Friday, February 3
Hebrews 13.1-17: Because “Jesus Christ is the same, yesterday, today, and forever,” a certain stability should be expected in the lives and conduct of Christians. For example, they should “not be carried away with various and strange teachings [didachai].” That is to say, they must avoid ideas alien (xsenai) to the doctrines handed down from the Apostles. The example given here concerns dietary restrictions based on the kosher rules in the Torah: “foods which have not profited those who have been preoccupied with them.” We recognize this admonition as reflecting the concern of St. Paul.
For the rest, the outline given here for Christian conduct is basic. There is, for starts, the primacy of fraternal love: “Let brotherly love abide”—he philadelphia meneto. This expression suggests that such love should be a constant habit of mind and a sustained pattern of response. Fraternal love, in other words, is the Christian’s “default” preference, the programmatic disposition of his mind and sentiments.
This fraternal love is expressed in hospitality (philoxsenia), described here as the entertainment of strangers. Besides its obvious sense of receiving others into our homes, it also suggests a certain open-mindedness to those who are different from ourselves, the ones designated as xsenisantes. Perhaps we may think of it as a willingness not to impose on others our own cultural and sympathetic preferences. This would mean that Christians, while avoiding “strange doctrines,” should not be necessarily avoid “strange people.”
Our author appeals to the Old Testament examples of those who “unwittingly entertained angels.” The obvious cases are those of Abraham and Tobit, who showed hospitality to angels.
A similar kindness must be shown to prisoners, “as if chained with them”—hos syndedemenoi. This surely refers, in the first place, to those Christians who suffer persecution for righteousness’ sake, but it will include also a compassion and concern for anyone incarcerated (Matthew 25:36). Indeed, it seems especially within our prison population that we may find the largest assortment of “strangers.” It is arguable that there is no more hopeless class of people on the face of the earth.
After speaking of charity toward one another, toward strangers, and toward prisoners, our author speaks of the marriage bond. He does this without elaboration, contenting himself with a simple and stern warning: “Marriage is honorable among all, and the bed undefiled; but fornicators and adulterers God will judge.” No discussion, no alternate viewpoint. Just, don’t.
After lust, our author reminds us of the danger of covetousness, the antidote to which is a constant trust in God to take care of our needs. He cites the simple message of Deuteronomy and the Psalter: “I will never leave you nor forsake you,” and “The Lord is my helper; I will not fear what man can do to me.”
As symbols of the stability characteristic of the Christian life, our author reminds his readers of their “leaders,” those who went before them and from whom they have received the inherited faith. This modeled faith is to be their guide, as they avoid novel and strange teachings.
Saturday, February 4
Matthew 10.32-42: The New Testament provides a number of stories in which entire households accepted the Gospel, which then became the basis of a whole new way of family life.
These verses of Matthew, however, affirm that such is not always the case. The Gospel proclamation can divide as well as unite, and family unity has sometimes been destroyed by the Gospel’s acceptance by some family members and its rejection by others. This is a matter of history experience. Consequently there is the principle announced in verse 37 about the priorities of love.
This “he who” sentence becomes the first of a series of ten such sentences that close out the chapter on the more positive note of those who actually accept the Gospel. In this series of short sayings we particularly observe the emphasis on the first person pronoun, “me” or “my,” with reference to Jesus. It appears seven times.
The “little ones” in these verses are to be identified, not only as little children, but also as other Christians, those “babies” to whom the Father reveals His Son (11:25), and who welcome Christ into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday (21:16). It will be the thesis of the last part of Chapter 25 that the charity shown to these “least of My brethren” is actually shown to Christ. Here in Chapter 10 the context of this reference suggests that the “little ones” (mikroi) are especially to be identified as those who proclaim the Gospel.
Genesis 35: We get yet one more scandal in this troubled family, this time respecting Reuben. The latter will later come in for a rather unfavorable mention because of this incident (49:3-4), and in fact the tribe of Reuben never amounts to much in Israel’s history. In due course it will be absorbed by the Gadites and the tribe of Manesseh, and Reuben will be remembered only in the name of a sandwich..
In the patriarchal list that follows (verses 27-29), the author of Genesis is telling us that the foundation has now been laid for the rest of the biblical story. The patriarchal roots are now in place. We may compare this “list of the Twelve” with the four Gospels and the Acts of the Apostles, which early provide lists of the Twelve Apostles. In all these cases, as here in Genesis, we are dealing with a patriarchal institution.
Finally, we come to the death of Isaac (verses 27-29). Isaac thought he was dying back in Genesis 27:4, but here he is, eight chapters later, still alive, up to the end of Genesis 35. Isaac was already 60 years old when the twins were born (25:26) and a hundred years old when Esau first married (26:34), and another eighty years have passed since then (verse 28).
Sunday, February 5
This psalm is constructed in three parts. The first has to do with God’s activity in the creation of the heavens and the earth, the second with his covenant and promise with respect to the house of David, and the third with certain crises of history that threaten that covenant and put its promise at peril. All three themes are organically connected.
To see how these three realities are joined within the Christian mystery, we may begin with a text from St. Clement of Alexandria around the year 200. He wrote that “the ancient and catholic Church stands alone in essence and idea and principle and preeminence, gathering together, by the will of the one God, through the one Lord, into the unity of the one faith, built upon the appropriate covenants, or rather the one covenant given at different times, all those who are already enlisted in it, whom He foreordained, having known from the foundation of the world that they would be righteous” (Stromateis 7.17.107). In sum, all of God’s dealings with this world are of whole cloth, including the grace of creation. All the historical covenants are expressions of the one covenant. From the beginning of time there has been only one God, one Lord, one faith.
The mystery of Christ was already present, then, when the voice of God called out into the aboriginal darkness of non-being, “Let there be light.” Christ is no afterthought in the divine plan; God has no relations with this world except in Christ. Even when the Father’s voice imposed form over the chaos of nonexistence, it was the form contained in His Word, who is His Son. God’s covenant with creation was the initial exercise in applied Christology.
The first part of our psalm, taking up the theme of this divine imposition of form over chaos, emphasizes the structural constancy of the universe, but already this cosmic theme is introduced in a setting best described as messianic. That is to say, already anticipating the psalm’s second part, the permanence of the Davidic throne is related to the unvarying dependability of the heavenly bodies, for both things are given shape by God’s holy word and sworn resolve: “For You declared: ‘Mercy shall be built up forever.’ Your truth is prepared in the heavens: ‘A covenant have I formed with my chosen ones; to David my servant I swore an oath: Forever will I provide for your seed; I shall establish your throne unto all generations.’ The heavens will confess Your wonders, O Lord, and Your truthˆ in the church of Your saints.”
Now, as Christians, we know that God’s solemn promise to David, with respect to the everlasting stability of his throne, is fulfilled in the kingship of Christ, for the Son of David now sits forever enthroned at God’s right hand, executing both prophecy and promise. Only in Christ do we find the key to the mystery of this psalm: “Once I swore by My holiness, nor would I ever lie to David. His seed shall abide forever, and his throne as the sun in My sight, and like the moon forever established, a faithful witness in heaven.”
The theological bond, then, joining the creation to David, is Christ: “God . . . has in these last days spoken to us by His Son, whom He has appointed heir of all things, through whom also He made the worlds. . . . But to the Son He says: ‘Your throne, O God, is forever and ever.’ . . . And: ‘You, Lord, in the beginning laid the foundation of the earth, / And the heavens are the work of Your hands’” (Heb. 1:1, 2, 8, 10). The regal, messianic covenant of sonship is related to the fixed structure of the very world, because both realities are rooted in Christ. As font and inner form, He is their common warrant.
In fact, nonetheless, both things, God’s creation and His covenant, appear ever under threat throughout history, which theme brings us to the third part of our psalm. In this section we pray repeatedly for God’s vindication of the messianic covenant, which man in his rebellion endeavors ever to overthrow. Indeed, in our own times this struggle seems to have intensified and entered a new phase. After deism, rejecting God’s messianic covenant with us in Christ, strove to content us solely with the rational structure of creation, it was only a short time before creation itself came under siege. Now we live in a world where even the clearest manifestations of intelligent order are routinely dismissed as chaos, so grievously has the human spirit lost its use of reason.
One especially observes the recurrence of two expressions in this psalm: mercy (five times) and truth (seven times).
Monday, February 6
Genesis 37: Any reader of Genesis with even a little feel for structure and style will recognize that he has arrived at something new when he starts through the long Joseph narrative. Although all of the stories in Genesis are tied together by unifying historico-theological themes and a panoramic epic construction, there are two very clear points of style in which this long story of Joseph stands out unique with respect to the narratives that precede it.
The first stylistic point has to do with structure. The various accounts of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob have what we may call a more episodic quality. Even though they are integrally tied together by theological motifs and theme-threads indispensable to their full meaning, often they can also be read as individual stories, each with a satisfying dramatic anatomy of its own. For example, while the more ample significance of Abraham’s trial in Genesis 22 doubtless requires its integration into the larger motif of the Promised Son and Heir, that chapter is so constructed that it may also be read as a single story with its own inherent drama. That is to say, it is an episode. Part of its literary quality consists in its being intelligible and interesting within itself and on its own merits.
Similar assessments are likewise valid for numerous other patriarchal stories, including the rivalry between Sarah and Hagar, the courting of Rebekah, Jacob’s theft of Esau’s blessing, and so forth. While parts of a larger whole, each of these narratives nonetheless forms a good, satisfactory dramatic tale by itself.
There is nothing similar in the Joseph narrative. Hardly any scene of the Joseph narrative could stand alone and still make sense. It is one and only one story. No one of the parts is of interest without the rest. The Joseph epic forms one long dramatic unity, characterized by the careful planning of particulars, sustained irony, a very tight integration of component scenes within a tension mounting to a dramatic denouement, followed by a quieter sequence that calmly closes Genesis and systematically prepares for the Book of Exodus.
The second stylistic point that distinguishes the Joseph story from the earlier Genesis stories is the quality of its interest in the dominant character. The sensitive reader of Genesis will note right away that Joseph appears to have no failings nor faults, in sharp contrast to the earlier patriarchal figures. Both Abraham and Isaac, for example, acting from fear of possible rivals, go to some lengths to suggest that they are not married to their wives (12:11-19; 20:2-13; 26:7-11), a precaution that seems, at the very least, to fall somewhat short of the ideals of chivalry. Similarly, Jacob’s intentional deception of his father in Genesis 27 is scarcely edifying, while the cunning brutality of Simeon and Levi in Genesis 34 is lamented by Jacob himself. The Bible is obviously making no attempt to glorify those men; it simply portrays them as mixtures of good and evil, very much as we should expect from any accurate biography.
There is a perceptible change of attitude, however, when we come to Joseph. Genesis offers, I think, no parallel example of such a sustained interest in describing the moral shape of a specific character. Joseph is pictured as a flawless or nearly flawless man. He seems almost a type of perfection, a veritable saint right from the start. The Fathers of the Church could thus hold him up as an example of humility, chastity, prudent foresight, and inner discipline of thought. He was “that very man of God, full of the spirit of discretion,” wrote St. Gregory the Great. Likewise, Joseph’s ability to discern the future makes him the Bible’s earliest clear example of a prophet. In his patient suffering, moreover, his endurance of betrayal, his confidence in God’s guidance and his forgiveness of those who wronged him, Joseph seemed to the Church Fathers to embody the highest ideals of the Gospel itself.
Tuesday, February 7
Matthew 11.25-30: When someone opens the Four Gospels for the first time, even if he is yet an unbeliever, it seems hardly possible that he will fail to observe the compassion and gentleness of Jesus of Nazareth. Even though such a reader cannot yet correctly answer the question, “What do you think about the Christ? Whose Son is He?” (Matthew 22:42), he nonetheless finds vibrant in those pages a figure “who went about doing good” (Acts 10:38), a Person attractive for His gentleness and mercy.
Jesus Himself, moreover, drew attention to this trait, making it a motive for men to become His disciples. “Take My yoke upon you,” He said, “and learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart.”
The Greek word translated as “gentle,” prau?s, conveys the sense of humility and heartfelt meekness. Indeed, the words “gentle” and “lowly in heart,” placed together in this verse, form an adjectival hendiadys expressing a single idea.
Significantly, prau?s is also the adjective that Matthew uses to speak of those meek who will inherit the earth (5:5). With respect to the gentleness of Jesus, this same evangelist cites a prophecy of Isaiah (42:2–3) that he sees fulfilled thereby: “He will not quarrel nor cry out, / Nor will anyone hear His voice in the streets. / A bruised reed He will not break, / And smoking flax He will not quench” (12:19–20).
The immediate context of Jesus’ invitation to “learn” from Him speaks of His communion with the Father: “All things have been delivered to Me by My Father, and no one knows the Son except the Father. Nor does anyone know the Father except the Son, and he to whom the Son wills to reveal Him” (11:27).
The gentleness of Jesus, then, is not simply a preferred psychological trait, as it were. Rather, it is revelatory of the gentleness of God. It shows forth the regard of the Father toward those who agree to “learn” from Jesus.
Jesus’ gentleness has special reference to His suffering and death. The other time when Matthew uses the adjective prau?s to describe our Lord is found in the story of His dramatic entry into Jerusalem to inaugurate His Passion. Matthew quotes a prophecy of Zechariah (9:9), which Jesus thus fulfills: “Tell the daughter of Zion, ‘Behold, your King is coming to you, / Lowly [prau?s], and sitting on a donkey’ (21:5).
The gentleness of Jesus is the humility of the Cross, that obedience by which He emptied Himself and took upon Himself the form of the Suffering Servant, whose redemptive suffering and death is so graphically described in the Book of Isaiah.
Wednesday, February 8
Romans 2:17-29: Paul continues talking to the imaginary “man” that he earlier addressed (verses 1,3). This man calls himself a Jew (verse 17). This man, whom he had earlier reprimanded for judging others, Paul now taunts with a series of claims that were commonly made by the Jews: knowledge of the true God and His will, confidence in the Law, a superior moral insight, and the consequent right to provide guidance to the rest of the world (verses 18-20).
Paul does not deny the validity of any of these claims, but they do raise in his mind a series of concomitant questions that he now puts to the Jew (verses 21-23). The latter’s behavior, after all, leaves a lot to be desired. Indeed, the bad conduct of the Jew, as Isaiah had long ago remarked, has brought reproach of the God of the Jews (verse 24; Isaiah 52:5 in LXX). Their defining sign, circumcision, has been rendered morally meaningless by their insouciance to the rest of the Torah (verse 25).
Now, asks Paul, how is the circumcised Jew who disobeys the Law of Moses morally superior to the uncircumcised Gentile who observes the Natural Law written in his heart (verses 26-27)?
Throughout this diatribe the Apostle is continuing the very argument that the Old Testament prophets had directed to the Chosen People ever since Amos and Isaiah eight hundred years before—namely, that a strict adherence to the prescribed rituals is no adequate substitute for the moral renewal of the heart and a blameless life pleasing to God. Far from rejecting the Old Testament here, Paul is appealing to one of its clearest themes (Deuteronomy 10:16; 30:6; Micah 6:6-8; Jeremiah 4:4; 9:24-25; Ezekiel 44:9).
The true circumcision is internal. This is the “secret” (krypton) that the Lord sees (verse 16). It is the heart that must be circumcised (verses 29-30; Acts 7:51). The true moral renewal of man, then, is not the fruit of a greater and more intense moral effort. It comes from the presence of the Holy Spirit in the circumcised heart.
In his contrast of two circumcisions, Paul invokes the distinction between letter and Spirit that he had used a year earlier to describe the difference between the Old Testament dispensation and the Christian Gospel (2 Corinthians 3:6). The circumcision or pruning of the human heart places that heart under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, whose grace causes the human being to become a child of God (8:15; Galatians 4:6). The Gospel, then, is not simply a source of new moral information; it is the internal principle of a new mode of life.
Paul’s distinction between a Jew in the flesh and a Jew in the Spirit puts us in mind of Jesus’ insistence, in the Sermon on the Mount, that a believer’s existence is defined, not by his external observance of a religious code, but by his internal relationship to the heavenly Father (Matthew 6:1,4,6,8,14,18). Indeed, the same expression “secret” (krypton) is used in both places (verses 16,29; Matthew 6:4,6).
In spite of the historical advantage that God has given the Jew over the Gentile (verses 9-10; 1:16), they are both called by the Gospel to the same repentance.
Thursday, February 9
Genesis 40: Genesis 40: The climax of the Joseph story will be his revelation of himself to his brothers. Everything in the story is arranged to set up that event. Thus, Joseph must go to jail. If he does not go to jail, he will not meet the king’s cupbearer. If he does not meet the king’s cupbearer, he will not come to the attention of Pharaoh. If he is not brought to the attention of Pharaoh, he will not encounter his brothers. And so on. The narrative is thus very carefully pieced together.
Meanwhile, Joseph is in jail. Indeed, he is pretty much running the place after a while (39:23), when two other prisoners are brought in (verses 1-4). Already introduced to the reader as a man of dreams in Genesis 37, Joseph now appears as an interpreter of dreams (verses 4-8).
A royal cup bearer was a great deal more than a table servant. He was, rather, a high official of the court, normally ranking right after the royal family itself. Such men were obliged to be very careful, for they served very autocratic masters and were perpetually in danger of offending them (cf. Nehemiah 1:11—2:6). Somehow or other, this cup bearer had managed to offend Pharaoh. Thrown in jail, he had done a lot of brooding, and this brooding led to a dream about his fate (verses 9-11). Joseph’s interpretation of the dream, however, is rather encouraging (verses 12-13). In this instance, to “lift up the head” means to exalt, to restore to honor. Even as Joseph gives the cup bearer his interpretation of the dream, he senses that this gentleman may someday provide his own way out of prison (verses 14-15).
Encouraged by Joseph’s interpretation of the cup bearer’s dream, the royal baker decides to tell his own dream (verses 16-17). The images in each dream are related to the professions of the dreamers, pressed grapes and cup for the first man, baskets of bakery goods for the second. In each case, the number “three” is important. This second dream, nonetheless, introduces a disturbing note: Birds come and peck at the baked goods. This is an alien element, a common symbol of frustration in dreams.
Joseph sees right away that this is not a good sign (verses 18-19). There is a rather grim play on words here. “Lifting up the head” no longer means restoration and exaltation. It now assumes a disturbing literal sense; the baker’s head will be “lifted up” when he is impaled on a tall stake, perhaps. The meaning of the metaphor could also be that the man will be hanged, crucified, or beheaded. All three forms of punishment were known, and the metaphor could cover any of the three. We observe that the baker neglects to thank Joseph for his interpretation!
The important point is that Joseph’s interpretations of the two dreams are prophetic (verses 20-23). The next chapter will tell us, however, that Joseph will not be remembered by the cup bearer for another two years.
Friday, February 19
Genesis 41: We now come to the third discussion of dreams in the Joseph story. Pharaoh has a dream. Indeed, it becomes something of a nightmare, causing Pharaoh to wake up, which is perhaps why he can recall the dream so vividly (verses 1-4). Going back to sleep, he has another dream (verses 5-7).
It is interesting that Herodotus (2.136) provides us with a story that parallels the present instance. It concerns the dream of an Ethiopian pharaoh named Shabaka, of the 25th Dynasty (725-667). Egyptian literature itself is full of such dreams. In antiquity dreams were regarded as among the ways that gods revealed practical truths to kings and other leaders. We find another instance of it in the case of Solomon (1 Kings 3; 2 Chronicles 1).
Pharaoh’s two dreams have left him very upset, and at last the cup bearer remembers Joseph (verses 8-13). After all, kings could become very upset if no one could be found to interpret their dreams (cf. Daniel 2:1-6). Evidently the cupbearer sensed danger, since Pharaoh’s dream had not yet an interpreter. The fear serves to jog his memory; he recalls how he himself had gotten out of jail two years earlier. At this point he apparently does not even recall Joseph’s name (verse 12).
Joseph is summoned (verses 14-16). We note that this is the third reference to a change in Joseph’s clothing.
Joseph has no doubt that this dream comes from God. God speaks to man in dreams (compare Job 33:15-18; Numbers 12:6). Pharaoh, then, tells his dreams (verses 17-24). We observe that these dreams are not predictions; they are a diagnosis and a warning. Thus, Joseph is able, not only to interpret the dreams, but to instruct Pharaoh what to do about them. His wisdom, in other words, is not just speculative, but practical (verses 25-32).
These dreams have to do with the Nile River, the annual flooding of which is essential to Egyptian agriculture. The Nile’s failure to flood over a seven years period would be catastrophic indeed. In fact, there is a stone inscription found near the first cataract of the Nile, on the island of Siheil, which indicates that a seven years’ drought was not unthinkable.
Joseph does not even pause (verses 33-36). He immediately supplies the practical remedy for the problem, not even waiting for Pharaoh to question him. One has the impression that he has already worked out the details in his mind, while he gave Pharaoh the interpretation. There is no time to be lost (verse 32). The work will require centralized control. This is no work for a committee, and there is no time for a discussion. The only efficient course will require a strong, swift, executive hand (verse 33).
We have already seen Joseph as a take-charge kind of fellow, managing Potiphar’s estate as soon as he arrived, put in direction of the jail as soon as he became a prisoner, and so forth. Pharaoh knows that he has before him the right man for the job (verses 37-43), recognizing that this wisdom comes from the Holy Spirit (verses 38-39).
Joseph again changes clothes (verse 42) and starts a new life (verses 44-46), with new responsibilities (verse 47-49). His plans are successful (verses 53-57).
Joseph becomes the father of two Israelite tribes (verses 50-52). According to Origen and other interpreters, he is now about thirty years old.