Reconciliation Lectionary: Sirach 28:1-7

The next several days of the daily Lectionary features a brief sojourn in one of the Bible’s longest books, Sirach. I don’t know why Sirach isn’t mined more often for Lectionary usage. True, it doesn’t always make the transition from the ancient Middle-East to the modern world. But it is part of the Jewish heritage we all share as Christians. Wise advice is available for those who listen. The following passage appears in the Rite of Penance, number 113, but not in the next two weeks of Lectionary offerings:.

The vengeful will suffer the Lord’s vengeance;
for he remembers their sins in detail.
Forgive your neighbor’s injustice;
then when you pray, your own sins will be forgiven.

Does anyone nourish anger against another
and expect healing from the Lord?
Can one refuse mercy to a sinner like oneself,
yet seek pardon for one’s own sins?
If a mere mortal cherishes wrath,
who will forgive (their) sins?

Remember your last days and set enmity aside;
remember death and decay, and cease from sin!
Remember the commandments and do not be angry with your neighbor;
remember the covenant of the Most High, and overlook faults.

This passage above is from the USCCB site, which is different in some details from the 2001 Lectionary which is part of the 2010 edition of the Rite of Penance. (Hint: the Rite of Penance includes “man” a few times. But it also alters that litany of remembrance in verses 6-7.)

At any rate, note the three parts to this reading. Part 1 (28:1-2) presents the suggestion that God may well turn life upside-down on us. So we act toward others as we hope the final judgment will go for us. The motivation? It’s sort of a reverse beatitude, isn’t it? “Cursed are the vengeful, for they will have vengeance shown them.”

Part 2 (28:3-5) offers three poetic couplets. Reject anger, and we may receive healing. Embrace mercy, and we will receive pardon. If we cherish wrath, we cannot expect forgiveness.

In part 3 (28:6-7) I think the rabbinical urge to “remember” is important. For the believer, the encounter with one’s sin and one’s personal urges to enact revenge is well known. Or it should be. We know to what Christ calls us: forgiveness. We know it, and yet we don’t always live it. So it’s not a matter of learning anything new. We just have to dredge the principle from our Christian memory. We have to remember it. Then live it as if we know it.

When we are broken, we reassemble the building blocks of virtue, holiness, and our past experiences of God. These experiences may be intellectual or personal or liturgical or some combination of the ways in which God breaks through to human beings. In remembering, we re-member: we put limbs on good intentions. We use our legs, arms, and hands to put into action what we, as penitents, might harbor in our hearts. Ben Sira offers the Christian a brief, but powerful reading for reflection when we come before God as a penitent. Reflecting on it, let us remember our finer calling. And then do it.

 

Reconciliation Lectionary: Psalm 36

The 36th Psalm doesn’t appear at all in the Roman Catholic Lectionary for Sundays and feasts. It makes but one appearance among the daily readings, Thursday of the 16th week of Year 2. It’s a special text for me (because of the setting I composed for my brother’s funeral), and I hope you will find it fruit for prayer and reflection, also.

How precious is your mercy, Lord.

O LORD, your mercy reaches to heaven;
your faithfulness, to the clouds.
Our justice is like the mountain of God:
your judgments like the mighty deep;

How precious is your mercy, Lord.

How precious is your mercy, O God!
The children of (earth*) take shadow in the refuge of your wings.
They have their fill of the prime gifts of your house;
from your delightful stream you give them to drink.

How precious is your mercy, Lord.

For with you is the fountain of life,
and in your light we see light.
Keep up your mercy toward your friends,
your just defense to the upright of heart.

How precious is your mercy, Lord.

The whole psalm is here. Maybe the explicit description of the wicked was a bit offputting to those who did not read further when assembling the Lectionary. I find section 2 of this psalm to be masterful–the verses used for this selection in the Rite of Penance. It moves into something of a hymn style with these verses. Verses 12-13 pick up on the lament of the initial section. But Mitchell Dahoud of the Anchor Bible series also sees Wisdom elements in this Psalm.

It’s good that Psalm 36 is so hard to categorize. Maybe that’s what I like about it.

I also like the twofold description of God’s mercy: precious and yet vast. The first stanza guides my thought to the immensity of the created universe. Earth to the utmost skies: that’s billions of miles. And yet the second stanza describes the tender intimacy of God. We are gathered under protective wings of a bird. We are sustained with nourishment.

Water and light are the images of stanza three, and they call to mind baptism, if not the overflowing generosity of God. The Psalmist returns to the theme of the believer beset by troubles in verse 11: God does not ignore or remain indifferent to our trials. God intercedes with “just defense” for his own.

Sometimes that’s all a penitent needs to hear: God is on my side.

* The Lectionary gives “men,” the NABRE gives “Adam,” and the old Grail gives “earth.” The Anchor Bible suggests the phrase is “gods and men take refuge in the shadow of your wings.” Taking shadow in the refuge–this Lectionary phrase seems awkward too. It’s not repeated in the new Grail, either. Curious decisions.

 

Reconciliation Lectionary: Revelation 21:1-12

Thr fourth of four selections from the Book of Revelation. The first five verses were proclaimed just last weekend at Sunday Mass on the 5th weekend of Easter. And verses 10-12 contribute to a longer text the following Sunday. We’ve got a lot of words to digest, so let’s get to it.

Verses 1 through 12 are a longer passage provided in Appendix II of the Rite of Penance, a sample penitential service for the season of Advent. A shorter version, just the first eight verses are to be found in the main seciton of the rite, number 175. The light colored text below indicates the extra verses.

Here’s the start of it:

Then I, John, saw a new heaven and a new earth.
The former heaven and the former earth had passed away,
and the sea was no more.
I also saw the holy city, a new Jerusalem,
coming down out of heaven from God,
prepared as a bride adorned for her husband.
I heard a loud voice from the throne saying,
“Behold, God’s dwelling is with the human race.
He will dwell with them and they will be his people
and God himself will always be with them as their God.
He will wipe every tear from their eyes,
and there shall be no more death or mourning, wailing or pain,
for the old order has passed away.”

And so far, this is a great reading for a funeral, too. As popular as many of the selections I hear. God’s desired intimacy with his people, and especially with penitents (as Luke 15 tells it) is something to always keep in mind.

The One who sat on the throne said,
“Behold, I make all things new.”
Then he said, “Write these words down,
for they are trustworthy and true.”
He said to me, “They are accomplished.
I am the Alpha and the Omega,
the beginning and the end.
To the thirsty I will give a gift
from the spring of life-giving water.
The victor will inherit these gifts,
and I shall be his God,
and he will be my son.
But as for cowards, the unfaithful, the depraved,
murderers, the unchaste, sorcerers, idol-worshipers,
and deceivers of every sort,
their lot is in the burning pool of fire and sulfur,
which is the second death.”

Pastoral reasons would seemingly dictate these last verses not be included in a funeral. But for the living penitent, they are an obvious part of the canon of Christian Scripture.

Look at that laundry list of sins:

• cowardice
• unfaithful
• depravity
• murder
• lack of chastity
• sorcery
• worship of false gods
• deception

Not exactly the seven deadlies. But very serious material here. So … if we are thinking about the use of this passage, are we aiming at form I, with a single serious penitent caught up in one or more of these? That would be my pastoral sense. Most Catholics, who routinely celebrate individual confession regularly with a priest, are not bringing material to the sacrament like this. Not usually. (If they were, there would be some question about the particular efficacy of the sacrament, one might think.)

This passage, plus the verses that follow, are suggested for an Advent Penance Liturgy. I’d want a good pastoral reason for including this and not another passage. That list of serious sins can also be an occasion for many penitents to breathe with relief, “Thank goodness I’m not caught up in crap like that!” Which isn’t the mood I’d want to set.

One of the seven angels who held the seven bowls
filled with the seven last plagues
came and said to me,
“Come here. I will show you the bride, the wife of the Lamb.”
He took me in spirit to a great, high mountain
and showed me the holy city Jerusalem
coming down out of heaven from God.
It gleamed with the splendor of God.
Its radiance was like that of a precious stone,
like jasper, clear as crystal.
It had a massive, high wall, with twelve gates
where twelve angels were stationed
and on which names were inscribed,
the names of the twelve tribes of the children of Israel.

A passage from Revelation during an Advent liturgy. That seems to fit better during the early days of the season when the Lectionary for Mass proclaims the Second Coming and believers are urged to prayer, penance, and preparation for the end. This last section was proclaimed this past weekend at Mass. Our homilist this weekend touched on it. The beauty of the city is almost beyond words. It’s certainly beyond an ordinary description.

As horrible as sin is, the final elevation of believers is indeed in the image of this city. The splendor of God is the cause of our joy and beauty. But God will make us the bride of Christ nonetheless. It is our destiny, should be align ourselves with the Lamb and the Gospel he preaches.

In the end Revelation 21:1-12 gives us a long arc on which to reflect. A message of comfort and compassion. Followed by a grave warning. Concluding with a message of eternal joy. It’s a three movement symphony packed into not so many words at all, when you think about it.

 

Reconciliation Lectionary: Revelation 20:11-15

One of the apocalyptic narratives from Revelation holds a dire warning for those not be named in the book of life.

Here’s the text in full:

Next I saw a large white throne and the one who was sitting on it.
The earth and the sky fled from his presence
and there was no place for them.
I saw the dead, the great and the lowly, standing before the throne,
and scrolls were opened.
Then another scroll was opened, the book of life.
The dead were judged according to their deeds,
by what was written in the scrolls.
The sea gave up its dead;
then Death and Hades gave up their dead.
All the dead were judged according to their deeds.
Then Death and Hades were thrown into the pool of fire.
(This pool of fire is the second death.)
Anyone whose name was not found written in the book of life
was thrown into the pool of fire.

Okay, then.

Flippancy aside, I think the sensible Christian must confront these more difficult passages, and weigh them in context of the entire Gospel. There can be no denial that there are consequences for those who are not found in the book of life.

Obviously, Christ, not any mortal human being, is in charge of this. But gaining the displeasure of God is not something to be trifled with. And perhaps there are times when a person needs motivation from potential consequences. For use with a single penitent, this is in the confessor’s hands. For use with a larger assembly, I’m not sure a reading like this can be used any more than rarely. But you may feel differently. If so, please comment.

 

Reconciliation Lectionary: John 13:34-35; 15:10-13

A little of this weekend’s Gospel reading, and a little more :

Jesus said to his Apostles:
“I give you a new commandment: love one another.
As I have loved you, so you also should love one another.
This is how all will know that you are my disciples,
if you have love for one another.”

“If you keep my commandments, you will remain in my love,
just as I have kept my Father’s commandments
and remain in his love.

“I have told you this so that my joy may be in you
and your joy may be complete.
This is my commandment: love one another as I love you.
No one has greater love than this,
to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”

Number 51 in the Rite of Penance gives two examples of “Celebrations of the Word of God,” and this is an option given in the first, under the theme of “Love is the fullness of the law.” Where the framers of the rite seem to head with their selection is an emphasis on love of neighbor rooted in the basic love of God.

It’s not a surprise this theme pops up during Easter, as the later Sundays draw us deeper into the stories of Acts, and the Christian community’s struggle with living out the example of love given to us by the Lord Jesus.

People in love make signs of love. It’s what we do. It can be difficult enough within a marriage, a family, and a religious community living under one vow and one roof. It can be hard indeed for people who have few enough connections but for the Sunday Eucharist. But it is something laid down for us by the example of both Jesus himself and the early Church. The most tanglible advantage of form II Reconciliation is the obvious connection between our personal sin (which isn’t so personal) and those closest to us in the Lord. Those relationships, somehow, should be a consideration when we come before God for forgiveness.

 

Reconciliation Lectionary: Revelation 3:14-22

A very brief letter to the Laodiceans, and it calls them on the carpet in a very blunt way:

“To the angel of the church in Laodicea, write this:
‘The Amen, the faithful and true witness,
the source of God’s creation, says this:
“I know your works;
I know that you are neither cold nor hot.
I wish you were either cold or hot.
So, because you are lukewarm, neither hot nor cold,
I will spit you out of my mouth.
For you say, ‘I am rich and affluent and have no need of anything,’
and yet do not realize that you are wretched,
pitiable, poor, blind, and naked.
I advise you to buy from me gold refined by fire so that you may be rich,
and white garments to put on
so that your shameful nakedness may not be exposed,
and buy ointment to smear on your eyes so that you may see.
Those whom I love, I reprove and chastise.
Be earnest, therefore, and repent.

“Behold, I stand at the door and knock.
If anyone hears my voice and opens the door,
then I will enter his house and dine with him,
and he with me.
I will give the victor the right to sit with me on my throne,
as I myself first won the victory
and sit with my Father on his throne.
“’”Whoever has ears ought to hear
what the Spirit says to the churches.”’”

This is the last of the seven letters to churches of Revelation 2 and 3. When does a penitent or a community deserve such a public lambasting? What do we hear when we witness a community being called out like this? Certainly no believer or community is perfect. We all have sins, some noticeable, some hidden.

This seems to be another good selection for Lent, a time in which our grave sinfulness may get hidden amidst the general approach to universal penitence. Are we ready for a searching and fearless look within? The good news is that the True and Faithful Witness is prepared to embrace the one who responds to this call to repentance. We Catholics know this is true. But sometimes we can not quite believe it because perhaps we are all too aware of our pitiable state.

That last verse is intended for all seven churches: whoever has ears to hear …

 

Reconciliation Lectionary: Revelation 2:1-5

Did you know that the New Testament contains two letters to the Ephesians? In the Book of Revelation, there is a place early in which the author addresses short messages to seven early communities. This is the first of them, to the Church of the premiere city of the Roman Empire in Asia.

Saint John addresses the people, using the words of Jesus:

“To the angel of the church in Ephesus, write this:
“The one who holds the seven stars in his right hand
and walks in the midst of the seven gold lampstands says this:
“I know your works, your labor, and your endurance,
and that you cannot tolerate the wicked;
you have tested those who call themselves apostles but are not,
and discovered that they are impostors.
Moreover, you have endurance and have suffered for my name,
and you have not grown weary.
Yet I hold this against you:
you have lost the love you had at first.
Realize how far you have fallen.
Repent, and do the works you did at first.
Otherwise, I will come to you and remove your lampstand from its place,
unless you repent.

My first impression is an even-handedness in the diagnosis. Ephesian Christians have good points: they work hard, they resist wickedness, and they are tenacious. On the other hand, they seem to have lost an important youthful quality. So they are called to repent, and to return what worked for them in the past.

This narrative is also striking for its similarity to some groups in today’s Church. Like today’s self-styled orthodox, the Ephesian Church resisted and worked against those they considered “impostors.” But in their opposition to some of their own, they have lost something important, the chief of virtues: love. So they come across to others as cross, uncaring, and rigid.

It’s a mixed message for the Ephesians, and there’s a warning. Repent and renew, or the light will go out.

In considering this passage for personal reflection, are there times when the desire to do good has overpowered the basic virtues of joy and love and consideration? Are our tasks in God’s name so grave, so serious that criticism must be rendered at any cost? Clearly, the message is one of caution. Affirm the good. But keep an eye to the larger matters of virtues and don’t allow the inner self to be corrupted by singleminded opposition to others. In one’s personal life, this probably requires a careful discernment.

For a community, this might be an apt and challenging reading to proclaim at a form II liturgy. The homilist should be prepared to preach on it, or at least allow this text to inform the examination of conscience. You don’t drop a powerful message like this into the Liturgy of the Word then ignore it. That said, it seems a good passage to use during the season of Lent.

 

Reconciliation Lectionary: John 20:19-23

Connecting the Holy Spirit to the ministerial forgiveness of sins: it’s this weekend’s Gospel reading. The first five verses also appear in the Reconciliation Lectionary (RP 201):

On the evening of that first day of the week,
when the doors were locked, where the disciples were,
for fear of the Jews,
Jesus came and stood in their midst
and said to them, “Peace be with you.”
When he had said this, he showed them his hands and his side.
The disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord.
Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you.
As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”
And when he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them,
“Receive the Holy Spirit.
Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them,
and whose sins you retain are retained.”

I simply love this passage. As with many key chapters in John’s Gospel, it is deep and rich and invites careful scrutiny and prayer. To me, all of John 20 unfolds like a drama, very much like chapters 4, 9, and 11.

Note that all the disciples begin this section of John 20 in fear. They encounter the risen Lord. Jesus offers them peace. Fear has turned to joy. Jesus reaffirms his gift of peace, and extends this formal greeting to a reminder of their connections to the Father as well as the mission on which he sends them.

What lesson for us, for the penitents? Certainly that Christ offers us the way to surpass or conquer our fears. Jesus stood among the disciples. For our individual experience of God’s mercy, Christ stands within the inmost recesses of our being. It is not merely a child’s piety that acclaims, “Jesus lives in me!” It is an act of faith.

That faith directs us outward, out from the inner turmoil, fears, and self-centeredness that even a sincere penitent can find herself or himself caught up with. I believe the Lord is calling us all–not just the disciples of the upper room, and not just the clergy–to spread the presence of Christ and his willingness to reconcile to all people.

Others struggle with fear and doubt. Our confidence communicates much to the doubtful. Our orientation to seek Christ’s peace and to bring our sins before the Lord also is noticeable. We can and should speak of the reasons for our fear-turned-joy. And lead others to Christ. This is an evangelical forgiveness: opening other human beings to the presence of God that always beckons, always forgives, and always urges us onward in the pilgrimage of service and ministry.

 

Reconciliation Lectionary: Ezekiel 36:23-28

In a preview of the Easter Vigil reading many of you probably won’t hear, let’s look at that strange prophet Ezekiel. I confess I found this man intimidating. Fiery wheels in the sky. Eating sweet lemon scrolls. Cutting off his hair and doing weird symbolic things with it. Ezekiel is the kind of guy you don’t want to cross. But he has a tender moment in chapter 36, the last of the seven Easter Vigil Old Testament readings. It also appears in the Rite of Penance, number 125:

Thus says the LORD:
I will prove the holiness of my great name,
profaned among the nations,
in whose midst you have profaned it.
Thus the nations shall know that I am the LORD, says the Lord GOD,
when in their sight I prove my holiness through you.
For I will take you away from among the nations,
gather you from all the foreign lands,
and bring you back to your own land.
I will sprinkle clean water upon you
to cleanse you from all your impurities,
and from all your idols I will cleanse you.
I will give you a new heart and place a new spirit within you,
taking from your bodies your stony hearts
and giving you natural hearts.
I will put my spirit within you and make you live by my statutes,
careful to observe my decrees.
You shall live in the land I gave your (ancestors);
you shall be my people, and I will be your God.

A person in sin is a person in exile. This exile was known to Ezekiel–this was the Big One: Babylon. Like his major prophet brothers (Isaiah and Jeremiah) Ezekiel offers us a “section” of consolation, which Scripture scholars identify as chapters 33 through 39. This passage lands in the middle of it.

Whatever idols to which we have succumbed, whatever wanderings we have indulged, God is prepared to receive us. Ezekiel points the way in this passage. It’s not a mistake this concludes the Old Testament readings of the Easter Vigil. We may think of Creation and Exodus as the cornerstones of the Liturgy of the Word. But in many ways, Ezekiel prepares the way for the Risen Christ. We are promised not only a new life in our homeland, but also a physical rejuvenation from stone to flesh. Not unlike the transformation from death to life.

Reconciliation offers the Christian a promise. Sacramental reconciliation offers a bit more: the presence of the real Christ. That presence is proof of the holiness …

 

Reconciliation Lectionary: John 15:1-8

Today’s Reconciliation Scripture is featured in the Easter Lectionary on the fifth Sunday, cycle B. My pastor selected and preached it last week at the parish’s reconciliation service. He’ll repeat it for this Wednesday. Here’s the text:

Jesus said to his disciples:
“I am the true vine,
and my Father is the vine grower.
He takes away every branch in me that does not bear fruit,
and everyone that does he prunes so that it bears more fruit.
You are already pruned because of the word that I spoke to you.
Remain in me, as I remain in you.
Just as a branch cannot bear fruit on its own
unless it remains on the vine,
so neither can you unless you remain in me.

I am the vine, you are the branches.
Whoever remains in me and I in him will bear much fruit,
because without me you can do nothing.
Anyone who does not remain in me
will be thrown out like a branch and wither;
people will gather them and throw them into a fire and they will be burned.
If you remain in me and my words remain in you,
ask for whatever you want and it will be done for you.
By this is my Father glorified,
that you bear much fruit and become my disciples.

I find the vine and branches metaphor works much better than the current Catholic fad, groom and bride. It’s blatantly obvious that not only our faith, but our very existence is dependent on Christ. Our pastor noted that a branch could tell the vine, “I don’t need you.” It would be foolhardy to cut oneself off from the main plant. And the effects would be subtle. A cut branch doesn’t die at first. But over a number of days will wither. The failure will come so gradually that one can’t perceive it minute to minute. But eventually, death will come.

One thing that strikes me in this passage is the very last line. We bear fruit and become disciples. It’s not a matter of conscious choice or action on our part. God tends us and enables us to bear the fruit. And that is the path to discipleship. It’s less a matter of declaring ourselves disciples and controlling our own fruit production from there. We do not, cannot operate independently of God in the realm of faith.

 

Reconciliation Lectionary: Hosea 14:2-10

As we progress through the season of Lent, many of the readings proclaimed are also found in the Rite of Penance. Tomorrow’s first reading is one of them.

Some prophets were too young, one was branded on the lips, and one was urged to a very unusual dining experience. Hosea’s experience was also unusual. His marriage and family life were symbolic of his mission. He married an unfaithful woman. He gave his three children names suggesting a deepening divide in the northern kingdom’s relationship with God. Hosea was no nine-to-five prophet. He was for God 24/7.

The final chapter of the book of Hosea offers words of consolation (see Isaiah 40ff, Jeremiah 30-31), and the formula for renewal is fairly explicit.

Thus says the LORD:
Return, O Israel, to the LORD, your God;
you have collapsed through your guilt.
Take with you words,
and return to the LORD;

The formula is still good today:

Forgive all iniquity, and receive what is good …

This is a formula for the scrutinization of the Elect this Lent: eradicating the weak, and drawing out and building up what is good.

Hosea also suggests renouncing what we Christians have come to know as pelagianism, the sense we can accomplish things by our own abilities:

Assyria will not save us,
nor shall we have horses to mount;
We shall say no more, ‘Our god,’
to the work of our hands;
for in you the orphan finds compassion.

What do we receive in return for turning back to God? Simply this: healing and love.

I will heal their defection, says the LORD,
I will love them freely;
for my wrath is turned away from them.
I will be like the dew for Israel:
he shall blossom like the lily;
He shall strike root like the Lebanon cedar,
and put forth his shoots.
His splendor shall be like the olive tree
and his fragrance like the Lebanon cedar.
Again they shall dwell in his shade
and raise grain;
They shall blossom like the vine,
and his fame shall be like the wine of Lebanon.

I love verses 6-8, above. It recalls the great reverence of Saint Hildegard for viriditas, a vitality/greenness/holiness to be found in God’s boundless generosity. We see it in nature’s plenty. We experience it in moments when we turn ourselves over, body and soul, to our loving God. Very fitting for this time of year, even as much of the north languishes with winter snow and barren landscapes.

Hildegard may well have drawn on these prophetic images of plenty for her writings and music. (See Isaiah here, and here, and here, among other places, for the connection between viriditas and human redemption.) Hildegard’s composition (performed on this disc by Sequentia):

O nobilissima viriditas,
quae radicas in sole,
et quae in candida serenitate luces in rota,
quam nulla terrena excellentia comprehendis …

(O noblest viriditas,
who rooted in the sun,
and who, in dazzling serenity, shine in a sphere
that no earthly excellence can fully know …)

But when God graces us with it, we can perceive. And we can know the fruits of reconciliation, as promised to Ephraim:

Ephraim! What more has he to do with idols?
I have humbled him, but I will prosper him.
“I am like a verdant cypress tree”–
Because of me you bear fruit!

The last word from Hosea, advocating not knowledge exactly, but wisdom and prudence.

Let (those who are) wise understand these things;
let (those who are) prudent know them.
Straight are the paths of the LORD,
in them the just walk,
but sinners stumble in them.

This summation skips over a good deal of richness in the whole passage, and indeed, in the entire book. “Walk with God” is an easy thing to say and counsel. But the actual journey includes many missteps as well as many wonders. Reconciliation with God is far more than an intellectual assent to virtue. It requires a commitment to a whole lifestyle, in which we reorient ourselves to the viriditas, the life and grace around us. We don’t just attend to it when we become aware of sin. We can realize that we have many blindspots. We can recognize that a continual orientation to God and renewal in Christ will help us when we have wandered and gotten lost and are not even aware of it.

Hosea brought home his experience of God. He didn’t leave behind his prophetic vocation when it was time to punch his timecard. Modern Christian believers, too, can see that our calling is also meant to permeate our families, our work, our school, our social lives–very much like Hildegard’s experience of the rich, insistent greenery she found in God’s grace. May we all find such grace.

 

Reconciliation Lectionary: Matthew 18:21-35

Jesus tells a delicious parable at Mass tomorrow. Fifteen verses are more than you care to read or that I might care to cut and paste into this post, but you all know what I’m talking about. Read up on it here.

Peter presents the question we’ve heard before, but one we all want to ask. We want to be relieved, some of us, of the burden and demand of forgiving people who repeatedly offend us. The question and answer are rather straightforward:

Peter approached Jesus and asked him,
“Lord, if my brother sins against me,
how often must I forgive him?
As many as seven times?”
Jesus answered, “I say to you, not seven times but seventy-seven times.

In addition to giving us a real encounter with the Lord, Peter is also something of a symbol for all of us. “My sister sinned against me. I mean: she really sinned. What are you going to do about it, Lord?” And Jesus will tell us the same thing he said in the parable:

Moved with compassion the master of that servant
let him go and forgave him the loan.

The act of mercy didn’t quite sink in. Another person in debt to the servant is treated harshly. Have you ever noticed that it is the others in the community who bring this to the master’s attention?

Now when his fellow servants saw what had happened,
they were deeply disturbed, and went to their master
and reported the whole affair.

Serious sin disturbs other people. That’s why conspiracy and fraud are so damaging to the public trust: we call to mind the possibility that if a public leader, a parent, or a bishop has behaved badly toward someone, what if it happened to more people? And more so, God gets truly angry with hypocrites:

Then in anger his master handed him over to the torturers
until he should pay back the whole debt.
So will my heavenly Father do to you,
unless each of you forgives your brother (or sister) from your heart.

Learn mercy from God–this is what Jesus seems to be saying. We are offered a lot of lessons in the life of faith. It would seem that being able to offer forgiveness and reconciliation to others is part of our own healing process. We can rightly ask if we’ve truly experienced deep reconciliation, deep conversion, if we stand ready to hammer a sister or brother for something they have done to us.

 

Reconciliation Lectionary: Micah 7:2-7, 18-20

Number 131 of the Rite of Penance, gives us something of a Jekyll-and-Hyde reading. The first six verses are one of the most powerful laments in the Old Testament. The prophet Micah has really hit bottom, hasn’t he? Everyone is under suspicion: political leaders, friends, wives and children.

The faithful are gone from the earth,
among (people) the upright are no more!
They all lie in wait to shed blood,
each one ensnares the other.
Their hands succeed at evil;
the prince makes demands,
The judge is had for a price,
the great man speaks as he pleases,
The best of them is like a brier,
the most upright like a thorn hedge.

The day announced by your watch!
your punishment has come;
now is the time of your confusion.

Put no trust in a friend,
have no confidence in a companion;
Against her who lies in your bosom
guard the portals of your mouth.
For the son dishonors his father,
the daughter rises up against her mother,
The daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law
and a (person’s) enemies are those of (their) household.

But as for me, I will look to the Lord,
I will put my trust in God my savior;
my God will hear me!

A long litany of mistrust is punctuated twice. A warning at verse 4cde: punishment and confusion. The prophet concludes his litany with an acclamation of trust. Micah looks to God–and no other.

We might ask why this litany is included. Is it an examination of conscience, and are we to see ourselves among corrupt leaders and unfaithful family members? Are ordinary sins so gross and exaggerated? Or is it more likely we see ourselves, with Micah, as victims beset by people who don’t care, don’t understand, and don’t love us? My own sense is that this passage has a broader footprint. Didn’t the Lord allude to verse 6 in his warning of divisions in the household?

The Saturday of the second week of Lent has a commonality with the Reconciliation Lectionary, namely the following three verses, which are appended to the ones above:

Who is there like you, the God who removes guilt
and pardons sin for the remnant of his inheritance;
Who does not persist in anger forever,
but delights rather in clemency,
And will again have compassion on us,
treading underfoot our guilt?
You will cast into the depths of the sea all our sins;
You will show faithfulness to Jacob,
and grace to Abraham,
As you have sworn to our fathers
from days of old.

When I work with people preparing liturgy–engaged couples, mourners, or youth–I observe that we can take one of three approaches. We can find Scripture that is suggestive of a person, perhaps like the worthy wife of Proverbs 31 (a wedding selection) or the enthusiastic Zacchaeus (Rite of Penance 194).

We might look for a reading that illustrates a holy principle, like love or the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit.

We can also engage a text that describes God. And this is what we have in Micah 7:18-20, the last three verses of this prophetic book. This short passage, placed in context of a well-celebrated reconciliation, is as compassionate and tender as the previous verses are harsh and skeptical. Perhaps God has reason to be harsh and skeptical of many of his believers. We are the sons and daughters who stray, who betray the principles and honor of the Christian household.

But we have a God who not only forgives us, but who actually “delights” in showing us mercy. What a concept! As enthusiastically as we might hold grudges against a leader, a neighbor, or even the one who shares our marital bed, God feels the same way about forgiving us.

On second thought, perhaps that litany of verses 2-7 is needed. It places raw human evil in perspective. Perhaps it raises a hint of guilt in us. Perhaps it raises more. However much we bring to the Lord in the Sacrament of Penance, we will encounter a God who will like nothing more than to take the grossest of our sins and toss it into the ocean depths.

 

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.