Soliloquy

Luke 15 is special Lucan material. Perhaps he found it in a source already existing. I wonder if Matthew knew of this source and did not choose to use it. I would like to think that this is not a source, that Matthew did not have access to it because Luke himself constructed this narrative for his own purpose. I believe that Luke intended chapter 15 to be read continuously as a whole. He would not have anticipated a time when the chapter would be read by sections for preaching purposes because he was writing history not scripture.  He wanted people to read his writings as contemporary history. Neither could the Evangelist have anticipated that his history would be read 2,000 years later. If we read this as a continuous narrative we shall not fail to see that a shepherd risks the lives of 99 sheep to save one, while later a farmer kills his fatted calf. We shall not fail to see that there are many sheep, many coins, but only two sons. We shall not fail go see that there is a difference between the treatment of property (sheep), wealth (coin) and people (sons). We shall not fail to see that Luke had made his point by verse 24. One sheep, one coin, one son: end of narrative. But he adds 25-32 the denouement. That needs to be explored further for what it brings to the narrative and the light it sheds upon Luke’s purpose. Keep in mind my view that Luke-Acts is a presentation of Exile and Restoration, the context in which the Evangelist presents the Gospel.

The Lectionary lets us deal with only a part of Luke’s story, 15: 1-3; 11b-32.

In Luke 15:2, “the Pharisees and the scribes murmured, saying, ‘this man receives sinners and eats with them.’” This accusation was the occasion for the three parables. However, so far Jesus has not answered his accusers.  The first two parables do not address the charge of the scribes and the Pharisees:  (a) Jesus receives sinners; (b) Jesus eats with them. The first two parables demonstrated that the Divine sought after what was lost. Finding is reclaiming, and reclaiming lies at the heart of absolution. The reclaimed is transported into the grace of God. I will explore these ideas in what follows.

The younger son requests his portion of inheritance. The request is unusual. Inheritance is given out only after the death of the parent. The father divides his property and gives his son the inheritance that would have gone to him. This is not just a formal legal procedure. For this to happen the son must act as if the father is dead, and the father must acknowledge that the son no longer has a place in that home. He is also considered dead. “He was dead and is alive again” the father later says. There is an existential rupturing of relationships here. When the son leaves he not only leaves something behind, he is going literally “away from his own people.” From the time of Cain we have known that to leave home is to be “away from the ground,” and be hidden “from thy face,” and henceforth “shall be a fugitive and wanderer upon the earth.” We have known to be on the “ground” and on the “earth” are not the same; that ground is origin and definition of who we are. Genesis 4:14.

What he leaves home he abandons the ground, the foundation that defines his family relationships. To separate himself from his foundation that guaranteed him freedom in the home means that the son experiences a freedom without restraint to explore a world of his own choosing. That means also that the son is living on the basis of his own will. He “wills” the world ahead of him, and enters it willingly. To leave the foundation behind is to become estranged, a stranger to what lies behind. When the son arrives in the “far country” away from his own people, he finds himself in Gentile territory. He is an alien there, and a stranger at home. He is now homeless. (See some interesting ideas based on the same verbal stem: II Cor. 5: 6f.; I Peter 1:1; 2:11). The existential alienation deepens, but is not yet complete. The son is no longer the man who left home. He is someone he does not know. He becomes a hired servant, working for a foreign pig farmer. To do that, he has to surrender his Jewish self-definition. Because of the severe famine he begins to eat with the pigs. From son to hired servant to one of the herd, that is the process of his transformation, his alienation now is complete. Not to be among his people means not to be among the living. The existential alienation, the estrangement is now complete. The son who left home no longer exists. He is now dead.

The son “comes to himself” while he is among the pigs. The situation in which he lives reveals something to him. He is a hired servant who is starving, while the hired servants of his father have more than enough. He is thinking of himself as a hired servant. He is separating himself from the herd. He is starting to humanize himself again. He is able to think the “I.” He can say, “I perish here with hunger! I will arise and go to my father, and I will say to him, ‘Father I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me as one of your hired servants.” This is an important moment of self-recognition. But he is also able to say “my father” and “Father I have sinned.” He is able to recognize the other. By coming to himself he discovers the world of the others.

While he is perishing with hunger, that is, while he is in the realm of the dead, he says “I will arise” and go. The verb is anastas. The imagery of anastasis, resurrection comes to mind. The son is brought back from the dead. The imagery is even stronger when he says, “I will arise and go to my father.” The early Hellenistic Church that read this would have understood the motive of the Evangelist in using these words. He comes before the father with a confession, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you.” We recognize that “against heaven” is the Hebrew way of avoiding use of the name of God. I have sinned before God and humankind. That is, my sin pervades heaven and earth. My sin is complete. I am fully a sinner. Hence, “I am not worthy.” Only the sinner can say this. Only the sinner knows the sense of worth, and worth is something that the sinner totally lacks. What is the sin that the son confesses? The Evangelist does not tell us this. The insight he gives us is that sin is always “sin against.” Sin speaks to something that opposes. Sin speaks to standing alone and standing against. In other words, sin speaks to living out of my own will, living by my own will.

The son who returns to himself and to his home recognizes that other wills prevail in a shared world. But he is not allowed to say, “Treat me as one of your hired servants.”  If he is to be absolved, to receive absolution, his own will cannot be allowed to prevail. His father interrupts him, turning to the servants and addressing them instead. The son must surrender his will to that of his father. Only in this way can he be absolved. Only the Absolute can absolve. This is the whole meaning of forgiveness. Forgiveness restores the son. He is given clothing, a ring, shoes, and a feast in his honor. Salvation is often spoken of as a banquet. The father makes this clear.  He says “this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.” Important to ponder here is the fact the father did not go in search of his son, as did the shepherd in search of the lost sheep, and the business woman in search of her coin. Let it be noted that the son did not die; instead, the father sacrificed a fatted calf. There may be echoes here of the story of Abraham and Isaac in Genesis 22: 12-13. He said, “Do not lay your hand on the lad or do anything to him; for now I know that you fear God, seeing you have not withheld your son, your only son, from me. And Abraham lifted up his eyes and looked, and behold, behind him was a ram, caught in a thicket by his horns; and Abraham went and took the ram and offered it up as a burnt offering instead of his son.”

Notice that the Evangelist does not end this parable as the two former with a statement about the joy of angels in heaven over the sinner that repents. I believe that this is on purpose, and is part of the motive of the Evangelist in continuing the narrative. Luke intends something totally different for this parable.

Let us take a look at the father in the narrative. He was described simply. “There was a man who had two sons.” (See also Mt. 22:28 for another story about a father and two sons). He willingly divides his property between his sons. Nothing more is heard of him until in the son’s soliloquy, we learn that the father’s hired servants did not suffer want. He provided well for his servants. Later, upon the son’s return, the father saw him in the distance, “and had compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him.” Was the father expecting his son to return, and so was looking out for him? That would be anticipation, perhaps hope. This would tell us that there is a place of emptiness in the life of the father that can be filled only by the son’s return. But there is no evidence in the text to warrant such a supposition.

He had compassion for his son. Compassion describes an inner upheaval of overwhelming passion that overtakes someone, reaching out in a forward motion of embrace of another. The father was overwhelmed at the sight of his returning son. Compassion here is an unconditional welcome, expressed by the verbs, ran, embraced and kissed. This is the father’s moment. “Bring quickly the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet; and bring the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and make merry.” The father is in command. He restores his son to his former status. “My son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost and is found.” When the son confesses his sin the father does not respond with a word of forgiveness. His actions indicate that his forgiveness has already taken place and is no longer an issue. I think it is important the father offers up the life of a calf for the life of his son, a life for a life. He will not deprive the Divine of its offering. “The sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise.” Ps.51:12. A father’s broken spirit and a son’s broken and contrite will be acceptable to the Lord.

I will repeat what I have said earlier. In Luke 15:2, “the Pharisees and the scribes murmured, saying, ‘This man receives sinners and eats with them.’” This accusation was the occasion for the three parables. However, so far Jesus has not answered his accusers.  The first two parables do not address the charge of the scribes and the Pharisees:  (a) Jesus receives sinners; (b) Jesus eats with them. The first two parables demonstrated that the Divine sought after what was lost. Finding is reclaiming, and reclaiming lies at the heart of absolution. The reclaimed is transported into the grace of God.

The Evangelist wants to lay bare a more crucial teaching. That’s why the third parable is very different. The father welcomes the sinning son and eats with him. This is the substance of moral behavior in the Bible. It is the essential meaning of hospitality. Not to welcome strangers and provide them food is the same as condemning them to death. The scribes and the Pharisees who should know about and practice hospitality are precisely the ones who are failing in their religious and moral obligation.  Jesus is abiding by the law of hospitality. Luke intends to push this point further.

The Evangelist continues his narrative with his denouement. Only when the Evangelist introduces the elder son do we begin to see where the story is going. The elder son is in the field when he hears the music and rejoicing. He is also away from home. He is away from his ground even though he is in the field. He does not know that he is lost. When he discovers what is taking place, anger overtakes him as earlier compassion had overtaken the father. The father now goes out to bring in the elder son. The elder son rejects the hospitality that the father offers him. He refuses to go in. Remember, father went out to welcome his younger son.  The younger son came in willingly. The father pleads with the elder son to come home. He fails. Like the shepherd in the first parable and the business woman in the second, the father goes in search of the elder son. The Evangelist is making the point that the father does not find his son!

The elder son is not respectful; he does not say “father” as the younger son did. Instead, the elder son defends his behavior: I have served you many years. I have never disobeyed your command. You never gave me a kid to rejoice with my friends. The point he is making is valid. What is valid has values, and values speak to moral consciousness. He has done everything right. He has done all that was expected of him. He was responsible and obedient. Yet he was never rewarded. He compares himself with the younger son. (The Pharisee and the tax collector come to mind, Luke 18: 9-14). He is making a moral judgment. He, too, is acting on the basis of his own will. He believes he deserves a reward because of his moral stature; that his worth has been established by his moral behavior. The failure of the elder son is that he claims moral standing before the Divine. The elder son does not understand the danger he faces. Morality, when it moralizes exists always on the precipice of a yawning abyss whose function is to devour moral claims and moral claimants. Morality is not a solution waiting a problem. The essential nature of morality is dormancy; it abides as dormant until it is awakened by a specific threat to existence. Morality has the proper function of moving existence forward. Since existence (ex-sistere) is transcendental presence, morality shelters existence moment to moment by being ahead of it. For this reason, I hold that the proper foundation of morality is hope, in contrast for example to Kant for whom it is respect.

The father speaks, purposefully addressing the elder brother in this way. “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours.” The elder son does not understand the plenitude of grace revealed in his father’s words. “It was fitting to make merry and be glad, for this your brother was dead, and is alive; he was lost, and is found.” The elder son does not know that rejoicing is a mark of forgiveness and hospitality.

This is where the Jesus answers his accusers. The Evangelist is pointing out that the elder son stands with the scribes and Pharisees: faithful, loyal, obedient to what is demanded of them by the law. The younger son stands with sinners, depending on grace.

The Evangelist is revealing something crucial here. These two sons represent two different perspectives on the Divine-human encounter. This is a deep teaching on Law and Grace!

The younger son sees the world as an open space that beckons him to experience it. What lies “out there” away from home is not known, not yet defined, and awaits his arrival so that it can be known. He sees the open world as something he must first know before he can know himself. He wants to discover who he is and what his place is in this world. He can do this only by leaving home.

Upon his departure, he discovers that to embrace the world around him is to accept the uncertainties, risks and dangers that come with this encounter. The world awaiting him offers him endless possibilities that will require decision. He will discover that he can come to himself only after he has alienated himself. Alienation as the objectification of self and world exposes him to himself and reveals that there is indeed a self to which he can return. He will discover that he can return home only after he has abandoned his ground. In his return he will discover the meaning of hospitality in the act of confession and absolution. Because he is a sinner he knows sin, and because he is himself sin he can accept the grace of forgiveness of sins. Only the sinner who has been forgiven knows the feeling and the meaning of grace.

Just as earlier the Fig tree that is unproductive simply uses up ground, so also this son uses up his inheritance. What he has is what he is, and when that is “devoured” his world is emptied out, just as he is, and this prepares the exile for his return. Only as an exile can the son heed the call of grace to return to his ground. “Dust you are and to dust you will return.”

The elder son has a different view of the world. He experiences his world as closed and complete. It has been given to him as it is. He does not have to define it or let it define him. His world is circumscribed by the farm, the fields, and the place where he is located. His world does not reach beyond here and now. It has taught him everything he needs to know. It has shown him everything he needs to do. What he knows and does is given to him.

The prosperity of the farm testifies to his stature. For him this is a sign of God’s favor and blessing. The meaning of sin and the need for forgiveness enter his thinking only regarding “the others.”  He does not understand what it is to be forgiven as a sinner. He does not see himself as a sinner. He thinks he is worthy because he is loyal and obedient, for like the scribes and Pharisees, he thinks sinners are “others” whom Jesus received and with whom he ate. This is why he sees the younger son as unclean, “devouring his father’s life” with harlots. He does not know that he, too, because he has already received the divided inheritance, is already “devouring his father’s life.” He is completely unaware that he, too, is lost; that he, too, is not “at home.” Without leaving home, the elder son is the complete exile. Having never left, he can never return. This is the outer darkness from which one does not return. He can never experience the joy of return. “By the waters of Babylon, there we sat down and wept, when we remember Zion….How can we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?” Psalm 137. Thus he cannot recognize the joy that sends the father in search of him to bring him into the realm of rejoicing. Hence, the elder son remains in exile.

The point that the Evangelist presents in this third parable is the Eternal Return of the Son. It is the foundational exile narrative. It is hope reaching out, not judgment reaching down. The father and his two sons do not represent Jesus or God. They are figures that stand in the foreground of a narrative of exilic history that is breaking in through the eschatology of return. History never survives as history. The historic cannot redeem the historical for the simple reason that the historic cannot return to itself without vanishing. On the other hand eschatology is at home in existence, lives beyond the reach of history and thereby evades its own demise through the eternal renewal of the now. Eschatology, eschatos, “what lies ahead”; logos, “what announces.” Eschatology is not simply a doctrine or a concept. It is proclamation. What it says is “what lies ahead announces the coming forth of what has gone before.” Eschatology announces the homecoming of the human, the return to its beginning. I think I read somewhere, “The end is the beginning returning to itself.”  But the human arrives in a space that has been cleared for its arrival by the Divine. Thus, the eschatology of return is also a celebration of the arrival of the Divine in a new theophany that, upon touching the earth, renders it holy and sets in motion the new creation.

Jesus as the narrator of this exilic history does not point to himself. He remains hidden on the outermost boundary of light that falls lightly upon our eyes granting momentary sight of an unyielding grace in the embrace of the Eternal Return of the Son.

There are two separate parts to this reading. Luke 13:1-5 and 6-9. Luke is the only Evangelist to record this story. In verses 1-5 some people who were traveling with Jesus told him the story of the slaughter of Galileans by Pilate. The mention of the slaughter of Galileans is an occasion for warning by Jesus about repentance and perishing.  Jesus himself introduces the accidental death of 18 people by the falling tower of Siloam. This also leads to a warning on repentance. It is difficult to discover the origin of verses 1-9. Just as verse 1 provided the occasion for warning, so also something provided the occasion for verse 1. What made these followers of Jesus report the slaughter of the Galileans? Earlier in 11:49-51 Jesus had talked about prophets and apostles who were killed, and of “the blood of Zechariah, who perished between the altar and the sanctuary.” The story of Zechariah is recorded in 2 Chronicles 24:20-22. In another story related only by Luke, Pilate sends Jesus to be tried by Herod, because Jesus was a Galilean, and belonged to Herod’s territory. In that story, Luke 23:6-12, it says that Herod and Pilate, before that day, had been at enmity with each other. Why? Was it because Pilate the Roman Governor had slaughtered Galileans in Herod the Jewish tetrarch’s kingdom? In the temple itself, thus defiling it? Can this rivalry, brought to mind by the mention of Zechariah’s murder in the temple, be what motivated by the followers to make this report? I wonder if verses 1-9 which contains a dominical saying may not have once belonged to a source at least as old as Q.

What is the meaning of “whose blood Pilate mingled with their sacrifices?” It is likely that the Galileans were in their temple offering up their sacrifices when they were killed, so their blood was mingled with that of their sacrifices. Paul allows us a vivid imagery of this when he says, “even if I am to be poured as a libation upon the sacrificial offering of your faith.” Phil. 2:17. The eighteen killed at Siloam, if this is by the pool of Siloam, may refer to 18 people who were killed while they were trying to purify themselves. In both cases people died while carrying out their religious obligations. They were doing something that the Law required. Is Jesus’ call to repentance meant as a criticism of the Law? Is he saying that the Law is no guarantee of life? If so, what is he offering instead?

Jesus insists that the Galileans who suffered death were no worse sinners than all other Galileans. Also, the Jerusalemites who died at Siloam were no greater offenders than all other Jerusalemites. In the presence of the Divine all are equally sinful. Paul promoted this idea that all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. Romans 3:22-23.

Jesus repeats the refrain, “unless you repent you will all likewise perish.” Vs.3, 5. The verb “to perish” is used again in 13:33 and 15:17. See John 3:16 where “perish” is the further extreme of “eternal life.” However, Jesus does not indicate in Luke what would happen if people did repent. Is it enough to imply that those people “would not perish?” Is there implied here a contrast between life and death? Those who repent will live; those who do not will die?

“Perish” is something that is always impending. It beckons all. Though its means are many its aim is one. It lies always in the Psalmist plea “cast me not away from your presence and take not your Holy Spirit from me.” That which perishes is deprived of a future; it cannot arrive at its “end” because it has no capacity for “arriving.” It has exhausted its possibilities; it forms no relationships because it cannot engage what has not yet perished, except for eulogy and gratitude. What perishes passes into isolation and solitude, enters where time does not exist and space that conforms only to its unique dimensions. What perishes remains in a place of languishing.

For the Galileans and Jerusalemites who perished, their only deliverance post mortem is in the hands of the Divine. Without the Divine they are helpless and hopeless. Jesus says that this is what characterizes the human condition, and repentance is the answer.

There is a sense of urgency in his voice when Jesus calls upon all to repent. But repent of what? Metanoia does not simply mean to change one’s mind. Repentance essentially means that I surrender my will to the Divine will because this is what the Divine demands of me. “Not my will but thine!” Yet it is not an act that I can ever undertake on my own. I cannot bring myself to repentance because repentance always is a gift of God, and what is demanded of me is to accept this gift and to acknowledge that I am totally and completely obedient to the Divine for my living and my dying. One remembers the idea of becoming a little child in the presence of the Divine, that is, absolute surrender to the Divine that demonstrates that I am completely helpless in view of both my living and my dying. One remembers also that most sublime theology of Martin Luther in his explanation of the Third Article of the Apostles Creed. “I believe that I cannot by my own understanding or effort believe in Jesus Christ my Lord, or come to him. But the Holy Spirit has called me through the Gospel, enlightened me with his gifts, and sanctified and kept me in true faith. In the same way he calls, gathers, enlightens, and sanctifies the whole Christian church on earth, and keeps it united with Jesus Christ in the one true faith. In this Christian church day after day he fully forgives my sins and the sins of all believers. On the last day he will raise me and all the dead and give me and all believers in Christ eternal life. This is most certainly true.”

Metanoia is not an accomplishment.  It is nothing less than the self-giving of God to human beings. By claiming this gift, taking into myself the Divine, I am made other that what I have been. This is what Paul means by “be transformed by the renewal of your mind.” Romans 12:2.The human being is the eschatological horizon, the cosmic center where human and Divine embrace in a dance of redemption that is acted out nowhere else in creation. Repentance shows the Divine encountering itself, grasping its own image, setting free and sending forth a new creation. Repentance reveals itself as the ground of the new creation. On Ash Wednesday I was reminded, “dust you are and to dust you shall return.” Repentance is the gift of the Divine reclaiming me as Holy Ground. Wherever I stand, I am Holy Ground. Repentance is the Divine self-revelation as it makes itself known in the renewal of creation. This means ultimately that repentance is revelation.

Jesus says, “unless you repent you will perish.” And that must mean unless you accept the Divine offer (grace) to be the Holy Ground in which the Divine grounds itself and shines forth you are nothing but useless ground. About the Fig Tree it is said, “why should it use up ground?” Vs.7.  More on this later. What repentance reveals is God-for-us in the God-with-us. Repentance as revelation says that something shines forth through us in the same way as the Burning Bush shines upon what surrounds it, and what shines forth from us is light illuminating the path ahead. Christian life is always an apostolic journey. Apostolicity is the reservoir of grace in its redemptive fullness. You don’t put your light under a bushel basket; you don’t turn back to bury your dead; you don’t put your hand on the plow and look back. In Genesis 1:3 God says, “Let there be light” and there was light. This was the Original Light that showed the creation as it was coming to be. This was the Light before all lights (Genesis 1:16). So, too, the Light illuminates the new creation as it is coming to be. Repentance blocks your access to the past as surely as does the expulsion from Eden. Genesis 3:22-24. Cherubim and swords are not persuaded by repentance. Repentance is the opening up of what is new, and what now makes its appearance is the new creation. Behold, I make all things new! Repentance is the Divine Light that falls upon us and allows us to be seen as we are. Metanoia must mean that unless you bring forth the Divine light you will not be seen, and not being seen means to live in a land of deep darkness, that is, perishing. Repentance makes the Divine presence real and abiding. What prevents perishing is Divine compassion.

Unlike the other Synoptists, Luke does not say, “repent for the kingdom of God is at hand.” Jesus speaks rather of repentance for its own sake. That is why I want to believe that these stories come from a very old tradition, a tradition that still does not know of the Passion and Resurrection of Christ as the act of redemption.

The second part of the reading is also illuminating. What does the parable of the Fig Tree have to do with what I have said so far? This is a very special tree and I will not to jump to the conclusion that it is a symbol for Israel, Jerusalem or the Church. I will not allegorize this tree. Mt. 21 and Mk.11 have the story of the cursing of a fig tree. But that is not this tree. This is just your average, normal fig tree just like the useless apple and peach trees in my yard. In Lk.21:29-30 a fig tree can reveal something about the seasons. In 6:43-45 the fig tree is productive. Our fig tree is special in its very own way.

Luke does not seem to know about the cursing of a fig tree. In our fig tree story the owner “came seeking fruit on it and found none.” What is at issue here is the fertility of the tree, its fecundity. A fig tree, any fruit tree, is recurringly generative. It reveals a cycle of life and death, of living and dying. (I would have liked to pursue an analysis of this in light of Lutheran philologist Nietzsche’s the eternal return of the same and the will to power in their synthesis of hope directing human existence, but that is for another day). The productivity of the tree is inexhaustible. Its fertility is demonstrated by its capacity to produce fruit. When the owner discovers that the fertility of his fig tree is defective, he says, “cut it down!” Let it perish! He has this in common with Pilate and the Siloam tower: let it perish. Whatever does not actualize its being does not deserve to live. Let it perish.

But the fig tree will not perish. Unlike the listeners of Jesus the fig tree cannot be called upon to repent to avoid perishing. The tree can do absolutely nothing to save itself. It is completely dependent upon the gardener and upon where it is planted. (Psalm 1:3). However, the fig tree which is defective as regards its fertility and fecundity still retains its power to reveal something about the Divine. It will reveal the compassion of the Divine especially for the one who has absolutely nothing to give. One remembers the Beatitudes: the poor in spirit; those who mourn; the meek; those who hunger and thirst for righteousness; and all others in need of God’s grace. Instead of cutting it down, the owner extends its life for another period of time, that is, he gives it a future.

The tree is a means of enlightenment in our Christian tradition. We have taken from it the knowledge of good and evil. “And out of the ground the Lord God made to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food, the tree of life also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.” Genesis 2:9. Humanity was expelled for eating from the tree of knowledge of good and evil, thereby becoming as divine. But the expulsion was not a punishment; it was a prohibition, “lest he put forth his hand and take also of the tree of life, and eat, and live forever.” Genesis 3:22. Humanity was denied access to eternal life! (See John 3:16). That is what the cherubim and the sword protect. Life is now lived beyond the seventh day. We have moved from myth to history. And having been given a future, the human being is now the point of conjunction for history and eschatology.

Whether the Tower of Babel, Jacob’s Ladder or the Cross of Christ, verticality defines access to the Divine. The verticality of the tree stands always as a reminder of the promise of access. The tree that seasonally renews itself proclaims resurrection and newness of life. As such the tree always stands before us and ahead of us as a Divine promise. The Cross of Christ does not, and will never, exist in an historical past. It stands always here and now. It stands wherever there is sin and shame, guilt and hate. It stands wherever there is hunger and hurt, pain and suffering. It stands wherever the poor are despised and mercy is denied. It stands with the homeless and the hopeless.  It stands wherever a human soul is distressed and a human spirit dashed. It stands wherever justice is ashamed of itself, and righteousness a scandal of conscience. The Cross of Christ stands wherever a child does not have a book and an adult does not have a job. It stands wherever a girl is bullied and a woman is battered. It stands in the midst of boys yearning to be men but dying as children. It stands where leaders cannot even be shamed into action and followers cannot be convinced by grace. The Cross of Christ stands as the promise of the Divine that faith, hope and charity will not forever suffer at the hands of idolatry and avarice.

This is what the fig tree must reveal to us. This is its real fertility and fecundity. To cut down the fig tree is to deny it a future. It will forever be dead, forever without hope. The Divine which has already denied us access to the past will not deny us access to the future. The gardener does not cut down the fig tree. It is allowed to live. And for us that means that access to eternal life is not back to Eden, but forward to the Kingdom of God. This is an act of Divine compassion.

The fig tree is given another opportunity. This is a sign of hope.

(My reflections on hope below are woefully incomplete).

Why is it that “hope that is seen is not hope”? It is said that hope lies at the very bottom of Pandora’s Box, the Box being the totality of human existence. My own understanding is that hope is the foundation of everything in Pandora’s Box. Hope is the foundation of everything human. Without hope nothing comes to be. Without hope there is no “world.” Only to the extent that hope remains undisclosed can it be called hope. If humanity creates its world then hope must lie within humanity; it must be something without which the human will never attain its human-ness. Hope is an existential mode of being that defines and shapes what is human. Hope exists always alongside blood and mind, bones and intellect. Hope is born simultaneously with the human being. It cannot be a later addition or accumulation for then it would somehow exist outside of and apart from the human being. Blood and bones are visible, mind and intellect are not. Is hope of the same being as mind and intellect?  Hope lies within the human being. It cannot be seen. It cannot be located in any particular place. It must be pervasive with the dimensions of the human being.

Hope is undisclosed and pervasive. It is the foundation of all that is undisclosed and pervasive. This indicates that the essential being of hope is presence. I hope because I am here. Hope is always here; it is always now. Hope is time announcing the arrival of the human. The human being is time disclosing itself as creation and dissolution; that which comes to be, temporalizes itself, and ceases to be. Hope cannot attach itself to what is external to it. Everything that is external to it is temporal and ceases to be. Because the human being is time actualizing itself the human being is historical. As historical the human being transcends the now and lays claim to a “then.” Consequently, the human being is oriented toward the future. Hope is therefore the foundation on which the future is created. “Hoping-for” is the inner meaning of transcendence. “Hoping-for” transports me into that which is not yet present. It brings the future into the “now” so I can grasp it. “Hoping-for” is the homecoming of the future. With its arrival the human being is delivered from the terror of the present, i.e., anxiety in the face of death, what Kierkegaard calls “fear and trembling, the sickness unto death.”

What access do I have to this hope?  Because hope is undisclosed I cannot know it unless it makes itself known to me. Hope must reveal itself for it to be known. It must let me know that it is there and it must indicate the manner in which I can grasp it. Hope unveils itself in narrative. It alone can tell its story. Hope only and always is a narrative that announces the human being, tells its story and thereby opens up a future that will always be undisclosed until upon its arrival it reveals my destiny as that which holds me in my beginning that is eternally present. I have never ceased being born. (I think that is the theme of all of Octavio Paz’s poetry. Sunstone ends where it begins! Also important: Return and A Tree Within).

When Jesus makes an intervention into the lives of his listeners, warning them to repent lest they perish, he is making the same intervention as the gardener. Jesus and the gardener have intervened to allow life to go on, to flourish for another season. This is an act of the compassion of the Divine.

Luke 13:1-9 reveals that the Divine shows compassion for both humans and nature. The Divine has compassion for the whole creation, which is none other than the New Creation.

FOR GRACE DURING ILLNESS

Merciful and loving God, in whose presence I bear my illness with faith and with fear: I thank you for the faith you have given me to entrust my healing and my health to you. May I ever be mindful that I am always in your hands and that, while I am there, I shall not be forsaken nor shall I be abandoned. As your grace accompanies me through paths I know not, embrace the questions I ask, the doubts I feel, the fears I know and the sufferings I dread. May these be my sacrifice and my offering today. If in my weak state my hope, too, weakens, strengthen me and renew my hope. If bitterness approaches me, draw nearer to revive my spirit and renew my joy; for as I rejoiced in you with my health, now may I also rejoice in you with my illness. When the time for my healing will have come, may I have the grace to accept it with gratitude, the spirit to celebrate it with joy, and the courage to serve you with humility. Through Jesus Christ. Amen.

FOR FAITH DURING ILLNESS 

Lord God, great is your faithfulness and enduring your mercy to me: You are always more eager to receive me than I am to seek you. Now, I reach for you in my distress. Let your grace accompany me on my pilgrimage to health. If I depart from the way, remind me always that you are the way, and put me on the right path. If, because of the burden of my conscience, I flee from you, let me flee only into your presence, and when I am there, console me. If I hide from you because of my fears, find me and give me courage. If, in my illness, I rage against you, accept my rage as my prayer, and grant me healing. And, if I cannot receive your healing now, hold my illness before me as a blessing, until I am able. In my weakness teach me humility, and in my pain, gratitude. Grant me grace, so that I bear my illness faithfully and, if my faith fails, lift me up until I can believe again. Lord God, great is your faithfulness and enduring your mercy to me. Through Him who is my Beginning and my End, Jesus my Strength. Amen.

FOR HOPE WHEN ILLNESS COMES

Lord God, from whom come all good gifts to sustain me in my illness: you have given me grace sufficient to lift my heart in prayer. In your presence, I can bear my illness with gratitude and hope. I ask you to form my prayers today as you have already formed me. Know that when my words fail my life itself shall be your praise. When I call upon you, if I hear no answer, let your silence reassure me. And if your silence makes me afraid, may your love give me courage. Holy Spirit, refresh me with enthusiasm for work and service. Reform me with passion to live for your truth. Renew me with hope beyond this moment. And if ever my hope becomes unsure, hope for me the hope that never ends. All of this I ask in the Name above all Names, Jesus my Salvation. Amen!

Two different passages are brought together. Verses 31-33 are special Lukan source. Verses 34-35 are Q material, virtually identical in Matthew and Luke, except Matthew adds “desolate” in Mt. 23:38, and “again” in 23:39. I will not explore Matthew’s addition in this presentation.

Jesus was in the midst of teaching the events that will come to pass at the end of the age, Luke 13:22-30, when he is interrupted by some Pharisees.

The Pharisees bring news to Jesus. Leave this place (Galilee) now. Herod wants to kill Jesus. There are two ideas here that need to be examined. One is the warning to leave; the other is the intention of Herod. Why do the Pharisees show such a depth of concern for Jesus? Are they concerned about his life or about his death? The question does not have an answer but it touches upon something that is hidden. In Luke 13:31-33 there is the opposition of this world (Herod) and the world to come (Jesus). Herod, the tetr-arches is challenging the one who is en-arche. The king of one-fourth of a territory wants to destroy the one who is to rule the cosmos. Wanting to kill Jesus is an attempt to prevent the coming kingdom. Not long ago Jesus had told his disciples, 12:32, “Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.” The world does not tolerate alternatives. It is focused upon itself. Jesus replies to the “messenger” Pharisees, “Go and tell that fox I cast out demons and perform cures.” Earlier he had said something similar to the disciples of John, “God and tell John what you have seen and heard.” Luke 7:22-23. The eschatological message announces that the messianic age has dawned, demons are cast out, people are healed, and the good news is preached. In Luke 11:20 he says, “If I by the finger of God cast out demons, then the Kingdom of God has come upon you.” Even the Pharisees bringing news to Jesus about the intention of Herod are participants in the announcement of the good news: they must now go and tell what they have heard. I wonder what it would have been like to preach the good news to Herod.

(A question to consider: the Pharisees warn Jesus about Herod’s intention to kill him. How, then, can Jesus send them back to Herod with a message? Does Jesus suspect that they are agents of Herod? And if they are agents of Herod, is it likely that Herod himself wants to warn Jesus that his life is in danger?)

“Go and tell that fox.” Herod is wise and skillful in the ways of the world. His wisdom together with what he knew of John the Baptist would have convinced him that Jesus was a different threat from John. Jesus says that he is “casting out demons and performing cures.” These are activities of the messianic age as seen in apocalyptic literature. The world of the demonic is always opposed to the world of the Divine. We saw that in the Temptation. In the world of the demonic sickness prevails. In the world of the Divine there is health. Rev.21:3-4. Jesus is healing “today and tomorrow and on the third day my task shall be fulfilled.” Again this is an apocalyptic theme: the announcement of the time (today and tomorrow) before the end. The life of Jesus before his Passion is one of healing and casting out demons. That is his activity in this world, this time. His Passion and Resurrection, the fulfillment of his mission takes place in the world to come, in a different time, “the third day.” Jesus must go on his way; that is the messianic task has to be completed. See John 9:4. He knows that he must go to Jerusalem, for that is where his Passion will come to pass.

What can we conclude from verses 31-33? It is an interruption and perhaps a conclusion, for with verses 34-35 which the Evangelist imports from the approach to Jerusalem, the Passion begins to be more dominant. Herod will indeed be involved in the killing of Jesus, but not right away. There is a history between Jesus and Herod. In Luke 9:9 Herod sought to see Jesus. In our passage Herod wanted to kill Jesus. In Luke 23:9 Herod hoped to see Jesus because he wanted to see him perform a sign.  Herod failed in all three cases. Jesus must run the course “today and tomorrow and the day following.” The journey to Jerusalem is already an essential part of the Passion. As a matter of fact, the journey to Jerusalem is the complete sub-text of Luke’s Gospel. The Journey is the Exodus Story of Jesus, with similarities to the Exodus Story of Moses. The Evangelist has in mind to express in Luke-Acts the Exodus Story of Jesus, his Exile in the Wilderness, and his ultimate Restoration of Israel. In Acts 1:6 it is so stated. “Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?” The journey will disclose the identity and the divine purpose of the one “who comes in the name of the Lord.” “It cannot be that a prophet should perish away from Jerusalem.”  The Passion will disclose everything. In this bit of Lukan material Jesus is still presented as the apocalyptic prophet of the end times.

It is verse 33 with the mention of Jerusalem that the Evangelist ties together these two passages. What purpose does he have in mind? From the time of Jeremiah Jerusalem has been the symbol of the people and the community. It is the eschatological center of salvation. Isaiah 65:19-25. Isa.40. Lam.4:22. But Jerusalem is unaware. Isaiah calls upon it to wake up! Isaiah 51:17. Jerusalem is reluctant to receive the mercy of the divine. Haggai 2:17; Amos 4:9; Prov. 1:24-25. This is the background against which the whole Gospel is constructed.

Let us take a brief look at purpose of the Gospel. In the prologue (1:1-4) the Evangelist wants to set forth the truth about what Theophilus has been instructed. That is, Theophilus already knows the content of the Gospel as “the events that have been fulfilled among us” and presented by eye-witnesses and servants of the “logos.” The Evangelist is writing about something that has been fulfilled, and I’m suggesting that Luke’s Gospel is written against the background of the Exodus and the Exile, and is therefore his understanding of the Restoration, the in-gathering of the people of God.

In the Annunciation it says “He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” (1:32-33). Simeon sings, “my eyes have seen your salvation.” John the Baptist says, “all flesh shall see the salvation of God.”  The prophetess Anna “spoke of him to all who were looking for the redemption of Jerusalem.” The Temptation discloses that Jesus defeats chaos (the Exile in the Wilderness) and ushers in cosmos (the New Jerusalem symbolizing the gathering in of the people of God, the Restoration). The sermon at Nazareth demonstrates Jesus accepting his mission under the Spirit, and “to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord,” that the redemption of Jerusalem, the people, has been accomplished once and for all. The Evangelist continues to disclose his purpose, that is, to present the restoration of the people of God throughout the gospel and into the Acts of the Apostles. This is why the Evangelist imports the lament over Jerusalem at this transitional point.

No doubt about it, the lament over Jerusalem is out of place here. Jesus has not yet arrived in Jerusalem. Matthew has the correct order of events. Commentators are agreed that it cannot be Jesus who is uttering this lament. There is no indication that he has tried to gather Jerusalem. Again scholars are agreed that this is the voice of Sophia that is speaking. The Q document from which verses 34-35 are taken shows both apocalyptic and wisdom features.  Question to think about: Is the lament over Jerusalem in Q older than Q itself? The Sophia myth is very prominent in Jewish apocalyptic such as Ethiopic Enoch and Sirach, and has influenced the development of New Testament apocalyptic.  Bultmann in HST says “the whole verse has to be understood in the light of the myth of divine Wisdom, in which, after Wisdom dwells on the earth and calls men to follow her in vain, leaves the world, and man now searches for her in vain. Wisdom foretells that she will remain hidden until the coming of the Messiah; for only he can be meant by the “one who is coming in the name of the Lord.”

Very early Q presented Jesus as the Wisdom of God. See also the following references. Mark 6:2 “What is the wisdom given to him?” Luke 2:40. Jesus became “filled with wisdom.” Luke 2:52 “he increased in wisdom.” Luke 7:35. “Wisdom is justified by her children.” See Mt. 11:19. Luke 11:31 “to hear the wisdom of Solomon, and behold, something greater than Solomon is here.” See Mt 12:42. Luke 21:15 “I will give you a mouth and wisdom…” Paul refers to Christ in I Cor. 1:24 “as the power of God and as the wisdom of God. In Col.2:3 we read, “in Christ is hidden all the wisdom of God.” The Logos returns to history as Sophia.

Wisdom has wanted to “gather” Jerusalem. See Mark 13:27; Mt. 24:31; Ps. 147:2; Isa. 56:8. It speaks to the eschatological gathering in of God’s people in the age to come. Divine Wisdom speaks of the exile and restoration. Proverbs 1:24-25 is clear on this. Wisdom, the Divine voice, laments that Jerusalem is in exile and refuses the mercy of God. The Lord will laugh at the calamity of Jerusalem, and will mock them. How often the Lord wished (was willing to) to gather his people! But they did not wish it (will it). As in the Temptation there is a conflict of wills. Jerusalem stands on its own will, rejecting the will of God. I believe this passage is about the Passion of Christ, the struggle of the divine will against the human will, the continuing battle between chaos and cosmos. The people refused to surrender their will to the will of the Divine. That is why the gathering was hindered. “Therefore your house is forsaken.” 13:35. But the Lord will “perform the mercy promised to our fathers, and to remember his holy covenant, the oath which he swore to our father Abraham, to grant us, that we, being delivered from the hand of our enemies, might serve him without fear, in holiness and righteousness before him all the days of our life.” Luke 1:72-75.

The in-gathering of the people, that is, the restoration of the people of God is expressed equally strong in the words synagogue and ekklesia. This idea needs to be pursued further, but this is not the place for such an examination. Synagogue and church are the gathering places of the holy people. In Luke 15, the three parables are all illustrations of the extent to which the Divine goes in search of its own, to bring them back into its own orbit. This teaching certainly seems to be a function of Sophia, as is the content of the Sermon on the Plain. 6:17-49.

The Divine persists in fulfilling its promise. For this reason Sophia says you will not see me until you say, “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.” To say, legein, is to bring what is said out of hiding where it can be seen and embraced. When Jerusalem says “Blessed is he” Jerusalem uncovers the one who is to come in the name of the Lord. This is another promise. You will see me, but it will be when you open your eyes. When you are able to receive the revelation of redemption, you will see me. Simeon, John the Baptist and Anna all knew to power of sight, the vision that knows the Messiah. “He who comes in the name of the Lord,” is another name for the Messiah. The coming one will fulfill the work of redemption and restoration. Luke 22:14-18 points to the urgency of the coming kingdom. Jesus will not eat with his disciples until “the Passover is fulfilled in the kingdom of God.” Jesus is so certain of this restoration that he appoints his disciples as the leaders of the new age. 22:28-30.

Even though 13:31-33 and 34-35 do not seem to be related they belong together because they reveal the purpose of the Evangelist for writing this gospel that speaks the truth of what Theophilus has already heard. Luke sees the restoration of God’s people as the primary function of the Messiah. The Journey to Jerusalem provides the vehicle through which the Evangelist presents his story. History and eschatology inform and instruct each other.

A word needs to be said about the Sophia-myth. Let me share some earlier thoughts on this matter. This may serve the interest more of hermeneutics and of homiletics.

Poetry wrestles from the heart of myth the true likeness of the Divine. So much of the speech of Jesus in Matthew does the same. In Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus as the Revealer is often presented as the Sophia of God, the Divine Sophia. Behind Jesus’ invitation to take his yoke and so find rest is the Sophia myth of union. Myth is a grudgingly enlightening term, as mythos precedes logos, and even now is still considered pejoratively. Rather than myth, perhaps we may say that the Sophia narratives in the background of wisdom, prophecy, Gnosticism and apocalyptic, convey the creative power of the Divine that seeks out the human, only to be rejected, returning to its heavenly abode until the time is right to return. Mythos, as original narrative, is the breaking forth of revelation. The content of the Revealer’s revelation is Sophia that invites the human to return to its origin. Myth is the original ground of the narrative, both its method and its content. Sophia narratives arise in a variety of contexts as the different literary forms disclose. What unites the narratives is their power to reveal the Divine as wandering in search of its own. In Luke 7:35, Sophia will be vindicated by her children, or more literally, Sophia will be justified by her children for her action. She is inseparable from her children, that which has arisen from within herself, and she seeks to bring them into harmonious union, the state of redemption. Perhaps Sophia keeps a watchful eye over Logos.

Jesus compares his generation to children who cannot be pleased. “We played for you, you did not dance. We wailed, you did not weep.” They cared neither for John the Baptist, nor for the Son of Man. Luke 7: 31-36. They accepted neither prophet nor Son of Man. He concluded with a seeming non sequitur: “wisdom is vindicated by her children.” Who is this Sophia? Who are her children? Of what is Sophia vindicated? In the reading Sophia stands alongside Logos. Is Logos one of the children of Sophia? Sophia as wisdom is something that goes forth, leaves its place, uproots itself, and spreads itself abroad. Sophia as wisdom is the Source of thought and thinking, the birthplace of reason, logos, the logical. Sophia as wisdom stands next to Logos in the market place, witnessing the rejection of what is existentially her reason for being. Sophia, the Creator’s Otherness, has equal claim to “the children” for they are brought to being in her. Her going forth is their coming to be. Her spreading abroad is their generating. The marketplace, the place of gathering for trade is a place where time is temporary. The marketplace does not embrace the eternal, it is not a place of transcendence, it endures but a little while and then is gone. The marketplace cannot embrace Sophia, the eternal. That which is heavenly, the Divine, is rejected in favor of what is temporal, for until the human comes to understand that it is the child of Sophia, it will not know its eternal nature. Sophia will be vindicated, embraced by her children when that which is human comes to understand that it, too, bears the face of the Divine. Sophia, standing in the Light of the Logos, in the nearness of the divine, is revealed by that Light to her children. The embrace happens in the Light of revelation.

Whenever I read this passage my thoughts turn to Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice, Act 1, Scene 3. “The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. An evil soul producing holy witness is like a villain with a smiling cheek, a goodly apple rotten at the heart.”  Why does the Evangelist present the story of the testing of Jesus? What purpose does it serve?

The narrative of the temptation presents two conflicting world views: one Satanic (chaos) and the other divine (cosmic). More on this later.  Because the conflicts cannot be resolved, because there is no possibility of compromise, the hearer is asked to listen and to make a decision. The way the narrative is presented suggests that the dialogue is meant to be heard, and hearing demands movement. The listener can never be passive but must be engaged in the dialogue. The conflicting world views, this age and the age to come, indicate the influence of an active apocalyptic tradition. That tradition presents a cosmic conflict, chaos and cosmos refusing to share the same space and time, the struggle between the divine and the satanic, the light versus the darkness, good against evil. The divine vanquishes the satanic, but the battle does not come to an end. Luke 4:13 is picked up again in 22:3 to continue the warfare. It is repeated in the lives of individuals and communities, materially or in cultic activities.  Conflicting world views demand choice, decision, faith. The narrative lays out the options. The kerygma which is uncovered in the hearing of the word asks the listener to make a decision for or against God.

The influence of Ps. 2:7 and 2 Sam 7:14 is worth exploring regarding the terminology of “son of God,” and I suspect that an examination may be instructive and illuminating. I will not pursue that in my analysis.

Matthew and Luke use Q. At least, that seems to be the majority opinion. Whether Q exists or not is a matter for discussion. That discussion is not conclusive. In any case, if Q does exist, it certainly does not acknowledge Jesus as the Son of God. It has no interest in his passion, death or resurrection. The Q material originates in a Palestinian community with a belief in the Son of Man, integrating both apocalyptic and wisdom ideas.

If Matthew has the original Q order of the temptations as most commentators believe, then Luke changes it. Luke reverses the second and third. Matthew has 1,2,3. Luke has 1,3,2. Why does Luke do this? What is his purpose?

The temptations take place during the forty days of fasting. If Mt is authentic Q, then Luke changes the first temptation from “tempter” to “the devil.”  Luke wants to identify clearly who the opponent of Jesus is. “If you are the Son of God” is the refrain of the devil.That phrase fits into the context of Q’s opposition to Jesus as the Son of God. Jesus as the Son of God is challenged again in 22:70; as the Chosen in 23:35; and as the Christ in 23:39. At issue is the identity of Jesus. The legendary story of his baptism and the divine attestation of his sonship did not satisfy the critics, perhaps in the Palestinian Church. In this first temptation Luke does nothing to clarify it. Luke has “this stone” instead of “these stones.” The devil if anything is pointedly specific. He knows exactly what he wants. But God can do a lot with stones. Jesus certainly heard John say, “God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham.” Luke 3:8. He himself teaches, “Give us each day our daily bread.” Luke 11:3.  “For life is more than food.” Luke12:23. But I suspect that the last thing on the mind of the devil is bread. I believe he is challenging the will of Jesus that took him through forty days of fasting. John’s gospel has this interesting feature: “My food is to do the will of him who sent me.” John 4:34. The devil wants Jesus to surrender his will. But Jesus refuses to follow the devil. Jesus bases his answer in Scripture, “It is written.”  (4:4, 8). The devil shows that he, too, can say “It is written.”  (4:10). Luke does not quote the whole of Deut. 8:3 as Matthew does, and significantly omits “every word that proceeds from the mouth of the Lord.” Does Luke intend to suggest that since it is Jesus who is speaking, who is already proclaimed “Son of God” he does not need to cite the whole verse?  Behind all this, the devil is asking Jesus to perform a miracle. Performing a miracle is doing something, that is, action, behavior. Is there an ethics implied? What is ethically permitted in the interest of saving a life? What is ethically demanded for the salvation event? Is this the place where ethics and eschatology converge? Does eschatology ever nullify or suspend ethical action?

I do not believe that the Evangelist has a polemic in view here. I believe that the response of Jesus is a message to the early church, a message that says as a church you stand upon a strong foundation which is “written” and is Scripture. A church that is fighting for its life in a chaotic world is given assurance and consolation, courage and hope. “Man shall not live by bread alone.” Jesus is saying to the church that the future will be about more than bread, it will be about life that is not affected by what is material. He is offering the church a new, emerging spiritual reality within which they will find redemption. Keep in mind that the Evangelist always presents Jesus as acting by and through the Spirit. See the assurance that Paul offers to the Romans. (Rom.8:18-25). The trans-historical, that is, mythical narrative of the temptation of Christ must be deconstructed to reveal the eschatological hope that will characterize the unfolding history of the ekklesia. Deconstruction will not resolve oppositions and contrasts, but will allow the text to field its multiple meanings and possibilities.  Again, Romans 8:28-39 is both instructive and hopeful.

The second temptation: The devil “took him up.” There is no mountain in this scene as in Matthew. He showed him “all the populated kingdoms , oikoumene” not as in Matthew “all the kingdoms of this kosmos.” Oikoumene is used in Luke’s apocalyptic prophecy, 21:26. (See also its apocalyptic use in Heb. 2:5; Rev. 3:10; 12:9; 16:14). In an instant, chromos, the vision of kingdoms pass before his eyes. How is this possible? I will suggest later that Jesus is experiencing an apocalyptic vision. Without leaving his place everything comes to him. The devil says, all the authority and glory in the inhabited world has been delivered to him, and he will give it to Jesus if Jesus will worship him. Satan does not have any authority or power or glory that has not been given to him. The use of the perfect passive voice indicates that it is God who has given Satan whatever he has, and since this is so, God is still in control of what happens. Later in Revelation 12 Jesus will defeat Satan and everything will be delivered to Jesus. Satan pretends that he can give authority and glory to anyone, but that gift is ultimately a gift of the divine. Satan wants to take the place of God, and that is what is stated in Luke 4:7. That is, the “prostrate yourself to me” to which Jesus replied that worship belongs to “the Lord your God, and HIM ONLY you shall serve.”  The devil wants Jesus to surrender his soul. Jesus does to want to gain the whole world and lose his own soul. The Evangelist insists on a monotheistic message. This is in view of the fact that in the Hellenistic Church to which he is speaking his audience did not have a sense of a transcendent God who was at the same time imminent. We learn this from Paul who speaks of the people “who do not know God.” I Thess. 4:5. It is because of monotheistic preaching that these people “turned to God from idols to serve a living and true God.” I Thess. 1:9. See also Gal. 4:8-9. The devil calls upon Jesus to act. Again, Jesus takes his stand on the word that is written.

The third temptation: the pinnacle of the temple of Jerusalem. “If you are the Son of God”

The devil asks Jesus to throw himself down from the top of the temple.  Eliade says, “The Temple was an imago mundi; being at the Center of the World, Jerusalem, it sanctified not only the entire cosmos but also cosmic life – that is, time” The devil, the root of whose name implies “to cast down” (see Lk.10:18; Rev. 12:9) now asks Jesus “to cast down” himself. The devil is asking Jesus to surrender his life. Jump off this temple and see if you live or die. In the first temptation the devil asks Jesus to surrender his will. In the second temptation he asks Jesus to surrender his soul. In the third temptation he asks Jesus to surrender his life his life. But Jesus does not believe that his life is his to save or to give up. His life is under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, and he has to abide by the demands of the Spirit. I find it curious that the devil takes Jesus to the top of the temple in Jerusalem and asks him to sacrifice himself by jumping off the pinnacle. Jerusalem is the place where the Spirit will lead Jesus to the cross, to be lifted up, and then after a while to be taken down by his friends and then again to be lifted up by the Spirit in the resurrection. The devil’s task is to cast down; the Spirit’s task is to lift up. Certain, the angels will bear him up if he strikes his foot against a stone. Jesus replies, “You shall not tempt THE LORD YOUR GOD.” Deut. 7:16. When Jesus quotes this verse he is suggesting that the temptation of God consists in attempting to force God to respond to an irresponsible act. Forcing God to send angels to rescue a suicidal Jesus is pitting human will against the divine will. To manipulate the will of God is the essence of temptation. The devil finished the temptations and departed until a more fortuitous time. Kairos is used but not in a technical theological sense.

Why does Luke’s version differ from Matt? I believe that Luke’s arrangement of the episode of the testing is his basic understanding of the mission of Jesus. It serves the interest of his Passion Christology, which will be disclosed in Jerusalem.  In this episode, Jesus moves from the desert/wilderness, vs. 2, to Jerusalem, vs.9. This is one of the motifs of the Evangelist. He methodically marks out the geographical path that Jesus takes from Galilee to Jerusalem. See 9:57; 10:38; 13:22; 14:25; 17:11; 18:35; 19:1, 11, 41. Jerusalem is the sacred center of the cosmos, the eschatological center of salvation. No writer emphasizes the role of Jerusalem more than Luke. In Rev. 21 the New Jerusalem will descend from heaven, and will need no temple because the Lord will rule over all.

How shall we understand the episode of the testing of Jesus? The devil is certainly not a flesh and blood adversary standing before Jesus challenging him, as for example the Pharisees and Sadducees. What are we to make of the dialogue? Is it really a monologue between two distinct personas of Jesus? How are we to understand the movement in the text? The wilderness, the “took him up,” the showing of “all” the populated realms, the movement to Jerusalem and the pinnacle of the temple, and then back to the desert where the devil “departed from him.” How to understand all this?

My own understanding of this episode is that this is an ecstatic apocalyptic vision in which Jesus is caught up, as John was in Rev. 1:10. John was “in the Spirit,” when he was caught up. Jesus entered this episode, “full of the Holy Spirit,” and he “was led by the Spirit for forty days.” When the testing was over Jesus “returned in the power of the Spirit,” to Galilee. See also Paul’s apocalyptic vision, 2 Cor. 12. The demonic is hostile to the divine. An apocalyptic vision does not need to include each and every item that defines the content of apocalyptic. Mark 13 is an example of this. Here in Luke there is a supernatural entity offering itself in place of the divine. There is symbolic apocalyptic language, the kingdom of this world as opposed to the Kingdom of God. There is also transport of the visionary without leaving the scene as in Revelation. There is a gradual progression within the narrative that culminated in the victory of the divine. “The devil departed from him.” But he will return in 22:3 to lead Judas. Nevertheless, the Kingdom of God will be victorious. See 9:1-2; 9:27; 10:9-11; 11:20.

Each of the visions, that is, the testing, addresses a contemporary problem in the church, sometimes two problems are combined materially. Vs. 3, “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become bread.” Is fasting also an issue? Is famine an issue, see Acts 11:28; Luke 6:20; 11:3. That will need to be explored. The devil asks this question against the background of the hunger of Jesus. However, hunger does not seem to play a major role here. What is at issue is whether Jesus is really “the Son of God.” This is combined with the issue of miracle. In the Hellenistic Church, miracle is an essential feature of the work of the redeemer.  In this scene, Luke refuses to use miracle as evidence of the identity of Jesus as the Son of God. Jesus answers the devil on the basis of hunger, avoiding the issue of his identity. The devil suggests that Jesus can save his life by performing a miracle. Jesus responds that true life does not depend on bread alone. The historical background may well be the suffering of the early church. The church needs an answer for its survival and the answer is not material but spiritual.  Jesus does not address the issue of his identity or that of the role of miracle. He rejects the assumption of the devil.

The second temptation deals with the issue of monotheistic faith. This would have been a problem for the Hellenistic church rather than the Palestinian community. The third temptation brings Jerusalem into the picture, I suggest, as the scene where the cosmic battle will be waged and won.

The movement in the narrative is from the desert, wilderness, to the city, Jerusalem, the inhabited world. The mythological framework is a demonstration of the movement from chaos to cosmos. Eliade in The Sacred and the Profane says, “One of the outstanding characteristics of traditional societies is the opposition that they assume between their inhabited territory and the unknown and indeterminate space that surrounds it.” He calls the inhabited world the cosmos and the indeterminate space “still shares in the fluid and larval modality of chaos.”

The temptation narrative in Luke is an apologia for the Passion Christology that he is developing. He uses the vehicle of an ecstatic apocalyptic vision to present a decidedly kerygmatic announcement: the Son of God has conquered chaos and its satanic forces and has established the eschatological cosmic kingdom of God, materially represented by Jerusalem. Further, the narrative of the temptation serves as a prolegomena to Luke-Acts. It introduces themes that will appear later, and gives an “executive summary” of what is to be expected at the end time.

It is difficult to find a way into Luke’s version of the Transfiguration. Luke has changed and expanded his Markan source, Mark 9, in significant and Christological ways. The narrative is not a unity, and there is no obvious center to hold it together.  A variety of phenomena is available for exploration: time, mountain, prayer, his  changed appearance, the light of  his clothing,  heavenly visitors, the appearance of glory, prophecy of departure (ex-odos), fulfillment of passion in Jerusalem, the sleep of the disciples, Peter’s suggestion for tabernacles,  his misunderstanding, the enveloping cloud, the voice with a message, the disciples’ silence. A combination of several of these items may indicate an apocalyptic vision, a theophany, a point that I will explore later. In order to uncover what the Evangelist wished to reveal to his readers I will need to cast a wide net and then filter my results through the lens of his own thinking. If I am successful, we will get a glimpse into the core of Luke’s Christology. “But who do you say that I am?”

Many interpreters were convinced that the story of the Transfiguration was originally a resurrection story that has been cast back into time for a special purpose, namely, to provide indelible proof that Jesus had indeed been raised from the dead. (See I Cor.15:3-5). Certainly the writer of 2 Peter 1: 16-18 is of this opinion. The 8 days would then be 8 days after the resurrection, or the following Sunday. However, that the Transfiguration is thought by the Evangelist to be an actual historical event in the life of Jesus, 8 days after Peter’s confession at Caesarea-Philippi and the first prediction of the Passion, is worthy of examination.

Jesus and his friends ascend the mountain. Luke changes the traditional order of naming them, putting John before James. Since the Evangelist does not do anything by accident, there is a purpose for elevating John, which may have to do with the development of the early Church.

While he was praying, the “appearance of his countenance was altered.” His face changed. Mark and Matthew used the verb metamorphoo, suggesting his form had changed, undergone a metamorphosis. Luke uses eidos, appearance. Perhaps our contemporary understanding of metamorphosis is quite different from Luke’s. In Franz Kafka’s The Metamorphosis, Gregor Samsa wakes up as a bug. While interpretations are as varied as interpreters, Gregor Samsa became something other than he is, something other than human, something less than human,  something that can never experience what it is to be human. The Transfiguration narrative in Luke points in the other direction, the human is proclaimed as the divine. “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him.”  I am reminded of Deuteronomy 6, “Hear, O Israel, the Lord your God….” Factually, on the point of change, Luke and Mark are basically in agreement, and not much must be made of linguistic choices. One further note. In Luke, the garment of Jesus became dazzling white, ex-astrapto, literally, “like flashes of lightning.” The revelation of the divine is usually accompanied by flashes of lightening.

At this point, Jesus receives heavenly visitors, Moses and Elijah. The scene is now quite different from Mark. (And from Exodus 33!).The heavenly visitors “appeared in glory,” which would indicate again a sense of blinding light shining upon all present, for Peter, John and James “saw his glory” that is, Jesus’ glory, “ and the two men who stood with him. Though the word “glory” is not mentioned in verse 29 with the appearance of Jesus, I believe that the conclusion can be drawn that it was during the prayer of Jesus that his glory was revealed, and in his glory the heavenly visitors were also revealed. The point here seems to be a proleptic presentation of the exaltation of Christ, that is, in the Transfiguration the exaltation of Christ is already present. More precisely, the Transfiguration is the exaltation. See also Acts 2:32-33; Acts 5:30-31, and the pre-Pauline hymn in Philippians 2:5-11, especially verse 9. The Evangelist is again pulling the future into the present. This is a common feature of his eschatology.  I have yet to show that the exaltation of Christ is a theophany, the breaking forth of a new creation through the ex-odos of Jesus.  Moses and Elijah spoke with Jesus about his departure, his ex-odos, “which he was to accomplish at Jerusalem.” It seems to be a fact that the Evangelist centralizes Jerusalem for Jesus. In Luke 2:49, there is already an indication of this. In Luke 9:51, Jesus “set his face to go to Jerusalem.”  The exodus of Jesus is not easily compared to the exodus of Moses. For Jesus, exodus is death, it is his Passion, it is the fulfillment of his mission. But materially comparisons do exist. Jesus has already conquered the desert (4:1-13). He has conquered the sea (8: 22-25). He has fed multitudes in the wilderness (9:10-17).

The revelation of Moses and Elijah is the revelation of a theophany.  This revelation is still hidden. The presence of Moses and Elijah indicates the Divinity of Christ, whereby he becomes really and completely other than he is, is about to be accomplished. Something new is about to dawn upon humanity. In the theophany given to Moses on Mount Sinai, Exodus 33: 20-23, it is made clear that Moses is not allowed to look upon the countenance (face) of the Divine. Instead, he is placed in the cleft of a rock, covered over by the hand of God, and sees the Divine only from behind. In Luke 9 the situation is completely changed. Moses is allowed now to behold the countenance of the exalted Jesus as his glory is revealed. The Divine can now be seen face to face by some, but not by all.  See Acts 10:30-31. The revelation is still reserved. This is something that cannot be witnessed by the disciples.  The story of the event on the road to Emmaus illustrates this. “Their eyes were kept from recognizing him.” Luke 24:16. Later, in the house, in the act of breaking bread and prayer, “their eyes were opened and they recognized him, and he vanished from their sight.” Luke 24:31. The Divine is now present in cultic activity. It is now the disciples who are covered over; it is not yet time for them to behold the countenance of the Divine. They cannot witness the birth of the new. So the disciples remain asleep. I am reminded of Genesis 2:21-23. The Lord God put Adam to sleep because he was going to bring about a new thing, and even Adam could not witness that event. The event caused Adam to become completely different from what he was. By revealing Eve, the Lord God has demonstrated that Adam contained much more than himself. Peter, John and James cannot witness what Jesus really is, and upon awakening they are stupefied. See Paul’s story in Acts 9:3-8 for a comparison.

When the disciples awoke, they were still enveloped in a cloud. This is another indication that the Evangelist is presenting a theophany. Out of the cloud comes the sound of a voice, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” Here again, the Evangelist uses an element associated with theophany: a voice presenting a message. They can hear the word but not behold the countenance. Luke is the only Evangelist to refer to Jesus as the Chosen. The term occurs twice here, where Jesus is declared by the heavenly voice as the Chosen, and in Luke 23:35, where the people standing before the cross challenge this designation. This same pattern of affirmation and challenge was seen earlier in this chapter. At the end of the genealogy 3:38, Jesus is declared “the Son of God.” This is challenged almost immediately by the devil in 4:3. In the Transfiguration the Evangelist intends to say that henceforth the Divine will be revealed in the Word! Listen! Jesus is then found alone, as Moses was alone at the conclusion of the theophany on Mount Sinai. The disciples remain silent. This is the human response to the manifestation of the sacred. “Be silent before the Lord!” Zephaniah 1:7. “Be silent, all flesh, before the Lord; for he has roused himself from his holy dwelling.” Zechariah 2:13. “The Lord is in his holy temple; let all the earth keep silence before him.” Habakkuk 2:20.

I said earlier that if we unlock the narrative of the Transfiguration we would get an insight into the core of Luke’s Christology. Christology is possible only after the resurrection. In the Hellenistic Church of Luke and Paul, there can be only an implicit Christology regarding Jesus of Nazareth. We do not follow Christ after the flesh (Paul in 2 Cor. 5), but Christ after the Spirit. In Luke, everything regarding Jesus is done by the power of the Spirit. The Transfiguration is an activity of the Spirit. It gives us the core of Luke’s Christology. Jesus has been revealed as the Divine who will take his people on a new exodus. This is an exodus Christology, a Passion Christology, Luke 24:26, that says the Church will find life only by passing through death, and that death as cultic activity is the place where resurrection conquers the existential anxiety that death poses for human beings, and sets us free to choose life.  Death is not the opposite of Life; it is the opposite of Birth. Between Birth and Death is Time, and in this Time, Life prevails as the work of the Spirit. Death as Passion unfolds Eternity, life in the Spirit and of the Spirit.

In the first part of Luke 4 the Evangelist presents Jesus as a messianic figure who has entered into human history to heal and to save the sick and the lost. The activity of Jesus is the activity of the Spirit. Story becomes theology; history becomes eschatology. After Jesus had claimed that the words of Isaiah 61, “the Spirit of the Lord is upon me,” had been fulfilled in himself, the people in the synagogue marveled at the graceful words he had spoken. Some wondered immediately, “Is not this the son of Joseph?” implying both that he is one of them, and how did he become a prophet. Jesus is an anomaly. Even though I’m one of you, my prophecy will not be accepted. Even though he is one of them, he remains a stranger. This scene is the background against which is painted a new picture, in the unfolding of the sermon at Nazareth.

He says to them, “I tell you in truth.”  The truth is that out of all the widows of Israel, Elijah was sent to a widow in the land of Sidon, “to a woman who was a widow.” There is a curious theory by Wellhausen in his commentary on Luke that this should read “to a woman who was Syrian.” He suggested that the original Aramaic would support this view. So he read Sura (Syrian) instead of Xera (widow). (See also Mark 7:26 where Jesus enters the home of a woman who is a “Hellenis, Surophoinikissa,” a Greek, a Suro-Phoenecian).  Suro is Syrian; Phoenician is Sidonian. This makes some logical sense since later in verse 27 Naaman, the other illustration, is referred to as the Suros (Syrian). The point Jesus was making is that the prophet has more credibility with the Syrians than with the people of Nazareth. I find this theory fascinating but I do not subscribe to it. I believe the Evangelist in Luke-Acts is both meta-logical and meta-historical. His interest is not is a logically historical narrative of the life of Jesus as is easily seen in the way he has used the Markan material and his own special source. In Luke, story is theology; history is eschatology.

The other truth that Jesus tells is about Naaman the Syrian who was healed of his leprosy. As early as 1899, scholars began questioning whether this was the same as modern day leprosy, though no conclusion is beyond doubt. The fact of the matter is that the story of Naaman is an illustration of the idea that the healing of leprosy was an event that would take place in the time of the Messiah.

The Evangelist has a special interest in widows which reflects his concern for the poor and the oppressed. Witness his treatment of Mary in chapter 1 and Anna in chapter 2. He takes two stories of widows from Mark, Luke 20 and 21, and adds three of his own: our present widow, Luke 4; the widow of Nain, Luke 7; and the widow facing the unjust judge, Luke 18.

The Sidonian widow of I Kings 17 whom Jesus mentions shares the very last of her resources with Elijah, risking her life and that of her son. She says to Elijah “As the Lord YOUR God lives….” She is willing to take a risk believing an alien God and a foreign prophet. On the other hand, the people of Nazareth are not willing to accept one of their own. The Syrian Naaman, in 2 Kings 5, a man of power and position, was referred to Elisha for healing of his leprosy by “a little maid from the land of Israel,” a captive of war. Naaman was willing to believe the word of a foreigner and to trust in an alien God. After his healing he says, “I know there is no God in all the earth except in Israel.”  These two stories point to the intersection of the human story with the Divine story, and at the point of intersection something new happens. I wonder if the Evangelist, writing for a Greek audience, was acquainted with the story of Mnemosyne, the Goddess Memory, who was the daughter of Ouranos (Heaven) and Gaia (Earth).  Mnemosyne, Memory, the complete integration of the divine and the human, holds in reserve what humanity authentically is, the human through which the divine shines forth. The illustration of Naaman intends to demonstrate that the Messiah has come to bring about something new to all. This universalism of the Evangelist is an essential part of the eschatology that he is presenting.  Both female and male are part of the salvation story. Male and female will again stand at the beginning of the New Creation.

I believe that the Evangelist is offering this perspective because he is presenting a foundation that the early Christian community may use to find answers to troubling questions of faith. The early community was challenged internally by the Gnostics among them who had their own understanding of Jesus. The early Church needed answers, and the Evangelist was especially interested in presenting his Greek (Hellenistic) readers with answers that appealed to them. Hellenistic Christianity as we can see from the letters of Paul was struggling to understand itself and its place in the story of redemption. The Evangelist is telling his readers that they are not strangers and outsiders. The Gospel is also for them. (Paul: to the Jew first, and them to the Greek).

The Evangelist tells us that the people in the synagogue at Nazareth were furious (thumos) and wanted to throw Jesus off a cliff. But he evaded them. In verse 15 they praised him in the synagogue; in verse 22, all spoke well of him; and then in verse 29 they wanted to kill him. On the Sunday of the Passion the crowds shouted, “Hosannah!” On Good Friday, “Crcify him!” The beat goes on.

“Why does the Church use this story in the Epiphany cycle? Epiphany means that something shows forth itself as it really is. What is it that will be shown forth by Luke that will offer us something of value for the church in the 21^st. century?

“Jesus returned in the power of the Spirit.” Verse14. Looking back over the chapter we see what Luke wants us to see. In verse1 Jesus was “full of the Holy Spirit” when he returned from the Jordan, that is, when he emerged from his Baptism. Immediately, he was led by the Spirit into the desert to be tempted by the devil. The devil who possesses nothing, wants to give Jesus everything.  This is the temptation: to give up fullness for emptiness. To give up what one is in order to become what one is not. The devil wants to deprive Jesus of his divinity with the intention of weakening his humanity, and consequently cause Jesus to lose himself. What does it profit a person to gain the whole world and lose his own soul, that is, himself?  Jesus full of the  Spirit defeats the devil. Luke intends to tell us that everything that Jesus does is under the direction of the Spirit. From there on, Jesus does everything in a normal way. He goes home, he goes to the synagogue on the Sabbath.

At Sabbath service, Jesus reads a passage from Isaiah 61. “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me.” This is the theme that Luke wants to present. Jesus says that “today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” Luke is the only Evangelist to use Isaiah 61 in this way. Why? Jesus is saying that what is scripture is now standing in your presence. Scripture has become present in me. I am the Word for which you were waiting. The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, and that means now, today, God’s presence is identical to Jesus’ presence. Luke is telling us: history has become eschatology. The end is not far ahead into the future. The past and the future have become the present. Today! Jesus brings the future into the here and now. The Kingdom of God has come.

Why does Luke raise the issue of fulfillment? The early church was concerned about issues of faith and the foundation of faith. By putting these words into the mouth of Jesus, Luke is saying that here is a foundation for addressing matters of faith. The letters of Paul point in the same direction. Fulfillment is not a word that is used casually or lightly. It intends to announce that the will of God is to be found in the activity of Jesus. Theologically, Jesus is the eschatological event of God that proclaims that God is active today on behalf of the salvation of people. This is an eschatology of urgency, now is the time. Luke’s eschatology has Jesus standing in the middle of time invoking the divine to deliver the captives, to set at liberty those who are bound. Where the preaching of the Divine is heard today there is good news for the poor; release for the captives; recovery of sight to the blind; liberty of the oppressed; the acceptable year of the Lord, that is, the time of salvation.

In the Gospel of Matthew 11:2-6, when John the Baptist wanted to know about the work of Jesus, this is what he was told: the blind receive their sight; the lame walk; lepers are cleansed; the deaf hear; the dead are raised up; the poor have the good news. “Blessed is he who takes not offense at me.” I have come to seek and to save that which was lost.

Jesus is the salvation of the world. In the story of Zacchaeus, when Jesus entered his house, Jesus says, “Today salvation has come to this house…for the son of man came to seek and to save the lost.” Luke 19:9.

One more thing needs to be explored if we pursue the theme of fulfillment. What ties the OT and the NT together is the idea of the Messiah. The Messiah stands astride history drawing past and future together into the present which fulfills the will of the Divine. John’s eschatology is more explicit, “Now is the judgment of this world, now shall the ruler of this world be cast out; and I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to me.” Paul says in Romans 1:16, that the gospel is the power of God unto salvation for those who have faith. “In the gospel the righteousness of God is revealed through faith and for faith.”  The power of the Messiah is a characteristic feature of eschatology. What is important about power (dunamis) is not what it holds within itself, but what it reveals about the holder. Just as Luke wants to proclaim that everything that Jesus does is under the direction of the Spirit, so also he wants to reveal that everything that Jesus does is under the power of the Spirit. Going back to the birth stories, Mary is told that “the power of the Holy Spirit will overshadow you.” Luke 1:35. In 4:14, Jesus returned in the power of the Spirit. In 4:36, Jesus has both authority and power. It is the power that allows him to exercise his authority. Dunamis is the essence of the Divine. To be endowed with the Divine is to be endowed with power. But this power is the place where eschatology intersects with existence. In the story of Luke 8, it is said that “power has gone forth from me” – by the power of human touch. In Luke 5 we are told that the power of the Lord was with Jesus to heal. In Luke 6 the crowds wanted to touch Jesus because in touching him power came forth from him to heal them.

Luke reveals Jesus as the one in whom the presence of the Divine shines forth in power to bring healing and salvation to the people with such a sense of urgency that the future is brought immediately into the present, “Now is the day of salvation!” “Today this scripture is fulfilled!” “”Today, if you hear his voice.” He who is the Alpha and the Omega makes the present an Omega moment, in the Omega the end is the beginning returning to itself, the Omega revealing itself not as a distant future but as the Kingdom of God that has dawned, as the Kingdom of God that keeps on dawning whenever in our hearing the scripture is fulfilled, the Word now becomes flesh, the gospel of the power of God unto salvation.

I am grateful to share some of my reflections with you as you and I seek to remember, to be made whole again, and claim the future as the legacy that has been left to us by our loved ones who have departed this life.  I want to reflect briefly on a theme which suggests that healing of loss, grief, emptiness, happens at “Intervals of Remembrances” – moments in which in the quietness of our souls, and the stillness of our spirits, we let ourselves become open to loving messages from the Beyond that our loved ones continue to share with us. I would like to begin as abruptly as I can, as abruptly as the news arrived that I have lost someone, thus keeping my reflections in a context of intensity that is shattering and healing at the same time. In this abruptness, when I am given bad news, the loss, grief, emptiness, is staggering, complete, pervasive.

It is a time to encounter the strange, that which is different, an alien self that I am just coming to be aware of, a vulnerable “me” that is emerging in a compelling way at a time when I resist being compelled, when I want nothing to do with my own sense of tragic injustice forced upon me by my loss. That is why my loss is not something I carry around on my insides that I can shed by desire or whim. I am my loss. I have become someone who shall forevermore be defined as one who has suffered a loss. Suffered? Is this not what my suffering really is, my wanting, yearning to be re-  united with my beloved, but my fearing to leave my world? For this is what my world has become, a place of loss, grief, emptiness. It is my entire world, the place in which I make my home. Home? How can I still call this Home? When there is this profound absence, this gaping emptiness that is my most present terrible reality? What message of hope can this home still hold for me?

Here time stands still, at least for me it does, for now you and I are different, we inhabit different worlds, yours full of fun, laughter, joy, in your world perhaps there is no such thing as time. But in my world, time stands still, firmly holding me here in a pattern of grief painted against a background of helplessness. Such pervasive helplessness. This is a place where no one can reach me, a place of stretched-out moments of vagueness, where lost meanings remain lost, un-regained, never to appear again; while new meanings gestate in some remote breast that does not seem to be me or mine. I am bereft of meaning. It is as if my beloved has taken my meaning, our meaning into a Beyond through which I cannot reach, that I am left here with memories distorted by this throbbing emptiness.

In this world that I seek to understand and describe, I am assaulted at every turn by shapes, sounds, senses, that come at me threateningly. I cannot yet feel their comfort and warmth, I am yet too vulnerable to receive another. As yet, I do not know myself well enough to open my life to new shapes, sounds and senses. Shapes, sounds, senses define, demarcate, constrict me. Gradually, I become aware of you. Your shapes – blurred images of myself. Are you my sorrow, my grief? I am still afraid that you will be blurred into me, and I push you away to a distance that is comforting to me. You can give me comfort only from this distance. I am still afraid of your warmth, your closeness. I know now what it means to lose someone. What I know makes me afraid. 1 do not want to lose another. Yet I know, somewhere in my own depths, that one day, perhaps one day soon, I shall be able to embrace you and be whole again.

And then there are the sounds, sounds – dull and un-inspiring, rippling though the fabric of my days. Distant, comforting sounds that you make that seem to be words and sentences full of meaning. But 1 resist you, too, because I resist all new meaning, I resist and reject anything new because my time stands still and I cannot move, I cannot rise above the pain, I cannot see tomorrow, and even nightfall seems as far a country seen in dreams. Yet I know, somewhere in my own deep depths, that one day, perhaps one day soon, I shall be able to hear you, and share your joy, and be whole again.

And then there are the senses – senses benumbed and un-alive to the deeper needs for another, for relationships that redeem. And these senses of sight, touch, smell, taste and feel, rush in upon me as waves upon a tired swimmer, engulfing me, shoving me to some depth where I cannot breathe, where I long for air. I suffocate. My loss, grief, emptiness, how you suffocate me! I want to rise, to come to the surface, breathe again as if for the first time, the first full breath taken upon this good earth. And I cannot. Yet I know, somewhere in my own depths, in my own deep depths, that one day, perhaps one day soon, I shall be able to see, touch, smell, taste and feel. And I shall be whole again.

There is something holy in remembrances, especially in these brief “Intervals of Remembrances.” It may not be that kind of holiness associated with cathedrals, temples and churches, nor even the kind of holiness that arises from finding ourselves in the immediate presence of the Divine. What is holy in remembrance is this: in remembering the departed, we bring them back from the Beyond and make them present again, in thoughts, prayers, wishes and hopes. We re-create situations of fondness in which we once again can cherish them. When we remember those whom we have lost, we raise them to new levels of spiritual presence, so that they can touch us again, and in touching us, change us.

Here I pause in the presence of this holiness that changes me, and I inquire of myself further, more expansively than ever. What does this holiness tell me of myself? What word of hope may I find when I cherish again my beloved? And slowly I become aware, achingly aware that there is also something holy in knowing that the wounds never heal fully. The loss, grief, emptiness is everlasting, it is here, now, and will be here tomorrow, wounds reminding me that each moment is precious, that each moment does not draw me further from my beloved, but instead draws me closer to them. Holiness is something that closes the distance, that mends the separation, that fills the void. This is a sacred sense that tells of a beloved, departed in hope, present in love, memorialized in an oozing of love that never dries up, just as the wound never really dries up. Remembrance brings to mind the holy woundedness that inspires us to live on in hope, and to be made whole once again by hope.

And in this holy remembrance is given a truth hard won by a dying and a death, a truth that breaks forth from graves and urns and ashes. It is a truth that each of us must come to learn, to embrace and to celebrate. It is a truth that says that we, mortal to the core, by these holy remembrances, reach places that mortals merely visit in dreams. They are places of the spirit, of the heart, places made real by remembrance. Places of mysteries and mercies, of mercy and compassion, of compassion and absolution. This holy remembrance by which the beloved becomes present to our spirit, absolves us of the guilt we have borne for being separated. There is a good reason why we need to be absolved of guilt, a reason that ultimately will be found to be life-giving and life-sustaining.

But let us proceed there slowly so as not to lose the precious meanings we have uncovered so far. Let us instead make a fresh start in seeking to know whom we have become as a result of our loss. Perhaps we will come to know just how much, and how greatly we have grown. Perhaps we will learn just how nurturing our losses have been. Perhaps we have only barely turned the corner, and there is a whole new road stretching ahead of us, waiting to be traveled.

On this next leg of the journey, we begin by acknowledging that all our experiences so far have taught us that death binds us to an unreasonable world. We just can’t navigate it in any kind of logical way. It forces us to deal with it emotionally, sentimentally. Death listens to our ravings and accusations and always refuses to answer us. It still demands absolute trust from us. It reminds us that we cannot see beyond the veil, and because we cannot see we must believe.

So, this much is clear now: Each death demands faith, and maybe not the “believing” kind of faith, but the “knowing” kind of faith, that faith that looks for certainty. And each death speaks an absolute truth: a death and a truth that neither spares us nor pampers us, one that claims the beloved in an un-letting embrace, and so forces from us a new conversation with our beloved, a conversation that offers another absolute: now the beloved leads us to absolution, and in so doing sets us free.

Now we can claim another new meaning, the death that is binding is also freeing. And I have suggested this new meaning, this freeing that death allows, comes about through a conversation,

through words, through messages. By a conversation? What word can there be from the beyond? What breaks through the silence, the many, unending silences, if anything? I remember that the immediate result of my loss is that pervading, numbing silence that leaves me completely helpless. I do not experience this as freeing. I cannot emerge out of myself to speak to the world, to embrace the world, to experience the world. I am completely self-contained. All access to others have been denied to me. I live in silence and, gradually, I let the silence speak to me, give me its message and its wonder, its mystery and its miracle.

And then my heart inquires, “Does not the silence from the Beyond indeed reach my silence Within? Does not the silence of the living match the silence of the dead? Is there not one continuous silence? This silence is the first message of hope. Now I know that we are still connected in an unspoken way. I begin to see that this silence is the veil that prevents others from intruding upon my grief. My beloved has given me this silence as a gift, as a protection, a shield against the harsh drowning reality.

I come to understand the inner meaning of the message from the Beyond, that silence is the path through which grief must pass before it becomes grace. Now I know that grace is born of silence. That there is a stillness from which no answer emerges, because the stillness is itself the answer. A stillness that now says to me, “peace” “rest” “renew.” Now T experience for the very first time in my loss that there is profound hope for us in this silence. That here is profound healing for us in this silence. That silence holds out this hope not with arms outstretched inflexibly but as welcoming, beckoning, as if saying, “Be reverent before the mystery,” and further, “In silence, touch the anguish! feel the pain! claim the healing!” Long before I am grasped by this meaning and shaped by it, I struggle with the silent emptiness, that often, and too often has come to us as something terrible to bear. Who can endure the Terrible? It is something lingering, compounding the loneliness, elevating the loneliness, highlighting the emptiness, the total, insoluble emptiness that only that which is Terrible can create.

In struggling with this terrible thing that demands so much of me at a time of my severest vulnerability, my heart inquires again, “Must we first tame what is Terrible in order to embrace it? To love it? Is it not rather that the Terrible is precisely something that lacks love, that pleadingly demands love? Is it not rather that only by loving what is Terrible can we be changed by it? Again from the Beyond comes assurance. Feel the feelings! These terrible feelings of death, loss, grief, great loneliness, emptiness, a hope receded into obscurity, mornings of ambiguous meaninglessness. Feel the feelings! This is the word from the Beyond. These feelings are the conversation that announces something healing from the silences, and only by engaging the feelings, by surrendering to them, grasping them and cherishing them can we find healing for the wounds of loss. The feelings cry out, “nurture us! feed us! nourish us! that we can grow fully and completely to maturity, and grow with us! become one with us! find healing with us once and for all!”

Let me proceed softly, gently here, and see what I gain if I listen, not only with my ears, but with my whole self. This is the word that I receive, this is the meaning that is comes to me, that in embracing the loneliness we are embraced again. In claiming the emptiness we are filled again. In acknowledging the loss we are acknowledged again. In affirming the grief, we are affirmed again. Death, grief, loss, all of which are “Other” than we are, reminds us as we are remembering, that by embracing the Other we find our wholeness again. Death is life in its pure otherness. Loss is gain in its pure hopefulness. What a wonderful message to receive from our beloved, this healing message, when we listen intently with our whole hearts. But we cannot rest from our meditations yet. The road is long, waiting for the traveler, so we take the next step.

We remember the whole of life: birth, anniversaries, graduations, weddings, death. Even if we remember only in part, our reflections will convince us that birth and death are not parentheses between which we live out our lives. There was family here before our birth, and there will be family there, after our death. Beginnings and endings are never as clear as we would like them to be. We learn to be content with their fuzziness and distortions. For this will lead us to glean new meanings from our losses. We begin to see the world differently because we have become different. We are no longer what we used to be. We have grown. But how is this so? Listen carefully now. Birth and death are the creative edge of our yearning and our fulfilment. It is a certainty of that knowing kind of faith that birth is a beginning catapulted into a future where we share our lives communally, transforming one another. Now also death is a catapulting into eternal otherness that brings us a different kind of transformation, that we know is healing. Each death renews us. The loss of each beloved, renews us, we become different, larger persons.

If I ask, “Who am I now that I am without the beloved?” How shall I answer? Have I lost everything? Have I become nothing? Is this the gift that the loss of my beloved has given me? Has my beloved already forgotten me, and in forgetting me, deprived me of my self? These are questions born in pain, and it is in that very pain that we seek the answers. I would like to suggest that there we will discover holy answers, healing answers, transforming answers. We brace our hearts and take courage and walk boldly into our pain in search of these answers.

Where would we be without our dead, our beloved departed, the ones who left us “here” for “there”? Indeed if we could not feel the loss we would be impoverished. Where would we be if we could not feel pain, loss, grief that only gradually emerge into our humanity and our human sensibilities? If we could not feel the pain we would have lost much of our humanness. Where would we be if we could not feel their pain, loss, grief, for indeed they have left us here to feel not only for ourselves, but for them also, because in these feelings the beloved continue to embrace us. If we could not feel their pain, we would lose our compassion. Where would we be without our dead to remind us that the harmony once broke is not the harmony always destroyed? If we could not heed this reminder, we would be forever broken.

And there are other reminders. From the Beyond, our beloved wants to remind us of the treasures left here still to be grasped, owned, celebrated. To remind us of the wonder that awakens with each new day, and turns to mystery when darkness falls. To remind us that each moment is precious because it is a gift, even a Divine gift, and a gift not to be squandered in idleness and lament, in regrets and self-absorption.

Our remembrances are healing, always healing us from within. As time passes, the long, stretched-out grief, loss, emptiness, breaks up into shorter and shorter Intervals of Remembrances, more manageable, nurturing our spirit from within, refreshing our vision of what lies ahead. In these

Intervals of Remembrances we find healing. In the act of Remembering, our inner broken-ness, the multiple fractured pieces of who we used to be begin to be shaped again, gradually forming a new person we recognize, a person we know again. The Intervals of Remembrances are moments in which we reclaim ourselves, our wholeness, our life, and absorb into our completeness that which our beloved has left us.

With time, the Intervals disappear, and our whole life is now Remembrance.

The wedding at Cana provides the context for an event that needs further exploration to uncover the truth that will reveal a meaning for the church today.  Jesus is at a wedding. The wine runs out. Water becomes wine. This is indeed a miracle. And this is as far as many will go because they have identified the miracle of water becoming wine.

But is this the meaning and the miracle that the Evangelist John wishes to present? I would like to explore this text further, taking as my starting point verse 4, “my hour has not yet come.” The same theme sounds in 7:30 and 8:20. The “hour” of Jesus is a valuable clue for uncovering what is mysterious in this passage.  Cana is not the place where the hour of Jesus will be revealed, yet something important is to be revealed there that will define the inner meaning of the hour.

Lest it go unnoticed, Jesus did not do anything. Jesus said fill the jars. Jesus said draw out the wine. The first sign is not about doing, it is about saying. In the Gospel of John “saying” is Logos. Sign and Word are the same. The first sign is the first word. However, this is not just any word or every word. It is a specific word that reveals something that has never been seen before. The saying changes water into wine. It takes something and makes it into what it was not. Saying is transformative. It is the divine acting upon itself: “the Word became flesh.”  The Logos acting upon itself to become what it was not. The miracle is not the thing transformed, but the one who transforms. This early in the narrative the wine is the focus. In the context of human events the divine goes unnoticed. This early in the narrative of John it would be a mistake to see in the wine a prefiguration of the blood of Christ. The time is not right. “My hour has not yet come.”

This is the first sign that Jesus did at Cana, “and manifested his glory.” The word “manifest” lies deeply in the heart of the word “epiphany.” That is why this narrative is referred to as the miracle of the epiphany. Epiphany is a word that means something shows itself as it really is. We have a paradox in this story: first, something becomes other than it is, that is, water becomes wine. Then, something reveals itself as it really is, the epiphany. The paradox, para-doxa, something not accessible to human awareness, comes to presence in such a way that it transforms the beholder. Jesus manifested his “doxa.”  Now we begin to enter the heart of the first sign. In John 1:14 the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth, “we beheld his doxa, doxa as of the only Son from the Father.” At this stage of the narrative the content of his doxa is charis (grace) and alethia (truth). This is what his disciples saw when Jesus manifested his glory in verse 11, “and his disciples believed in him.” The manifestation of glory is the self-revelation of the divine. For the Evangelist, the glory of Christ is an eschatological event, that is, it is always trying to break into human existence to bring about faith.

In John 12:23 Jesus says, “the hour has come for the son of man to be glorified.” Verse 27, “for this purpose I have come to this hour.” Verse 28, “Father, glorify thy name.” Jesus is the Name of the Father, he is the divine acting upon itself to reveal a world of grace that awaits those who believe. It is only as the narrative of the Evangelist unfolds that we begin to see that the “hour” of Jesus is the hour of his Passion, as we see more clearly in 13:1 and 17:1. Now we can get a deeper insight into the narrative of the wedding at Cana. What is hidden from the wedding guests is the revelation of the glory of Christ, which only his disciples saw and as a result believed. (In 2 Cor. 3: 7-11, Paul develops this theme of the glory of God much further). The first sign given at Cana is the Logos revealing itself as it really is: this is the miracle of the epiphany that the Evangelist wants to present. The revelation of his glory is the revelation of his Passion. It is accessible to faith and for faith. A church that occupies itself with water and wine needs to hear the Logos breaking into its existence with its eschatological message: the hour has come, it is always coming. Paul, too, still sings this theme, Romans 8:18.