Franciscan at Home

We begin a new series on how to catechise about the miracles of Jesus.

Let us begin with some general comments since in our present climate serious questions have been raised concerning the historicity of the miracles in the Gospels, and the very nature and possibility of miracles.

The question of the historicity of Jesus’ miracles was highlighted recently by the publication of The Gospel according to Judas: By Benjamin Iscariot, by Jeffrey Archer and Frank Moloney. The latter is a Catholic Scripture scholar. At the time of publication, Moloney stated in an interview that the majority of scripture scholars today are agreed that Jesus did not perform any of the nature miracles. The nature miracles presumably include the stilling of the storm, walking on water, the feeding of the five thousand, and the changing of water into wine at Cana. Apart from such expressions of the, allegedly, prevailing view among scholars, there is also a good deal of scepticism about miracles at the popular level. The prevailing culture is to be sceptical about anything that appears not to be capable of scientific verification: both scholarly opinion and popular culture are a manifestation of the same ideological mentality of positivism. This is the continuing legacy of the Enlightenment with its denial of the possibility of divine intervention in the world.

How should we respond to this scepticism? One of the best treatments of miracles is the classic text by C.S.Lewis, Miracles. Even today it is probably true that Lewis’ treatment of miracles is not surpassed. His discussion takes place by way of an argument with a number of key steps. In the next issue of The Sower, we shall look closely at Lewis’ case for the reality of miracles and his arguments against the modern scepticism regarding the possibility of miracles. In this article, though, I want to consider three key themes, mainly drawn from Lewis, which can help us in our general catechesis on miracles.

The presentation of doctrine must be biblical and liturgical.

In the fourth article in this series we wrote about how to ensure that the presentation of doctrine be liturgical. This fifth article forms a diptych with the fourth (a second half hinged to the first), that is, the presentation of doctrine must also be scriptural. Scripture and Tradition - of which liturgy forms a major part - are the two panels of the diptych that are distinct but should not be separated.

The parable of the Vineyard Labourers, in Matt 20:1-16, raises problems for us. It is not hard to feel a degree of sympathy with the workers, who had been hired at the beginning of the day and had put in a full day’s work. Clearly, the householder is free to be generous, but isn’t there also the matter of justice?

So, once again, as with many of the parables, we are confronted with something that seems inevitably to cause a reaction in us. Perhaps by now, if you have been following the series on the Parables in The Sower, you will be suspecting that there is deeper message and meaning that will only be revealed as we learn to put aside our typical reactions. ‘Your thoughts are not my thoughts, and your ways are not my ways, says the Lord of Hosts’. It appears that one purpose of the parables is to expose our ways of thinking and to contrast them with the ways of the Lord. In this way, the parables provide the opportunity, indeed the call, to a conversion of mind and heart. Surely, this is the very essence of a parable, especially those that begin: ‘The kingdom of heaven is like …’. Our Lord is calling his hearers to become conformed to a new way of thinking – a new way which we qualify us to take our place in the kingdom of heaven. The parables contribute to a process whereby we become even more conformed to Christ himself. And this process can only take place if we are prepared to let go of our natural ways of thinking, and especially of our normal reactions.

In our previous article we examined how the Patristic tradition helps us to understand how a personal ‘hearing’ of Christ through the Scriptures may be theologically explained and legitimated. The Holy Spirit who indwells the sacred text, the Church, and the reader-interpreter is active in mediating the living voice of Christ in the Scriptures. The occasion of hearing Christ’s voice is an action of grace that is deeply personal, yet never private, since the Spirit works likewise in and through the entire community of faith, mediating the Paschal mystery throughout the whole life of the Church. Yet experience has taught us that a fundamentalist tendency may creep in that attempts to privatize this meaning to the exclusion of other authentic voices emanating from the Church. The Pontifical Biblical Commission has stated this view well:

‘The Spirit is, assuredly, also given to individual Christians, [emphasis theirs] so that their hearts can ‘burn within them’ (Luke 24:32), as they pray and prayerfully study the Scripture within the context of their own personal lives. This is why the Second Vatican Council insisted that access to Scripture be facilitated in every possible way (Dei Verbum, 22; 25). This kind of reading, it should be noted, is never completely private, for the believer always reads and interprets Scripture within the faith of the Church and then brings back to the community the fruit of that reading, for the enrichment of the common faith.’[i]

But how is this authentic experience of grace appropriated without the negative side effect of disaffection from communion with the Roman Catholic Church and casting one’s hermeneutical loyalty in the arena of biblical fundamentalism? The answer is to be found in the early Patristic practice of uniting the spiritual sense, a highly personalized appropriation of the biblical message, with the living tradition of the community of faith.[ii] We shall begin by first noting some of the features of fundamentalism, both biblical fundamentalism and a peculiar manifestation of fundamentalism among Catholics.

The Gospel writers tell us that after the resurrection Jesus opened the minds of the disciples to understand the Scriptures – in other words, the Old Testament – showing how the whole of the Old Testament was speaking about himself. It also became increasingly clear to the early Church that Christ had established an identity between himself and those who were his followers.

As a result, the Church saw that the opening of their minds also included seeing the Old Testament as also revealing the Church, for Christ is now not simply the historical person, but is the totus Christus – the whole Christ, which is Christ and his Body, the Church. Furthermore, the early Church also realised that the reality of Christ, Head and members, is itself an image of the final heavenly reality which will be complete only after the second coming. The identity of Christ and the Church on earth is a prefigurement of the totus Christus in heaven.

It is appropriate therefore, to look at a parable which expresses the reality of the totus Christus and invites us to reflect on our life in the Church as a preparation for and a prefigurement of the life of heaven in which our transformation into the likeness of Christ will be complete.

Church teaching helps us to see how to personally appropriate the Scriptures as living sources for our lives and for our catechesis.

John Paul II’s apostolic exhortation Catechesi Tradendae (CT) begins by underscoring the christocentricity of catechesis. Since a Person, the Person of the Lord, is at the heart of catechesis, then the “primary and essential object of catechesis is… ‘the mystery of Christ.’” Moreover, this means that “the aim of catechesis is to put people not only in touch but in communion, in intimacy, with Jesus Christ: only he can lead us to the love of the Father in the Spirit and make us share in the life of the Holy Trinity” (CT §5).

A deeper understanding of the mystery of Christ is tied significantly to the Word of God, as it is articulated in Scripture and Tradition. The catechumen and catechesis itself are to be “impregnated” with the word of Scripture (CT §§20, 27).[i] The Catechism of the Catholic Church (CCC) reinforces and deepens these points by teaching that “Christ … is the Father’s one, perfect, and unsurpassable Word…[in whom] he has said everything” (CCC §65) and that “through all the words of Sacred Scripture, God speaks only one single Word, his one Utterance in whom he expresses himself completely” (CCC §102).[ii]

Given the correlation between the living Word of God, Christ, and the Scriptures, it is not uncommon for catechumens and catechists to tell of reading or hearing Scripture in a way that speaks directly to their hearts and the circumstances of their lives. Those who have received this grace testify to the intense sense of meaning that is found in the personal appropriation of Scripture that now fills, spiritually feeds, and directs their lives. The Scriptures are for them no “dead letter” (CCC §111; cf. 2 Cor 3:6) but the living word of God (Hebrews 4:12).

As wonderful as this experience is, it raises two questions. First, how may we explain theologically the experience of personal appropriation of Scripture for one’s life? Second, how is such an interpretation of Scripture deeply personal and yet not private so as not to succumb to the literalism of biblical fundamentalism?

En María, vemos cómo la Parábola de la Lámpara alcanza su pleno cumplimiento.

La Parábola de la Lámpara se encuentra en los Evangelios de Mateo, Marcos y Lucas (Mt 5: 14-16, Mc 4:21-23, y Lc 8:16-18, 11:33-36). ¡Se le sugiere al lector que primero lea los textos bíblicos antes de seguir con este artículo!

Esta parábola se relaciona con la enseñanza inicial de Jesús y el llamado a los discípulos de transmitir esa enseñanza a los demás: Marcos y Lucas sitúan la Parábola inmediatamente después de la Parábola del Sembrador, mientras que Mateo la ubica dentro del Sermón del Monte en lugar del discurso sobre las parábolas.

Al colocar a la Parábola de la Lámpara tras la Parábola del Sembrador, Marcos y Lucas la interpretan claramente como la consecuencia de escuchar la palabra de Dios de manera fructífera. Si la palabra de Dios ha sido recibida de modo que da frutos – sesenta, ochenta, o hasta cien veces más - entonces es para que el discípulo pueda ser luz para los demás. Es extraordinario pensar que cuando alguien ha recibido la luz de la Revelación, y que ha escuchado y acogido a la palabra de Dios en su vida, entonces él o ella se convierte en una especie de fuente secundaria de luz, de revelación.

In Mary, we see how the parable of the lamp is completely fulfilled.

The Parable of the Lamp is found in the Gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke (Matthew 5:14-16, Mark 4:21-23 and Luke 8:16-18, 11:33-36). Do read these passages before the article that follows!

The parable is connected with Jesus’ initial teaching and the call to the disciples to transmit that teaching to others. Mark and Luke situate the parable immediately following the parable of the Sower, while Matthew locates it within the Sermon on the Mount rather than the discourse on the parables.

By placing the parable of the lamp after the parable of the Sower, Mark and Luke are clearly interpreting it as the consequence of hearing the word of God fruitfully. If the word of God has been received in such a way as to bear fruit – sixty, eighty, even a hundredfold, then it is so that the disciple can be a light for others. It is a remarkable thought that once a person has received the light of revelation, has heard and welcomed the word of God into his or her life, then he or she becomes a sort of secondary source of light, of revelation.

For a number of years now I have been reflecting upon a common experience shared by many catechists in relation to teaching the parables. It is a remarkable fact that, when we hear a great many of the parables being proclaimed or read them for ourselves, we experience some form of negative reaction to them. Similarly, when preaching or teaching on the parables, we find that our listeners are also having the same reaction.

Think for a moment of the typical reactions to the parable of the man without the wedding garment, or that of the labourers who were paid the same for one hour’s work as those who had borne the heat of the day. Then there is the Prodigal Son—our sympathy is with the elder brother.

When it comes to negative reactions, perhaps the classic parable is that of the Wise and Foolish Virgins. I frequently ask the question—how many of us really love the wise virgins? I find that there are few, if any, who admit even to sympathising with them, let alone sharing in their wisdom and seeking to emulate them. The truth is that we consider them to be notably un-Christian! After all, they wouldn’t share the oil in their lamps. And isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? I suspect that we are, in fact, quite angry towards those five Wise ones. Our sympathy is entirely with the foolish. They certainly had a raw deal—being sent off to find oil for themselves. And to make matters worse, on their return after, presumably, successfully purchasing the oil, they find themselves excluded, because the bridegroom had arrived and the doors firmly closed. Then, to add insult to injury, the bridegroom declares, ‘I tell you solemnly, I do not know you’.

A number of the parables do not evoke this kind of negative reaction. However, there is a different kind of problem: because we see only the moral message of the parable and not the Gospel message, there is not much reaction at all—not, at least, the burning in our hearts as the parable is explained!

Part of the goal of this series on the parables has been to reveal the—sometimes rather hidden, Gospel message.

St Paul can help us to understand how suffering can be a grace.

Two questions have plagued the minds of Christians and non-Christians alike: Why is there suffering? Why does God allow suffering? In St. Paul’s writings we find profound insights into the meaning of suffering. Pope John Paul II explains why St. Paul writes so much on suffering: ‘The Apostle shares his own discovery and rejoices in it because of all those whom it can help—just as it helped him—to understand the salvific meaning of suffering’ (Salvifici Doloris, 1).