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Posts Tagged ‘Luke’

It requires a peculiar strength to assert one’s will as the penultimate thing.

He withdrew about a stone’s throw beyond them, knelt down and prayed, ‘Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.’ An angel from heaven appeared to him and strengthened him.

In Gethsemane’s anteroom to judicial murder, Jesus knew exactly what he wanted: to live.

If there was glory in the arrest, the beatings, the cross that waited him, there was no pleasure. It came to Jesus’ lips as a most bitter, unwanted cup. He would have done almost anything to escape its venom.

Almost anything. On this the world hinges. (more…)

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Death is turned back on a morning like this one.

If the witch had truly understood the deep magic, we are told in the cinematic paraphrase of C.S. Lewis’ The Lion, Witch, and the Wardrobe, she might have interpreted the deep magic rather differently.

In their fright the women bowed down with their faces to the ground, but the men said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here; he has risen! (Luke 24)

Hell’s formidable genius is unable correctly to decipher the meaningful scrawlings of truth. The witch and all who follow her are outwitted on Easter Sunday. Aslan is no longer dead, though his death was most real. Christ is risen. He is risen indeed. (more…)

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When Jesus’ disciples ask him for training in prayer, he has just finished praying. Presumably they are moved to pray because the sight of Jesus in conversation with his Father stimulates them to desire the same.

It would seem, then, that the thing Jesus instructs his disciples to ask for is what he himself has been requesting.

One day Jesus was praying in a certain place. When he finished, one of his disciples said to him, ‘Lord, teach us to pray, just as John taught his disciples.’He said to them, ‘When you pray, say: “Father, hallowed be your name, your kingdom come.”‘

We are told to ask the Father that his reputation might be set apart as untouchable and untarnished. As well, we learn to desire that his rule might be realized in our space and time as it is known to prevail even now in heaven. (more…)

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Respectability is an expensive luxury that, in a moment, turns itself into a most damnable vice.

Jesus erstwhile adversaries—the mockable ‘Pharisees and scribes’—seemed incapable of recognizing that the perk of respectability ought to have been parked far down on the list of graded priorities. So deep was their confusion that they mistook the stream of sinners to Jesus’ side as an affront to propriety. They should have welcomed it as the best of news:

Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to Jesus. And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, ‘This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.’ So he told them this parable: ‘Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it? When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices. And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, “Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.” Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance. Or what woman having ten silver coins, if she loses one of them, does not light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it? When she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, “Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.” Just so, I tell you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.’

Angels, who bear their own glory lightly, see the movement of sinners into Jesus’ company more clearly. They weep and shout with joy over each one who repents. Here below, distracted and numb, we worry over the untied shoelace, the body odor, or the sexual history of such people. We require a respectability before, say, an audience with Jesus is to be granted.

Heaven knows no such quibbles. Angels do not fret at such a time. They dance.

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Jesus taught an ethic of continuity. What a person does with the little stuff is a leading indicator of his conduct when opportunity becomes large.

‘Whoever is faithful in a very little is faithful also in much; and whoever is dishonest in a very little is dishonest also in much. If then you have not been faithful with the dishonest wealth, who will entrust to you the true riches? And if you have not been faithful with what belongs to another, who will give you what is your own? No slave can serve two masters; for a slave will either hate the one and love the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth.’ The Pharisees, who were lovers of money, heard all this, and they ridiculed him.

Money is so often the elementary school preparation for responsibility over lives and livelihoods. A checkbook makes for a fine pop quiz. An expense account stands in for a final exam. Bigger things wait upon graduation.

Jesus’ ethics stand over against the performance-based, self-aggrandizing morality that is reported to have characterized the Pharisees of Jesus’ day. Having virtually cornered the market on religious respectability, the Pharisees appear to have made hay on their good name.

Jesus had no truck with their hypocrisy. His scathing denunciation of their code boiled down to a call for consistency. He’d have more patience with them, no doubt, if their piety could be taken indoors, their compassion turned towards those whom their religious affection humiliated, their joy motivated by seeing the poor and lonely healed and included.

In ethics, a bit of continuity does a body good.

Godliness in the small stuff, ditto in the big. Muck and slime in the details, hypocrisy and ruin when opportunity knocks loudly, trailing responsibility in its shadow.

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It might not be commonly agreed that a life accompanied by the biblical text is likely to be a life that grows towards a quiet courage. That does not make the observation less true.

The courage that Jesus inspires does not often call attention to itself. For good reason does the apostle refer to it and to other aspects of Christian maturity in terms of fruit. A slow-growing, non-dramatic but eminently harvestable product captures the phenomenon as well as an image could. (more…)

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Debió haber sido uno de los momentos más fascinantes de su vida.

Jesús, regresa de nuevo al pueblo galileo donde se crió, recibe el honor de proclamar en alta voz la lectura profética asignada a ese día. Se le presenta el capítulo sesenta y uno de Isaías, con todos sus pronombres enigmáticos.

Jesús realiza el acto con la debida solemnidad:

Y Jesús volvió en el poder del Espíritu a Galilea, y se difundió su fama por toda la tierra de alrededor. Y enseñaba en las sinagogas de ellos, y era glorificado por todos. Vino a Nazaret, donde se había criado; y en el día de reposo entró en la sinagoga, conforme a su costumbre, y se levantó a leer. Y se le dio el libro del profeta Isaías; y habiendo abierto el libro, halló el lugar donde estaba escrito: El Espíritu del Señor está sobre mí, Por cuanto me ha ungido para dar buenas nuevas a los pobres; Me ha enviado a sanar a los quebrantados de corazón; A pregonar libertad a los cautivos, Y vista a los ciegos; A poner en libertad a los oprimidos; A predicar el año agradable del Señor. Y enrollando el libro, lo dio al ministro, y se sentó; y los ojos de todos en la sinagoga estaban fijos en él. Y comenzó a decirles: Hoy se ha cumplido esta Escritura delante de vosotros.

Aún si la descripción de los hechos de este ungido de YHVH se asemeja a los hechos asombrosos de Jesús en su trato con los más necesitados de su pueblo, no se le habría ocurrido a nadie descubrir en él la alusión poética de Isaías, un ‘yo’ personificado, una insinuación que apuntase al predicador de Nazaret.

El texto del profeta perfila un personaje cuyas acciones alegrarán a los desconsolados, restaurarán a los caídos y regocijaran a los enlutados. El problema existe en que el texto se rehúsa a identificar a esa persona. Se crea un anhelo por lo que hará sin fomentar el quien es. Ante semejantes circunstancias, el texto yace como suelo fértil esperando la confluencia apropiada de elementos que le permitan germinar y crecer. Todo es posible, sin embargo, queda la interrogante de si realmente algo importante ocurrirá.

Jesús llena este vacío interpretativo con su sola presencia. El ‘yo’ de Isaías soy yo, pretende él sugerir. La crónica de este personaje redentor y restaurador tiene en él su referente.

Esta identificación resulta escandalosa debido a la simple cotidianidad del trato de Jesús con los suyos. Ante la grandeza del texto, Jesús queda pequeño ante los ojos de sus vecinos.

No reconocerían su error hasta exponerse al creciente gozo de ‘Sión’, ante la presencia e intervención del hijo de Nazaret prodigiosamente grande en el testimonio indiscutible que los cojos andan, los ciegos ven y los mudos cantan ruidosamente por las calles.

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Jesús estuvo en su propia casa en dos sentidos cuando lo descubrimos en su rol de protagonista en el cuarto capítulo del evangelio de Lucas.

La primera vez, después de la ardua prueba a la que fue sometido en la compañía del diablo en los desiertos de Judá, él vuelve a la aldea de su crianza:

Y Jesús volvió en el poder del Espíritu a Galilea, y se difundió su fama por toda la tierra de alrededor. Y enseñaba en las sinagogas de ellos, y era glorificado por todos. Vino a Nazaret, donde se había criado; y en el día de reposo entró en la sinagoga, conforme a su costumbre, y se levantó a leer. Y se le dio el libro del profeta Isaías; y habiendo abierto el libro, halló el lugar donde estaba escrito…

Aunque la historia de su retorno a Nazaret termina mal, estos momentos están saturados de satisfacción y familiaridad. (more…)

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Seldom does one of Jesus parables defy quick comprehension like the one we traditionally have called ‘the parable of the shrewd manager’. Fallen into a crisis that threatens his and his family’s future, this otherwise uninspiring man pulls off a sleight-of-hand that raises the admiring eyebrows even of the boss who had just fired him.

His predicament is not small:

Then Jesus said to the disciples, ‘There was a rich man who had a manager, and charges were brought to him that this man was squandering his property. So he summoned him and said to him, “What is this that I hear about you? Give me an accounting of your management, because you cannot be my manager any longer.” Then the manager said to himself, “What will I do, now that my master is taking the position away from me? I am not strong enough to dig, and I am ashamed to beg.”‘

When we find ourselves face to face with a biblical passage that defies easy solution, the most prudent step is often to look back on the history of interpretation. The aggregation of minds wiser and closer to the literary and cultural ground than ours often shows the way or—at least—cumulatively indicates that plausible description lies in this way and in that one but not in any other. (more…)

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It is no small thing to have one’s character summarized by the words ‘good and just’. One doesn’t stumble upon such an outcome as the fruit of one day’s jog around the park. It is rather the recognition that a thousand small decisions have leaned cumulatively in the direction of integrity.

The man we know from the gospels as ‘Joseph of Arimathea’ found himself so described. Known in the gospel tradition only through a pair of brief cameos, he is styled ‘a good and just man.’ This adjectival salute is then fleshed out with a bit of narrative:

Now there was a good and righteous man named Joseph, who, though a member of the council, had not agreed to their plan and action. He came from the Jewish town of Arimathea, and he was waiting expectantly for the kingdom of God. This man went to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus. Then he took it down, wrapped it in a linen cloth, and laid it in a rock-hewn tomb where no one had ever been laid.

From both his membership in ‘the council’ and his access to Pilate, we surmise that Joseph was a man with something to lose. Yet he had found the courage not to place his personal seal of approval on the council’s action against Jesus and then complemented this principled non-action by a most courageous maneuver: he asks Pilate for the body of Jesus and buries him in his family’s rock-hewn tomb. (more…)

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