First Sunday of Lent: Testing or trusting God?

Tonight, at Mass & Vespers in Oxford, the Blackfriars schola will sing 'Ne irascaris, Domine' by Byrd. The motet has been pre-recorded specially for Godzdogz. 

Every year, on the First Sunday of Lent, we hear the account of Jesus being tempted in the desert.  This time, it's from the Gospel according to St Matthew, and the passage is probably very familiar to you. But the temptations might seem a bit odd and even disconnected from our own daily lives. Who among us is really tempted to turn stones into bread, to jump off large religious buildings, or to conquer the world? Well, sometimes conquering the world does sound like an attractive idea! But under the cold light of day, such dramatic notions are alien to us. They must have deeper levels of meaning, and you can explore them in many places, including previous posts on this blog!

But there is another strange and striking aspect that suggests we need to find a deeper meaning: I mean, the shortness of the dialogue between Jesus and the Devil. We hear Jesus quote Scripture, but no further explanation is given. For example, in overcoming the second temptation, which is to throw himself from the top of the Temple and experience a miraculous rescue, Jesus replies that one must not put God to the test. 

I can easily understand why we shouldn't be testing God all the time, as this would suggest an immaturity of faith and a deep insecurity on our part. But don't we have good reasons to test God some of the time, especially when we feel we are the ones being tested by the difficult struggles in our lives? What I mean is, when life is putting us to the test, isn't it legitimate to ask God for help, to tell God to share some of our struggle with us, and so to put God to the test in return? After all, we are supposed to ask God for things, even small daily necessities. 'Ask and you shall receive.' Why didn't Jesus ask for bread in the desert (or, since he is God, just create bread on the spot)? Why didn't he ask his Father to provide him with his 'daily bread', as we do in the prayer that Jesus himself taught us?

You may have noticed that I've transposed the command about testing God from the second temptation (jumping off the Temple) to the first temptation (making bread). But I have good Scriptural reasons for doing so, and I think we should explore the underlying unity between the three replies given by Our Lord.

To find this unity we have to delve into the Old Testament. In the episode immediately following the Temptation in Matthew's gospel, Jesus will preach to the crowds the Sermon on the Mount, where he is revealed to be a new Moses. Indeed, he is the divine Lawgiver. And this fact has already been shown in the desert, where the parallels with Moses are clear. Moses had fasted forty days and forty nights on the mountain of the Lord, just before receiving the Ten Commandments, or 'ten words' (Ex. 24:18, 34:28). Jesus, the new Moses, is undergoing his own period of fasting and trial, before going to the people of Israel to preach the words of God. Here in the desert, he reveals his mastery of the Word of God, because he is that Word, he himself is the fullest revelation of God.

Poussin, Moses striking water from the rock

 In his second reply, Jesus says, 'Again it is written, "You shall not tempt the Lord your God."' (Mt 4:7) He is quoting from the Torah: 'Do not put the Lord your God to the test as you did at Massah.' (Dt 6:16) And why is Massah cited as the archetypal place of testing and disobedience? We need to look at that passage in Exodus (17:2) to find the answer: 'they quarreled with Moses and said, "Give us water to drink." Moses replied, "Why do you quarrel with me? Why do you put the Lord to the test?"' This immediately follows the episode of the manna and quails in the desert, when the people grumbled against Moses and against God, demanding to be fed. And God provided a feast in the desert. So God sometimes provides despite our putting him to the test.

There is an historical Psalm which summarises this whole episode very well:

Yet they sinned still more against him,
 

rebelling against the Most High in the desert.

They tested God in their heart
 

by demanding the food they craved.

They spoke against God, saying,
 

"Can God spread a table in the wilderness?

He smote the rock so that water gushed out


and streams overflowed.


Can he also give bread,
 

or provide meat for his people?"

(Ps 78:17-20)

 And here is the odd thing: are we being told that asking for daily food was an offence against God? That can't be quite right, since Jesus tells us to pray, ‘Give us today our daily bread’ (Mt 6:11). Moreover, Scripture tells us that God provides ‘bread to strengthen man’s heart’ (Ps 104:15), and that ‘every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights’ (Jas 1:17).

The answer is provided when we look behind Jesus' first reply in today's gospel. In refusing to create bread, he refers to another passage in Deuteronomy (8:3), which teaches total reliance on God alone, explicitly in the context of asking for daily bread. 'He humbled you, causing you to hunger and then feeding you with manna, which neither you nor your ancestors had known, to teach you that man does not live on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord.'

Poussin, The Jews gathering the Manna in the Desert

And here we see the link with Jesus' third reply, too. Total reliance on God alone means trusting him as the Author of Life, who in his Providence cares for us with an infinite love. Jesus tells the Devil, ‘You shall worship the Lord your God and him only shall you serve.’ (Mt 4:10) We must love and serve God wholeheartedly. We must trust him, not test him.

This is not an option. It is absolutely required by the commandment to love God and serve him alone. The command not to put God to the test, which we read a moment ago, actually comes in Deuteronomy, chapter 6, in the context of what Jesus would later tell us is the greatest commandment of all, that is, ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength.’ (Dt 6:5, cf. Mt 22:37)

In putting love at the centre, we see that Jesus' three replies to the Devil are a seamless whole. They are underpinned by the same logic. We can and should ask our daily bread from God. Our request is not a test but an act of trust. It is an act of love. And this means that we have to accept those times when we don't get everything we want. There is a time for feasting and a time for fasting. In his own fast, Jesus shows us how to trust the Father. And that is exactly what Lent is about.

Saturday after Ash Wednesday: Almsgiving

Readings: Isaiah 58:9-14; Psalm 85:1-6; Luke 5:27-32

If I had to bet on what one question most Catholics have been asked recently, I would go for “What are you giving up for Lent?” However, I expect most of us have been reminded in at least one recent homily that proper Lenten observance has two other crucial components: prayer and almsgiving. It is on the last of these that I wish to reflect in the context of today’s first reading from Isaiah, in which we hear the following words:

If you give your bread to the hungry, and relief to the oppressed,
your light will rise in the darkness, and your shadows become like noon.
The Lord will always guide you, giving you relief in desert places.

My reaction to these words and those like it is often one of confusion. How should I put this into practice? Giving ‘bread’ can seem so token in the face of the problems facing the people on the street I walk past each day; problems of addiction, housing, and benefits, can seem insoluble for me alone to solve and, in some cases, it seems too complicated to provide relief to the oppressed. I start to hearken for a simpler time (I have no idea if it really existed!) when you could just give money or food and somebody’s problems would at least be alleviated for a while; a time where you would not have to worry about what the money you give might be used for.

However, as I reflect on this, I realise that this can often result in me doing nothing. This inertia can be harmful to me personally and also damaging to society. I think there are two attitudes one can take in response. First one can resolve to do the good things one can, no matter how small, even when they seem insignificant in terms of the problems faced. For, the prophet does not tell us that we have to solve permanently other people’s problems. However, what is certain is that no good results for us or the afflicted, if we do nothing. Or, secondly, we could decide to dedicate ourselves to making a profound difference; we could look around us and say that something has to change, and whilst I won’t be able to do it by myself, I can be part of the solution or even the start of it. On this front I have been very much inspired by one of my US brethren in the Province of St Joseph, Fr Greg Maturi, OP. Faced with the tragedy of the separate murders of two of his parishioners, he decided something had to change . . .

In a separate interview, he also reminds us that our inaction can have worse consequences than simple inertia. It can lead to despair, a state which is contrary to the Gospel message. As Fr Greg says, in response to the claim that whilst worthy, his actions won’t change anything: "My biggest problem is not fear of being attacked by gangs or whatever. My biggest problem is keeping people from falling into despair and becoming cynical . . . . that is a tougher fight than a physical fight." We should remember that the moment we see evil in the world, and resign ourselves to it with despair, is a victory for the enemy. Even during Lent, we must not lose sight of the victory over evil, which has been won for us all for all eternity, by the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ; the struggle is never ours alone.

Friday after Ash Wednesday: Comparing

Gospel: Matthew 9:14-15.

Today, John’s disciples indulge a brief foray into comparative religion: why aren’t Jesus’s followers observing the same dietary customs that they and the pharisees do? Taking today’s reading alone, it might seem that their questioning is motivated by the sort of benign curiosity that underpins modern sociology. In context, however, it is the second time that Jesus’s dining rights have been questioned since he sat down to start eating in verse 10: first the Pharisees questioned whether he should be eating with the sinners (v. 11), now John’s disciples emerge to question whether he should be eating at all! The food is growing colder by the moment, but Jesus—it seems—is simply refusing to enter into the sectarian squabbles of competitive religiosity. 

Our Lord’s response re-frames the question, by shifting the accent of the discussion from the content of their religious practices (a ‘what?’ question) to the personal centre of their faith (a ‘who?’ question). If we really want to understand why Christ’s disciples do the various odd things that they did (and still do), description of religious customs—important as they undoubtedly are—will only take us so far: the internal logic of our religious practices derives from our personal encounter with the Lord, an encounter that we deepen by our Lenten practices of prayer, fasting and alms-giving. A theology that remains at the level of ‘what?’ questions may well be too cozy, too disconnected from the question of who Christ is, and who we are in the light shed by his cross and resurrection. 

The logic of comparison has its place, but it soon becomes toxic if we are trapped within it. Often, it is the logic of comparison that entrenches us in jealousy, envy and resentment. If only we had someone else’s stuff (their gifts, talents or possessions), we’d feel more secure in who we are. We perform this comparative manoeuvre so routinely that we risk missing how damaging it is: by reducing another person to what they have—however partially or temporarily—we blind ourselves both to their personhood and to who we are, rejecting the unique gift that the Lord has bestowed on us in favour of seeking to re-create the world in our own image (or, perhaps, in the image of someone else). This sort of comparison, which corrodes our communion with one another and chips away at our happiness in the Lord, is certainly something that’s worth giving up for Lent.

Thursday after Ash Wednesday: A choice

Readings: Dt 30:15-20, Ps 1, Lk 9:22-25

In today's Gospel Jesus says to us: "If anyone wishes to come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it. What profit is there for one to gain the whole world yet lose or forfeit himself?"

These are very demanding words. But to understand them in a proper way we have to refer to the first reading where Moses set before people "life and prosperity, death and doom" and they had to choose. In this case we can say that a choice is obvious. Of course that it is better to choose 'set number one' rather than this second one.

In today's Gospel Jesus says that we are in exactly the same situation. Only following him we choose 'set number one'. However in some sense it seems ridiculous. Because how it is possible that denying ourselves and taking our cross we don't choose death and doom, but life and prosperity? Jesus through the example of his life showed us the way to eternal life, to the fullness of life; therefore we have to see our earthly life in the light of this eternal life. Otherwise choosing only this earthly life we will be able to reach much, but sadly only in this earthly life, meanwhile a life and prosperity are still waiting also after death. Let this Lent will be a time of good choices.

Ash Wednesday

Today, at the Ash Wednesday Mass, a cross will be marked on our foreheads and we will hear the words ‘Remember you are dust, and to dust you will return.’ The first man was formed from the dust of the earth, moulded by God like a potter moulding clay. God then breathed into the first man’s nostrils and ‘man became a living soul’ (Genesis 2:7). God created the first human beings so that they might live in friendship with him and enjoy his abundant gifts, symbolized by the harmony and fertility of Eden. Yet these humans that were brought to life by the breath of God rebelled against the God of life and so death entered the world. The earth that had formed Adam was cursed. Now it would bring forth thorns and thistles, and be farmed only with much effort and labour. Adam is told:

In the sweat of your face you shall eat your bread till you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; you are dust, and to dust you shall return. (Genesis 3:19) 

Yet despite this rebellion, God promised to overcome our sin. First God made a covenant with Noah; He pledged that the Earth that had brought forth Adam, that had been cursed by Adam’s sin and polluted by the shedding of Abel’s innocent blood, would no longer be cursed. Instead Noah’s descendants were blessed and commanded to go and be fruitful (Genesis 8:20 - 9:1). Next God made a covenant with Abraham. God promised that Abraham’s barren wife would bear a child that would continue a line that would be so fruitful that his descendants would outnumber the stars of heaven and the sand on the seashore. To this people would be given a holy land in which they would dwell for ever (Genesis 17:8). God came closer still in the covenant with Moses, dwelling among the people as a life-giving presence in the tabernacle as they journeyed through the barren desert. After Israel had taken possession of the land promised to Abraham, God made a covenant with David in which he promised that a temple would be built: there would be a holy place – the temple, in a holy city – Jerusalem, in a holy land. 

We see in the history of Israel, then, the gradual undoing of Adam’s sin. Jeremiah saw a parable of the history of Israel in the work of the potter, patiently moulding a pot from clay, beginning again and again each time the pot went wrong. We read: 

O house of Israel, can I not do with you as this potter had done? Says the Lord. Behold, like the clay in the potters hand, so are you in my hand O house of Israel. (Jeremiah 18: 5) 

The remoulding of Israel was consummated in Jesus Christ, the New Adam. In his resurrection he conquered the death that entered the world though Adam. Through the temple which is his body, we gain a greater intimacy with God even than our first parents had. After his Resurrection, Jesus breathed on his disciples and so handed on to them his Holy Spirit (John 20:22). Once again, human being lived by the breath of God, this time the very life of God itself. 

Thus St. Paul declares us to be ‘temples of the Holy Spirit’ (1 Corinthians 6:19), yet we ‘carry this treasure in jars of clay’ (2 Corinthians 4:7). We are still clay, we are still dust, and we will return to dust: yet the life of God which we share is a pledge that at the general resurrection we will rise to fullness of life and eternal happiness with God. 

Our individual life story, our personal history, then, is Israel’s history. Like Adam we have sinned, yet like Israel God has patiently remoulded us back to himself, and like the apostles Jesus has breathed on us and we have received the Spirit: a gift that we carry in fragile vessels, always utterly dependent on God. Today we remind ourselves how precious this gift is, and how wondrous it is that we should share in the life of God.

Join us for Lent 2014

This Lent, as in previous years, the Dominican students in Oxford will be offering daily meditations on the Scriptural readings for the Mass. Reflections on the Stations of the Cross will be video-recorded and shared with you over the coming weeks. We hope you will keep coming back to Godzdogz as we walk together towards the Cross on Good Friday, and the triumph of the Resurrection at Easter.

Meanwhile, we would like to share some ideas for good books to read during Lent. There's a wide range here, with plenty of ways to develop our spiritual life and return to the loving mercy and kindness of God in this season of preparation. Do let us know if you found these books helpful!

1) Praying with Confidence, by Fr Paul Murray OP

Dominican Fr Paul Murray, a son of the Irish Province currently teaching Spiritual Theology at the Angelicum, examines the Lord's prayer with the help of St Thomas Aquinas OP.

Merciful Jesus

2) Diary, by St Faustina

“My daughter, be diligent in writing down every sentence I tell you concerning My mercy, because this is meant for a great number of souls who will profit from it” (Diary 1142). This remarkable testimony about meeting Saint Faustina with Jesus can be found in her Diary. She was a great mystic who lived at the beginning of the 20th century and during her very short life (33 years), Jesus appeared to her many times. She became ‘a secretary of Divine Mercy’ who reminded people the truth about merciful and compassionate love of God for every human being. In this book, God Himself tells us about His Mercy from which none is excluded. The full text of Saint Faustina’s Diary can be found here.

3) The Examen Prayer, by Fr Timothy Gallagher OMV
 
A small and very readable book, introducing the reader to a way of foraging around for the God is speaking to us in our daily lives.

4) Our Saviour and His Love for Us, by Fr Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange OP

To get to know Jesus we should ask the person who knows Him best: His Bride! Garrigou-Lagrange makes the introductions with a thorough, yet accessible, assent through the Church’s doctrine of the Son of God and His mission on Earth. By explaining how the Church understands things like the Incarnation, Redemption, and Resurrection the author not only shows his reader the invaluable theology of the Church but also lets him get a glimpse at the inexhaustible magnificence of the Saviour and His unending love for us. Garrigou-Lagrange teaches the doctrine, and shows why it matters to our spiritual life.

5) The Way of Paradox, by Dom Cyprian Smith OSB

A monk of Ampleforth Abbey presents the German Dominican Meister Eckhart's teaching on the spiritual life: German medieval mystical theology meets contemporary Anglo-Saxon pragmatism.

6) Simple Prayer, by Fr John Dalrymple

The conviction of John Dalrymple is that prayer is the most important element in Christian living. In this beautiful reissue of his bestselling Simple Prayer, he writes explicitly on prayer, teaching that the simple silent prayer of contemplation is attainable for anyone who seeks to try. What unfolds is a mature yet accessible consideration of all aspects of prayer and how it connects with politics, liberation, poverty, spiritual reading and the experience of the Dark Night. This book makes ideal lenten reading for spiritual development.

7) The Passion and Death of Our Lord Jesus Christ, by Archbishop Alban Goodier SJ

This is a book which I first read when I was 18 and have returned to time and again - particularly during Holy Week. The secret to this book is the way in which Goodier movingly describes the sheer drama of Christ’s passion and death, often reading 'in between the lines' of the Gospel accounts; the text uniquely combines scripture scholarship, knowledge of the Holy Land, and what is clearly a deep prayer life on the part of the author. Perhaps second only to the Bible itself, I could recommend no better work to enter into the depths of Christ’s loving sacrifice. The book is sadly no longer in print but can be obtained from a good library, second-hand, or on the Kindle.

8) Contemplative Provocations, by Fr Donald Haggerty

Despite being a slim volume, there is a great deal of depth in this book. Designed to help us understand how to deepen our relationship with God, it consists of a series of provocative and stimulating reflections on the life of prayer that offer genuine hope and consolation. One excerpt may help give a flavour of the wisdom it contains: “After a while, if our soul grows in the poverty of contemplative prayer, silence is simply a veneer of the divine concealment. It does not keep us from God’s presence; it is not an obstacle in prayer no matter how dry or empty it seems.”

9) The Cloud of Unknowing (Anonymous)

If it seems odd for a Dominican to recommend this apparently anti-intellectual book, remember that our own tradition has a strong mystical and ‘apophatic’ current, not just in the likes of Meister Eckhart but even in the careful theology of Thomas Aquinas. The Cloud of Unknowing was written anonymously in late medieval England, perhaps by a Carthusian. It stresses the beauty, the grace and the joy of contemplation of God, who remains ultimately beyond our categories of knowledge. Here you will find advice on how to pray, the need for Confession, and the message that, ‘basically, love means a radical personal commitment to God.’

Gospel Joy: Protecting Unborn Children

It might seem surprising to have a post about protecting the unborn child in a series about Gospel Joy.  It is true that abortion isn’t mentioned in the Gospel and, whatever one’s view, it’s axiomatic that the killing of unborn children is not a subject of joy.  Yet Pope Francis addresses the matter in his Apostolic Exhortation (paragraphs 213 and 214).  The reason he does so is that the Gospel is all about love: “Among the vulnerable for whom the Church wishes to care with particular love and concern are unborn children” whom he describes as  “the most defenceless and innocent among us”.

It is because we Catholics love our neighbour, made “imago Dei” - i.e. with the profound dignity of being made in the image of God, that we believe abortion is fundamentally wrong.  It is not a position which is somehow anti-women or “ideological, obscurantist and conservative” but a stance that reflects our love for our shared human life. If we stop loving the very gift of life, what remains?  How could one profess to love God the creator, and destroy His creation?

It is inconceivable that the Church’s position with respect to the unborn child will change, however expedient it might seem to some.  This is because recognition of the fundamental human dignity and inviolability of every life is not so much a teaching of the Church as a reality.  As the Holy Father says himself: it’s a reality which can be understood by “reason alone”.  And you don’t have to be a theologian, philosopher, scientist, doctor, or women’s rights campaigner to engage with this reality.

Yet it’s a reality which is often unrecognised or ignored.  Across the world, 42 million abortions take place annually; 115,000 every day.  Closer to home, in the UK, over 6 million abortions have taken place since 1967; the present rate is about 600 per day.  These statistics are truly shocking.  It’s enough to make one weep.

Where does one begin?  Let’s come back to love. If we really love God’s children and abhor abortion, we will work hard to stop it; if we want to stop abortion, we will love, support and provide real alternatives for vulnerable women and build a culture of life; and, if we want to build a culture of life, we will love and forgive those who have had abortions and are in need of healing (even if they don’t know it).

So the most important way of protecting unborn children, it seems to me, is to love their mothers. In that regard, the Gospel has much to teach us.

There are many excellent organisations working in this field - one I can recommend, from personal experience, is Life.