for personal benefit. Indeed, it is difficult to find a line or two insufficient as a penitential mantra. The entire composition may be unparalleled in the Psalter as a prayer for mercy. From great sin, God clearly works great grace. That should be a comfort to any sinner.

 

Reconciliation Lectionary: Psalm 51:6ab, 7-8

Sometimes a reading raises questions. These verses of Psalm 51 do for me:

“Against you only have I sinned,
and done what is evil in your sight.”

Indeed, in guilt I was born,
and in sin my mother conceived me;
Behold, you are pleased with sincerity of heart,
and in my inmost being you teach me wisdom.

The Lectionary gives quotes. The NAB version, slightly different, doesn’t.

Psalm 51 may be a lyrical and beautiful expression of contrition, but it is not a perfect confession. David sinned against his general and Bathsheba and his whole army. That’s more than God. Even a king is answerable to and responsible for his people. And we, too, as penitents, are responsible for our offenses.

Verse 7 is an expression of misery. We indeed can feel so steeped in transgression, and so deep into problems of our own making that it seems to stretch back to birth. I think 51:7 is less a confirmation of original sin and more a metaphor for a penitent who feels something bad has lasted so long.

With verse 8, we find a change of tone. There’s hope. We hope we offer a sincere confession. And in turn, we hope God gives us grace. Would I ask for wisdom? I think I would be happy with insight. Maybe that’s the same thing. What do you think?

 

Reconciliation Lectionary: Psalm 51:3-5

Have mercy on me, O God, in your goodness
in the greatness of your compassion wipe out my offense.
*Thoroughly wash me from my guilt,
and of my sin cleanse me.
For I acknowledge my offense,
and my sin is before me always.

And so begins the most famous of the penitential psalms. According to biblical tradition David has committed adultery, conspiracy, and murder to gain for himself the beloved wife of one of his generals. The prophet Nathan knows his king has a back door through which he can bring the psalmist’s sense of justice to light. And he does so with devastating effect on the man’s conscience.

From the asterisk, verses 4-5 are given in the section of Prayers of the Penitent (RP 85-92). Verse 3 doesn’t subtract away from the confessional nature of this piece.

I’m used to the ICEL Psalter’s “Have mercy, tender God, forget that I defied you.” Direct and to the point. And what an acknowledgement for the penitent: we haven’t just offended God. (Who can be sure of God’s direct reaction to our major transgressions?) But we can say without hesitation that we have defied God. And that deeper admission carries a lot of weight.

Verse 5b strikes me, but not because I identify with it. In fact, more the opposite. My sin is before me always? Really? I think not so much. The whole point of sin is often our lack of recognition of it. Or our self-deception in shielding our consciences from it. The psalmist is engaged in wishful thinking. Or perhaps an attempt to wool-pull on God’s eyes. But God knows. And when we are deep in penitence, so do we.

I’d like to take several posts over the coming week to delve deeper into Psalm 51. It appears in the Lectionary frequently, even outside of Lent. It is a staple of Ash Wednesday. It is the most common text associated with the plainchant antiphon, “Parce Domine,” which itself is based on Joel 2:17. Always a fitting way to leap into Lent, and delve deeply into our experience of contrition and penance.

 

Reconciliation Lectionary: Colossians 1:12-14

One of the short Scripture passages given in the Rite of Penance (81) is this powerful piece from Saint Paul’s introduction to his letter to the Colossians. Scripture geeks may notice that these three verses precede the christological hymn of 1:15-20.

Many biblical scholars see this passage as hymnic also. Is it a musical prelude and part of the larger piece? My main purpose with this post is not to belabor the literary/theological aspects, but mainly to give some food for spiritual thought. If verses 12 through 14 are a lyrical addition, that might inform our prayer. Would we be in the Augustinian territory of “praying twice,” by rendering our communication with God in song? If we are giving thanks, shall we not sing it? Verse 12 is quite an affirmation, for starters. God’s grace draws us into the family of holiness:

Let us give thanks to the Father,
who has made you fit to share
in the inheritance of the holy ones in light.

Saint Paul or the lyricist shifts from second person address to first person plural.

He delivered us from the power of darkness
and transferred us to the Kingdom of his beloved Son,
in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.

Redemption and reconciliation is a gift from God to the community of believers.

When we approach the Lord, we achieve by grace a status in the light and love of God. Our “political” standing is shifted. From darkness into light. From bondage into freedom. From the kingdoms of the world into the Reign of God. The badge of our allegiance–our citizenship papers if you will–is the experience of redemption in Christ. I can imagine a band of believers being taken up, offering a parting “Nyah, nyah, nyah” to the shadows left behind.

I like the shorter Scriptures of the Reconciliation Lectionary. They are no less rich than the usual ten to fifteen verses we get in RP 101-201. One idea to focus. This short section from Colossians–very focused. Especially for this season of Lent.

 

Reconciliation Lectionary: Deuteronomy 30:15-20

It’s one of the most cited “new” Scripture passages of the past generation, “Choose life, then, that you and your descendants may live.” The pro-life setting is a different context, somewhat, from the original. The lectionary gives a bit more. It also is in today’s Lectionary, the Thursday after Ash Wednesday:

Moses said to the people:
“Today I have set before you
life and prosperity, death and doom.
If you obey the commandments of the LORD, your God,
which I enjoin on you today,
loving him, and walking in his ways,
and keeping his commandments, statutes and decrees,
you will live and grow numerous,
and the LORD, your God,
will bless you in the land you are entering to occupy.
If, however, you turn away your hearts and will not listen,
but are led astray and adore and serve other gods,
I tell you now that you will certainly perish;
you will not have a long life
on the land that you are crossing the Jordan to enter and occupy.
I call heaven and earth today to witness against you:
I have set before you life and death,
the blessing and the curse.
Choose life, then,
that you and your descendants may live, by loving the LORD, your God,
heeding his voice, and holding fast to him.
For that will mean life for you,
a long life for you to live on the land that the LORD swore
he would give to your fathers Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.”

Motivation is certainly key in the Christian life. Are we urged to avoid bad things, and live our lives in fear of trangressions? No doubt some people live that way. I can count myself as among them, especially when I was younger.

In sports, there is a principle of playing not to lose. Quite often, a team, with victory within reach, will change what has been a successful game plan in the closing seconds of a contest. And many sports fans can recount a time when their favorite team just collapsed, snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.

In my personal competing in games, especially chess, I can attest to the same mindset. It set me back as a chessplayer. I avoided delving into complications, for fear I would miss something. I liked the players who uncovered a small advantage and nursed it to a safe victory. I avoided early sacrifices and gambits, preferring to preserve a certain equilibrium and avoid the possibility of an early loss.

I had a fair amount of success in ten years of playing tournament chess. But I felt I left something behind, and I never achieved my goal of becoming a Master.

I think the spiritual life has similar pitfalls. I think I’ve been better off as a believer by trying to actively love God, walk the paths, keep God’s decrees, laws, and statutes–not from a sense of fear of consequences. But because I’ve known the fruits of a positive Christianity.

After seventeen years of marriage, I still befriend women. But there is no danger of getting into trouble. My wife and I enjoy an active and intentional marriage. And I make friends with people of the opposite sex, and I enjoy fruitful relationships in ministry and in other aspects of my life. Sure, it would be safe to avoid women totally, as some men, particularly celibates, do. But I feel no fear or worry.

Certainly, every person has to make judgments within her or his sphere of comfort and with self-knowledge. Sometimes avoidance is a necessary thing when we feel vulnerable.

But the sense I get from this reading is primarily that we choose life. We don’t choose not-death. There is a difference, and the difference is found partly in the quality of the life we will lead in walking with God. My sense is that we Christians shouldn’t play to avoid losing. Play to win. Live to the fullest. Expect God’s companionship to always provide the grace needed to be fruitful.

 

Reconciliation Lectionary: 2 Corinthians 5:17-21

One might expect that an Ash Wednesday reading (2 Corinthians 5:20-6:2) would appear in the Lectionary for Penance. And so we have a bit of overlap (5:20-21) with the final five verses of 2 Corinthians 5. Curious that this relatively large New Testament book contributes only this reading to the Rite of Penance. But there you have it:

Brothers and sisters:
Whoever is in Christ is a new creation:
the old things have passed away;
behold, new things have come.
And all this is from God,
who has reconciled us to himself through Christ
and given us the ministry of reconciliation,
namely, God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ,
not counting their trespasses against them
and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation.
*So we are ambassadors for Christ,
as if God were appealing through us.
We implore you on behalf of Christ,
be reconciled to God.
For our sake he made him to be sin who did not know sin,
so that we might become the righteousness of God in him.

Reconciliation is from God. Clear enough. But when Saint Paul writes, “God (has) given us the ministry of reconciliation,” is he speaking of himself? Of the apostolic band? Or may we interpret reconciliation as the act of every believer?

The apostolate of the laity lies in the world, and it is there that Christ needs ambassadors. If we hold to that, then the Catholic laity certainly have a share in the ministry of reconciliation. How else are non-believers to know this aspect of Jesus Christ, but for our own example.

Every ambassador has credentials. Perhaps this reading challenges the believer to develop those credentials sacramentally. God affirms the believer as made new in the Son. Our own transgressions are discounted. What more affirming message can we then pass on to those who do not believe, those who are skeptics, or those who have allowed their faith to go inactive?

God forgave me: can we make a convincing case for this in the world? I think we might need to do so.

 

Reconciliation Lectionary: Baruch 1:15, 17-19, 21-22

The book of Baruch, attributed to Jeremiah’s secretary, is a work of the Jewish community in Exile (not in the Protestant Bible). These verses make their appearance in the Rite of Penance not as a reading, but as the featured “psalm” in the first example of a form II liturgy (RP 51).

A lovely passage from Baruch is offered as an Easter Vigil reading. Unless you do all nine readings, you probably don’t hear it. It’s a fairly short book, if you’ve never encountered it.

After an introduction, there is a lengthy penitential prayer (1:15 through 3:8) from which this song is derived. The antiphon is Baruch 3:2:

Listen and  have pity, Lord, because you are merciful.

And the verses are as follows:

Justice is with the Lord, our God;
and we today are flushed with shame,
that we have sinned in the Lord’s sight
and disobeyed him.

We have neither heeded the voice of the Lord, our God,
nor followed the precepts which the Lord set before us.
We have been disobedient to the Lord, our God,
and only too ready to disregard his voice.

We did not heed
the voice of the Lord, our God,
But each one of us went off after the devices of our own wicked hearts,
and did evil in the sight of the Lord, our God.

If you compare with the RNAB text, you’ll notice that verses 16 and 20 have been excised. Still, we get the message as the Jews in Exile did: we were unfaithful, therefore paid the consequences.

As a liturgical passage, there is another context–namely the readings surrounding this passage. The Ten Commandments from Deuteronomy precedes, setting the tone for following God’s laws. Saint Paul’s exhortation to the Ephesians (5:1-14) to imitate God follows. The Gospel options are two: the Greatest Commandment (Matthew 22:34-40) or the “new commandment” from the LAst Supper narrative of John’s Gospel.

It’s interesting and rather creative that the framers of the Rite of Penance would give us a progressive narrative of salvation history. In this nutshell, we recount the Law, the disobedience from the Law, the urging to imitate God with love, including love of neighbor–and all this sends us forward into the celebration of the sacrament.

So I have an issue with this notion of God’s direct punishment. It’s a struggle for many of us: I know. I also know of many virtuous people who have been beset with the sins of others cascading into their lives. And by all appearances, many unjust people seem to skip along free and easy.

On the other hand, I also believe in consequences for acts foolish, inattentive, sinful, or whatever. My daughter drops and breaks her phone. There is not an instant replacement at hand, as there might be for a friend of wealthy parents. Is her sin, then, carelessness or is it being adopted into a middle-class family with a tight budget?

That said, I see the Exile as both a tragedy for the Jewish nation, but also an opportunity for growth, reflection, and creativity. The Jews in Diaspora produced the book of Baruch, as well as many other fine works of inspired Scripture. Do we just confess before God, accept the basic situation in life, and make the best of it? The vector of Scripture, and of salvation history would charge us with attaching ourselves to the love and saving power of God. For Christians, that embrace of Jesus Christ–that is how we encounter God’s love most profoundly. And of the experiences of Christ, we have the sacraments. Including Penance.

In Penance, we bare our souls before the Lord. And we can count on his open ear. And his generous mercy.

 

Reconciliation Lectionary: Psalm 31:2-4, 6

The 31st Psalm appears prominently on Good Friday. The antiphon there, appropriately, is “Father, I put my life in your hands.”

Going deeper into the liturgy, Psalm 31 is a weekly prayer in the Hours on Wednesday night. Or rather, its first six verses are. For those of you who pray Compline, you may recognize the Reconciliation antiphon as part of the responsory:

You have redeemed us, Lord, God of truth.

The psalmist offers twenty-four verses (one of the longer works in the Psalter) strongly suggestive of an individual lament. There are elements of thanksgiving for a redemption in verses 8-9 and 20-21.

The Good Friday verses (2, 6, 12-13, 15-16, 17, 25) are taken from among the most intense of the lament passages, the ones that point at the Passion of the Lord.

But these passages lie largely outside of what the Lectionary framers have given us for reconciliation:

In you, O LORD, I take refuge;
let me never be put to shame.
In your justice rescue me;
incline your ear to me;
make haste to deliver me!

Be my rock of refuge,
a stronghold to give me safety.
You are my rock and my fortress;
for your name’s sake you will lead and guide me.

Into your hands I commend my spirit;
you will redeem me, O LORD, O faithful God.

I like the versatility of the Psalms. With a different set of verses and the liturgical perspective of Good Friday, we get the sense of Psalm 31 as strongly christological. With just these four verses, we sing the words of a believer beset by unnamed troubles. And yet, there is a quiet confidence in God. Rescue me. Hear me. Hurry up and save me. We demand God be our rock. And yet, at the end, we submit to the Father as Jesus did, and with the words of the Savior, “Into your hands I commend my spirit.” And if we bow down in submission, we lose none of the edge or confidence. “You will redeem me!”

Perhaps more of that spirit would help the lagging experience of reconciliation in the Catholic mindset. Perhaps we can temper our sorrow and contrition with a sense of trust tinged with entitlement. If we are willing to bring our sins to God, why shouldn’t we insist on right treatment, as the psalmist did? The Church places these words on our lips, right?

If you plan your liturgy by theme, certainly any thought of trust is easily linked to these four powerful verses from the 31st.

 

Reconciliation Lectionary: Luke 17:1-4

I had the Rite of Penance open the other day, and this passage was at the top of the page:

Jesus said to his disciples,
“Things that cause sin will inevitably occur,
but woe to the person through whom they occur.
It would be better for him if a millstone were put around his neck
and he be thrown into the sea
than for him to cause one of these little ones to sin.
Be on your guard!
If your brother sins, rebuke him;
and if he repents, forgive him.
And if he wrongs you seven times in one day
and returns to you seven times saying, ‘I am sorry,’
you should forgive him.”

Difficult. One of the most difficult passages in the Bible. We are cheering for a sinner to be cast into the ocean depths one verse, and the next verse we are asked to forgive. And if we ever hear, “I am sorry,” we are called to respond favorably multiple times in a day.

Does the line, “with God all things are possible” spring to mind?

Jesus tells us sin is inevitable. And harm is unavoidable. And a broken relationship with God and others something of the very substance of our existence. We can’t avoid it. How can we hope to try to do so?

One of my biggest fears as a parent was to mess up my child’s life by some stupid, soul-shaking outburst. So far, I’ve avoided it. I hope. (No comment on embarrassment passed on to a teenager, though.) I’m always struck by the awesome responsibility I have as a parent. And more, when parishioners entrust their young daughters and sons to me.

One thing I’ve not tried to shy away from, and a break hopefully from my parents, is to accustom myself to apologizing to my daughter. I suspect there are some in the spare-the-rod crowd–my parents in their heyday included–who will be shocked. But one good benefit I see is that my daughter is now herself accustomed to apologizing, unprompted, for some of the smallest little things. That little flare of teen anger/angst, and not five minutes later a small, sincere apology. Of course I will accept that. I asked my wife a year or so ago, was that really our daughter? And we shared that moment that seems to come all too infrequently, I think we’ve done alright on that.

I have to reflect on my internet relationships, especially. I offer quite a bit of rebuke. I don’t think I succeed very much at the forgiveness angle. Shouldn’t I be doing that even without, “I’m sorry”? Isn’t that what Jesus modeled by his very life–not only his preaching? And isn’t this the essence of the cross? That Jesus indeed forgives them all. Us all.

 

Love Litany

Liturgy News, the quarterly organ of the Brisbane (Australia) Liturgical Commission, had a brief look at this clunker from the new Roman Missal.

(I)t remains doubtful whether a revised translation (of the Rite of Marriage) along the lines of the new Missal will be helpful. Look what has happened to thse favourite lines from one of the Prefaces for marriage:

Love is our origin,
love is our constant calling,
love is our fulfillment in heaven.

The new translation in the Missal reads:

For those you created out of charity
you call to the law of charity without ceasing
and grant them a share in your eternal charity.

I’m sure the Latin original is caritas, but there’s no doubt the MR1 is superior in this instance. A threefold repetition of a three-syllable word is just too much. It begins to border on caricature. That’s especially true given the frequent attendance of the unchurched at weddings. Charity has shifted significantly in meaning, and in the Western culture, is not always associated with something positive.

Losing this miniature litany is lamentable. Another casualty of the CultureWars(TM). Another turn off/tune out moment for the Roman Rite, just when we needed a stronger dash of evangelization.

 

Reconciliation Lectionary: Luke 7:36-50

One of the longer passages in the Reconciliation Lectionary is Jesus’ encounter with the sinful woman during the Pharisee’s dinner party. You know the story, and the parable (41-43) Jesus uses to illustrate his point.

Instead of studying the entire text–which I think might be too long for most form I Reconciliations, I’d like to focus on the notion of forgiveness:

So I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven;
hence, she has shown great love.
But the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little.”
He said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.”
The others at table said to themselves,
“Who is this who even forgives sins?”
But he said to the woman,
“Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

An earlier edition of the NAB gives verse 47 as such, “I tell you that is why her many sins are forgiven–because of her great love. Little if forgiven the one whose love is small.”

Is there a problem with the old rendering? Because of her love, her sins are forgiven. The updated translation in the latest RNAB–what we are given in the Lectionary–seems to resonate more with the parable in which the person forgiven a greater debt has more cause to love.

The Jesuit Peter van Breemen summarizes thus:

The message is now unmistakable: the very great love of this woman is the fruit of the forgiveness she experienced so intensely.

Jesus gives repeated experiences of forgiveness in the Gospels. Sometimes people ask for it. Sometimes, they just express their enthusiasm, as Zacchaeus did (Luke 19:1-10). Sometimes a person was just caught in the act (John 8:1-11).

Perhaps it is a human tendency, not a godly one, to expect to see some sign. We want our child to come to us with contrite tears for disobedience or deception. We want our spouse to approach us, crestfallen. We want to see a bishop in prison orange.

It strikes me that we should be looking deeper, and that we should be taking less the attitude of Peter (asking if we forgive seven times) and more that of Christ. And if we can forgive the theft of a small cookie, the white lie, and even the cover-up of a grave crime, then perhaps we have something deeper to savor.

“Forgive our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.” We pray it as much as anything we utter as Christians. Given our mortal/moral makeup, it would be impossible for us to imitate the sinless perfection of God. But we can certainly make an effort to forgive as Christ so freely offers forgiveness. And we will fail, as the Pharisee friend of Jesus did. But we can be urged internally to try and try again. Because, really: what’s the alternative? Host dinner parties and point fingers at other people? Like that’s not going to come back to haunt us.

 

Reconciliation Lectionary: Luke 18:9-14

October 26/27th is a long way off (when this Scripture next appears in the Sunday Lectionary) but this challenging and delightful reading is a possibility for the celebration of the Sacrament of Penance anytime:

Jesus addressed this parable
to those who were convinced of their own righteousness
and despised everyone else.

“Two people went up to the temple area to pray;
one was a Pharisee and the other was a tax collector.
The Pharisee took up his position and spoke this prayer to himself,
‘O God, I thank you that I am not like the rest of humanity—
greedy, dishonest, adulterous—or even like this tax collector.
I fast twice a week,
and I pay tithes on my whole income.’
“But the tax collector stood off at a distance
and would not even raise his eyes to heaven but beat his breast and prayed,
‘O God, be merciful to me a sinner.’

I tell you, the latter went home justified, not the former;
for everyone who exalts (themselves) will be humbled,
and the one who humbles (self) will be exalted.”

The NRSV speaks of the Pharisee “standing by himself, praying thus …” which seems a little better than the sense of speaking a prayer to oneself–praying to oneself? Really?

God delights in turning expectations upside down. Here, we might in the Pharisee’s place put our favorite hero, and instead of a tax collector, someone we really dislike. And it would fit. The message from God on one level is that things will not be as they seem. The religious and righteous (are they really seeing themselves as god?) will be most unjustified in comparison to the one who is a sinner, and sees it.

Upside down is a good thing for people who are confronted with their sins and feeling deep contrition for them. We expect to be condemned, and that would be just. But God withholds judgment, gives us mercy instead. Good news.

 

Reconciliation Lectionary: Psalm 13

The 13th is one of the more obscure pieces in the Psalter. I find it one of the more passionate expressions of lament in the entire Bible, touching on a basic human fear of loss, ridicule, and abandonment. And so often when we sin, when we become aware of our sinfulness, that is what we might fear, no?

The USCCB has a new edition of the Rite of Penance, incorporating the newest Lectionary translations. I recommend this edition, as it contains the full texts of the Scripture readings (RP 101-201), which the Rites books do not contain. Many older versions of the Rite of Penance do not contain them either. (Maybe your confessor’s iPad has them, though.)

The given antiphon for Psalm 13 is:

My hope, O Lord, is in your mercy.

The psalmist blasts out a complaint against God right away:

How long, O Lord? Will you utterly forget me?

Nothing like getting one’s cards on the table before God. He knows, of course. We don’t have to shy away from speaking our mind.

“How long” becomes a litany for the psalmist. Not unlike the affectionate, yet annoying query from the back seat on a long trip. In this case, how long “will you hide your face … shall I harbor sorrow … grief … will my enemy triumph?” Ah! We get fairly quickly to the psalmist’s real beef with God. Why do bad things happen to me? Why do other people gloat over my misfortune? I suppose it was more of a serious question for a culture in which bad things happened to bad people, and good things happened to good. God was a God of consequences, and if any sinner stepped over the line, payback was coming.

Verse 4a is insistent, yet it contains an important petition:

Look, answer me, O Lord, my God!

The psalmist gets past the whiney “How long,” and gets to the root of it. We acknowledge God is in control, and we know we have to go to God. We offer a petition:

Give light to my eyes that I may not sleep in death …

Light. Wisdom. Awareness. As long as my eyes are open, I won’t be dead. (I suppose.) The psalmist would still prefer not to be bested and beset by enemies and foes.

Verse 6 is beautiful and one of my favorites in the Bible. The prayer is uttered similarly in many other places in the Psalter and beyond. But given the context of complaint and persecution, it strikes me as especially tender:

Though I trusted in your mercy,
Let my heart rejoice in your salvation;
let me sing of the Lord, “He has been good to me.”

This is perfect. God’s mercy is a matter of trust. We acknowledge we cannot be ironclad sure. We complain, “How long.” So a part of us wonders. But we place ourselves on the path of salvation. We put our hearts where God can reach. We put our song into God’s ear. And what we sing is not a big, long-winded, and wordy thing. More often our complaints are. But we sing simply, “He has been good to me.” And sometimes, that’s just enough to place us within the Almighty’s good graces. And in reconciliation to God, that’s what we’re asking, right?

 

Reconciliation Lectionary: Matthew 4:12-17

In the daily Lectionary this week, the last of the Christmas season, we get a few snapshots of Jesus’ early ministry. Except for the account of finding the boy Jesus in the Temple, we have nothing of the Savior’s earthly life between the Magi and the Baptism in the Jordan.

Still, this week’s gospels start off with a clear message: the Lord is here; get ready!

Today’s gospel passage includes one of the Scriptures from the Rite of Penance (RP177), Matthew 4:12-17. here is the passage, which includes one of the Isaian prophecies heard on Christmas:

When Jesus heard that John had been arrested,
he withdrew to Galilee.
He left Nazareth and went to live in Capernaum by the sea,
in the region of Zebulun and Naphtali,
that what had been said through Isaiah the prophet
might be fulfilled:

Land of Zebulun and land of Naphtali,
the way to the sea, beyond the Jordan,
Galilee of the Gentiles,
the people who sit in darkness
have seen a great light,
on those dwelling in a land overshadowed by death
light has arisen.

From that time on, Jesus began to preach and say,
“Repent, for the Kingdom of heaven is at hand.”

Scripture scholars likely have a lot of rich things to say about this. I would like to confine my commentary to three points, which correspond to the three parts of this reading.

First, Jesus hears of the arrest of his cousin John. His reaction is to withdraw to Galilee, thus fulfilling a prophecy. I don’t think that usual human reactions to news events are hardly ever fulfillments of prophecy. But we can acknowledge that unrelated events in our surroundings “move” us to new places. We look at things from a different viewpoint. And I think it is vital for a believer to keep eyes wide open when we are on the move.

Jesus in moving to be with people who are in the darkness. Perhaps we get a glimmer of something in our lives. Do we move toward the light? Do we shy away from it? Whether our instinct is one of curiosity or of concern, it is important to realize that Jesus is the one who cal deliver us from darkness. In this deliverance, we gradually come to see aspects of our lives. And in so doing, we might become moved to do something about these aspects.

When Jesus preaches, “Repent, for the Kingdom of heaven is at hand,” he is telling the penitent that change is good. He is telling the penitent a new authority is available, one of the light, and not of the darkness. The Kingdom is about self-awareness, self-recognition, and setting aside the things of darkness, and doing things in the full light of day.

Light is a grand theme of the Christmas season. And it’s not just about a star shining on an infant boy 2,000 years ago. It’s not about the glow in the hay, or even in our home trees, roofs, and front yards. The important light of Christmas is the one in which we acknowledge the “Great Light” of our lives. Sins, too, will be brought into full view. But we have no reason to fear, because a new Kingdom is at hand. Jesus has come for us. That is for us. Not against us. The Incarnation and the Nativity was an act of God for people, not to call attention to God in glory. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be talking about a stable in a peripheral province of a mighty empire. We would be talking about a Savior born in the capital city of Rome or China or another of the world’s great empires.

Jesus coming in the flesh is not so much about him as it is about his rescue and redemption of a people stranded in darkness.