Feed My Sheep: Love, Forgiveness, and Grace

 When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, "Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?" He said to him, "Yes, Lord; you know that I love you." He said to him, "Feed my lambs." A second time he said to him, "Simon, son of John, do you love me?" He said to him, "Yes, Lord; you know that I love you." He said to him, "Tend my sheep." He said to him the third time, "Simon, son of John, do you love me?" Peter was grieved because he said to him the third time, "Do you love me?" And he said to him, "Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you." Jesus said to him, "Feed my sheep.”    (JN 21:15-17)

It's Greek To Me

 

"The Denial of St. Peter", Caravaggio, 1610

   You’re probably familiar with the beautiful passage above, which is from the end of John’s Gospel .  As he sits with the Risen Christ at a charcoal fire on the shores of the Sea of Galilee, Peter has the opportunity to redeem himself for what he did the last time we saw him at a charcoal fire.  On the night of Holy Thursday, when Our Lord had been arrested, he denied Jesus three times: here, Jesus invites Peter three times to tell his Lord, face to face, that he loves Him.

      I wrote an earlier version of this post as one of my first excursions into bloggery.  There was something about the language in this passage that caught my attention: I was intrigued by the fact that, in the original Greek text . . . 

[click HERE to continue reading this post on Spes in Domino]

Do You Consider Yourself a Leper? (From Spes in Domino)

      A few years ago, during a previous Lent, I attended a mass in which the Gospel reading came from Matthew 8, which included the following passage:

 . . . and behold, a leper came to him and knelt before him, saying, "Lord, if you will, you can make me clean."  And he stretched out his hand and touched him, saying, "I will; be clean." And immediately his leprosy was cleansed. (Matthew 8:2-3)

     Father began his homily with the question, "Do you consider yourself a leper?"  Well, I had never thought of myself as a leper . . . 

[click HERE to continue reading this post on Spes in Domino]

"Hallelujah" from Beethoven's Christ On The Mount Of Olives

the young Beethoven, by Joseph Willibrord Maehler

   The composer Beethoven was born into a Catholic family, but does not seem to have been devout as an adult.  It is known that he did not attend Mass regularly, and scholars are reluctant to assign to him any religious affiliation at all.  At the same time, it is also clear from his letters and his few religious compositions that, in his stubborn and idiosyncratic way, he retained a strong belief in God and His Providence.

Beethoven’s best-known and by far most successful religious composition is the Missa Sollemnis, which he completed just a few years before his death.  He did make other forays into sacred music earlier in his career, however.  In 1802, for instance, he produced the oratorio Christ on the Mount of Olives, a revision of which he published in 1811.  The dramatic action of the piece focuses on Christ’s “Agony in the Garden” after the last supper, shortly before his arrest.  Beethoven’s piece reaches its climax not with the Resurrection, but at the moment in which Jesus decisively sets aside his human fears and says, “Not my will, but Yours!”

Christ on the Mount of Olives was not one of Beethoven’s more successful endeavors.  The composer himself was sharply critical of Franz Xaver Huber’s libretto; critics did not consider most of the music up to Beethoven’s usual standards.  The oratorio as a whole has not been performed as often as many other Beethoven pieces over the past two centuries, except for one passage: the triumphant “Hallelujah” that rings out at Our Lord’s moment of decision.  It’s a glorious musical acknowledgment of Christ’s self-sacrificing act of redemption, and a glorious way to celebrate the Easter Season.

Music For Lent: Miserere Mei by Antonio Lotti

"King David Does Repentance" by Albrecht Durer

   As we begin the penitential Season of Lent, it seems a good time to look at some the numerous musical settings for Psalm 51, which is traditionally held to have been written by King David as an expression of repentance after he engineered the death of Uriah the Hittite in order to steal his wife, Bathsheba.  
     The most famous musical treatment of this psalm was composed by Gregorio Allegri in the 1630's, various performances of which I have posted over the last few years (most recently here). Last year I also posted lesser-known (but still powerfully beautiful and moving) renditions by Pergolesi and Josquin des Prez.  I'm continuing that tradition this Lent by posting Antonio Lotti's Miserere below, and Jan Dismas Zelenka's setting of the 51st Psalm on the blog Nisi Dominus.
     Lotti Lived from 1667-1740.  He spent his entire musical career (except for a brief period in Dresden from 1717-1719) at St. Mark's Basilica in Venice as a singer, organist and, eventually, maestro di cappella. may not be well-known today (at least to those of us who, like me, are not experts), but he was an important and influential composer and teacher in his day. His Wikipedia entry tells us that

     Lotti is thought to have influenced Johann Sebastian Bach, George Frideric Handel, and Johann Dismas Zelenka, all of whom had copies of Lotti's mass, the Missa Sapientiae.

     Lotti was a notable teacher, with Domenico Alberti, Benedetto Marcello, Giovanni Battista Pescetti, Baldassare Galuppi, Giuseppe Saratelli and Johann Dismas Zelenka among his pupils.

In the clip below the piece is performed by the UCLA Early Music Ensemble, conducted by Alexandra Grabarchuk.

Do We Really Need To Be Perfect? (Worth Revisiting)

This post was originally published in January, 2014 shortly after I started this blog; it was re-published in February 2015.   To enjoy the work of other faithful Catholic bloggers see Worth Revisiting Wednesday, hosted by Elizabeth Reardon at theologyisaverb.com and Allison Gingras at reconciledtoyou.com.

 It’s funny how different things can look from just a slightly changed perspective.  I remember as a fallen-away Catholic college sophomore responding to what must have been a Divine prompting  by picking up a copy of the New Testament and starting to read.  I can’t say why, as a cradle Catholic, I didn’t first seek out the sacraments or a priest (maybe it was a result of the catechesis I received in the ‘70’s).  In any case, I began with the first chapter of Mathew’s Gospel, and things were looking pretty good until I came to the Sermon on the Mount.  Here I began to entertain the unpleasant suspicion that a Journey of Faith might entail some Demands (horribile dictu!) upon me.  I continued nonetheless until I came to Chapter 5, verse 48: “You, therefore, must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”  I needed to be perfect? This was asking way too much, I thought.  I put the book down. It would be almost another ten years before I gave serious thought to returning to the practice of the Faith.

Sebastiano Ricci, "The Sermon on the Mount"

     And yet that passage troubled me on and off for a long time.  Odd that as a Classics major, and later a teacher of Latin and Greek, it didn’t occur to me to look up the Greek word that was translated into English as “perfect”.  If it had, I might have found Jesus’ pronouncement in Matthew 5:48 less overwhelming (although at the time, honestly, I may not have wanted that badly to be saved from my sins). 

     Eventually, of course, it did happen.  As an older and (somewhat) wiser man I was explaining to my students that the Latin word perfectus had not yet completely taken on its modern connotation of flawlessness or moral perfection; its primary meaning was “finished” or “complete”, which is why the verb tense denoting completed action is called the perfect tense.  That’s when the proverbial light went off in my head: was this the word St. Jerome used in translating the Gospel from Greek in the fourth century, and if so, what did the Greek word mean?

  What I found changed my entire perception of the passage.  The Latin is indeed  perfectus, and is a translation of the Greek word τέλειοι (teleioi). τέλειοι is related to the noun τέλος (telos), “end”, and the adjective signifies something that has reached its proper end, or fulfillment, i.e., is complete. I also realized, for the first time, that verse 48 is intended as a conclusion to the verses preceding, indicated by the word "therefore" οὖν (oun). When I looked at the passage as a whole, it all began to make more sense:

But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, 

so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. For if you love those who love you, what reward have you? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you salute only your brethren, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? You, therefore, must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.  MT 5:44-48

Just as God loves completely (i.e., everyone), and forgives completely, so must we.  Now, that doesn’t mean that Jesus isn’t calling us to strive for perfection as we understand the word today: he certainly is.  In this particular passage, however, he is primarily concerned teaching us to love with a perfect love, and he gives us a “road map”, if you will, to show us how to get there. That’s still a pretty tall order, but somehow it seemed less hopelessly impossible when I could see Jesus is proposing concrete actions, and not simply commanding us to, well, be perfect.

     I don’t want to make it seem that my difficulty with one scripture verse held me back from rejoining the Mystical Body of Christ for a decade.  I needed more experience of life, of realizing the futility of trying to do things “my way”, and particularly of the Mystery of the Cross to soften my heart and lead me back to the Lord.  Nevertheless, coming to a new appreciation of Christ’s call to perfection in Matthew 5:48 removed one small but significant barrier on that journey.

Feed My Sheep (Worth Revisiting)

This Worth Revisiting post was one of my very first, originally published January 10th, 2014; a revised version was posted February 11th of this year.
     To enjoy the work of other faithful Catholic bloggers visit Worth Revisiting Wednesday,hosted by Elizabeth Reardon of theologyisaverb.com and Allison Gingras at reconciledtoyou.com.

When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, "Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?" He said to him, "Yes, Lord; you know that I love you." He said to him, "Feed my lambs." A second time he said to him, "Simon, son of John, do you love me?" He said to him, "Yes, Lord; you know that I love you." He said to him, "Tend my sheep." He said to him the third time, "Simon, son of John, do you love me?" Peter was grieved because he said to him the third time, "Do you love me?" And he said to him, "Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you." Jesus said to him, "Feed my sheep.”    JN 21:15-17

It's Greek To Me

     You’re probably familiar with the beautiful passage from John’s Gospel above.  As he sits with the risen Christ at a charcoal fire on the shores of the Sea of Galilee, Peter has the opportunity to redeem himself for what he did the last time we saw him at a charcoal fire: on that occasion he denied Jesus three times; here Jesus invites Peter three times to tell his Lord, face to face, that he loves Him.

    The first time I read this passage in the original Greek I was intrigued by the fact that two different words for “love” are used, which is not reflected in English translations.  The first two times Jesus asks, “do you love me?” he say ἀγαπᾷς (agapais), and when Peter answers  “I love you” he says φιλῶ (philo).  Now, knowing that, among Christians, the verb ἀγαπῶ came to mean all-embracing divine love, whereas φιλῶ referred to ordinary human affection, I thought I had stumbled onto Something Big.  It seems that many others have had the same idea, because I soon learned that there has been quite a lot written on this topic (who knew?).  Scripture scholars warn us, however, not to make too much of the different verbs.  It appears that at the time John wrote his Gospel the two verbs were used more or less interchangeably, although φιλῶwas much more common.  John, the scholars tell us, was probably doing no more than making his language more interesting by avoiding redundancy.

More Than Words

     I’m not one to pick a fight with the experts on their own turf; on the other hand, we know that John is a careful and subtle writer, and if he were that concerned with varying his vocabulary for purely stylistic reasons the prologue to his Gospel would read rather differently.  In any case, even if we can’t find a Big Linguistic-Theological Significance here, it seems to me that John is nonetheless showing us something.  Here’s what he have in the passage: Jesus asks “do you love me?” using one verb (ἀγαπᾷς), Peter answers affirmatively using what appears to be a synonym (φιλῶ); then they repeat, each using the same separate verbs they used before; finally, as Peter grows visibly distressed by Jesus repeating the question (but knowing all too well why it needs repeating), the Lord asks a third time . . . only this time He uses Peter’s word, as if to say, “All right, Peter, you love me, but do you love me?”.   

     I think we can see in this a reflection of how Grace works in our life.  Christ comes to Peter, who does not at first recognize Him; after Peter realizes with whom he’s talking, Christ invites him to express his love, and in so doing repudiate his earlier sin; Peter is willing, but can’t quite bring himself to use the same word that Jesus uses, instead replying with a (possibly more humble) synonym; after the same thing happens the second time, Jesus finally moves a little closer, and when He asks him the third time he echoes Peter’s own word back to him.  And every time Peter proclaims his love, Christ calls on him to share that love with others (“feed my sheep”).  

The Word Becomes Flesh

     Just so, God is always the initiator, inviting us to share His grace; He often comes to us in a tangible form (the Incarnation, the Eucharist, his ordained ministers acting In Persona Christi); He calls on us to act out the love we proclaim (audible confession, acts of mercy, evangelization). And He’s always willing to move a little closer, if it will bring us closer to Him.  Christ is asking us, "Do you love Me?"  Will we answer, along with Peter, φιλῶ ?

Forgiveness Reveals The Power Of The Gospel

 We have witnessed an extraordinary demonstration of the power of the the Gospel in the past week. A rabid racist named Dylann Roof slaughtered nine people who were participating in a Bible study group at the Emanuel African Methodist Church in Charleston, South Carolina.  The shooter had hoped to ignite a race war between blacks and whites, but the families and friends of Roof’s innocent victims had a different idea.  Faithful to their Lord who said “Love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5:44),  they spoke movingly at Roof’s bond hearing about the unfathomable pain the shooting had caused them, but also expressed forgiveness for the shooter.

    Their bold act of forgiveness has drawn a lot of positive commentary, but it has also led to some confusion and bemusement.  Dennis Prager, for instance, in his column on the subject, disagrees with the families’ reaction, saying: “I am not aware of Roof’s having repented.  And even God Himself doesn’t forgive those who never repent.”

    Prager’s statement reveals some fairly common misunderstandings of Christian forgiveness.  For the Christian forgiveness is a decision of the will on the part of an aggrieved party to let go of anger and resentment at the person who has wronged him or her.  In the passage from Matthew’s Gospel above, Jesus tells us to love our enemies and pray for our persecutors; he doesn’t say that the the other parties need to first cease their enmity or their persecution.  Nor does forgiveness mean releasing a wrongdoer from the requirements of justice: innocent people need to be protected from further harm on the part of the perpetrator, other potential offenders must be deterred by seeing the consequences of his misdeeds, and objective wrongs he has committed need to be righted. When we forgive, we are not freeing the transgressor from the consequences of his actions, we are freeing ourselves from enslavement to the passions his transgression has provoked.  God likewise offers His forgiveness to all, and we only remain in unforgiveness if we refuse it (hence the Catholic belief that Hell is something that we choose for ourselves, not something imposed upon us); our repentance, if we do repent, is a response to His prior forgiveness, not a prerequisite for it.

    The events in Charleston are also a vivid reminder of St. Paul’s words to the Romans:

Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God; for it is written, "Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord." No, "if your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him drink; for by so doing you will heap burning coals upon his head." Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good. (Romans 12:19-21)

The decision of the relatives of the victims to turn to the Lord and to Love instead of to Hatred and Anger has completely frustrated Roof's plan.  Instead of racial strife, it has led to an unprecedented show of unity and mutual support in the city that was the birthplace of the Confederacy a century and a half ago. By refusing to be overcome by evil, they have indeed overcome evil with good.

     Finally, as has often happened throughout history, the loving, peaceful response of persecuted Christians has given a beautiful testimony to the beauty and efficacy of Christ’s Gospel, which has been broadcast throughout the United States and the rest of the world. And all because some terribly wronged Christians in South Carolina turned to the Lord and his message of forgiveness, instead of giving in to the temptation to anger and vengeance.