Christian Art | Meditations On The Love Of Jesus Christ | Lost Sheep Of Israel
Matthew 9: 35 | King James Audio Bible | Saturday, Advent Week 1
35 And Jesus went about all the cities and villages, teaching in their synagogues, and preaching the gospel of the kingdom, and healing every sickness and every disease among the people.
36 ¶ But when he saw the multitudes, he was moved with compassion on them, because they fainted, and were scattered abroad, as sheep having no shepherd.
37 Then saith he unto his disciples, The harvest truly is plenteous, but the labourers are few;
38 Pray ye therefore the Lord of the harvest, that he will send forth labourers into his harvest.
1 AND when he had called unto him his twelve disciples, he gave them power against unclean spirits, to cast them out, and to heal all manner of sickness and all manner of disease.
6 But go rather to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.
7 And as ye go, preach, saying, The kingdom of heaven is at hand.
8 Heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, raise the dead, cast out devils: freely ye have received, freely give.
Today’s Bible verses, as per the Roman lectionary, notably elide Matthew 10: 5: ‘Go not into the way of the Gentiles, and into any city of the Samaritans enter ye not.’ This omission is curious, though understandable: during the Mass especially, we are to contemplate inclusion rather than exclusion, and the intentions behind Jesus’ initial injunctions to those he sends to preach might well require explanation. Jesus, then, tells his missionary disciples: you are sent now to preach to the Jews alone, not to Gentiles, not to Samaritans, but to Jews alone.
There are, now, those who say that Jesus came to preach to the Jews alone, that his way was orthodox Jewish, and that he would be amazed that his teaching should be taken to the Gentiles. These are people who say that the Gospels, our record of the life of Jesus, have been changed to fit in with a Gentile Christianity. Such people tend to say that the Gospels have been edited and rewritten in the light of St Paul. (Incidentally, they point to the destruction of Jerusalem in AD 70 as sealing the fate of a rival and exclusively Jewish Christianity, based there and led, as it is said, by James.)
It may be a good thing to encounter such theories, and then to read and listen to the Gospels again, and so thereby to encounter much more powerfully Christ’s true majesty.
Now, still, we hear that we are not to cast our ‘pearls before swine’ or to give the divine food of the elect ‘to the dogs’, and such injunctions once more demand that we engage ever more closely with Christ the God-man, to come up close to him as if we are there in the moment of utterance, so that we vibrate with objections and questions and outright desires and needs while Jesus speaks and we resonate to his words, right here, right now.
In the very person of Christ, and in these Gospel verses, we sense the sheer intensity of the drama of repentance, forgiveness and salvation. The Jewish people were first called. So many refused that call. And so then the Gentiles also are called to fill the places at the wedding banquet. The whole world is called! We are all called! We can be confident of this great calling for all time.
The Gospels, though, are not a neat summary account of this calling. Christ’s life is 100% human as well as 100% divine. And human life is messy. It is changeable, conflicted, packed with human drama. Christ’s human life reflects the many, many conflicts affecting the lives of all surrounding him, including the incredible tension between Jews and Gentiles.
In his missionary work, Christ teaches love and tolerance. He heals all who come to him, Gentile and Jew alike. Finally, it is through the ultimate sacrifice, through the cross, that Christ cuts through all internecine conflicts once and for all, and so definitively heals us.
‘The hope of truth and freedom is already ours, dearly beloved, but if we are to attain truth and freedom in reality we must endure and persevere. The very fact that we are Christians is the substance of faith and hope. But in order that faith and hope may attain their full fruit, there is need of patience.’ St Cyprian
King James Audio Bible | KJV | King James Version
Concluding Prayer
Lord, to free man from his sinful stae
you sent your only Son into this world.
Grant to us who in faith and love wait for his coming
your gift of grace
and the reward of true freedom.
We make our prayer through our Lord.
The Sadducees are explicitly held up for criticism in the Gospels less often than the Pharisees, even though they provided the elite which ran the Temple. This is partly because, with the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple in AD 70, the Sadducees were wiped out as a force in Jewish religious life and politics. The Judaism which survived, to regroup and forge a new identity, was that of the Pharisees. Consequently, when there were rivalries between Jews and Christians, it was the Pharisees with whom Christians would find themselves in conflict, and this would colour the memory of earlier times [ … ]
Psalm 56 is a heartfelt prayer and an expression of profound trust in God amid distress and persecution. The psalmist begins by pleading for God’s mercy, feeling besieged by adversaries who seek to oppress and swallow him up. This prayer encapsulates the psalmist’s raw emotions and the desire for divine intervention in the face of adversity [ … ]
The Carrefour will be open, where I can buy nuts for the red squirrel, who lives in Campo Grande. The red squirrel is Valladolid’s best bit. Even as a child, I had never seen one before, apart from in picture books. It was last term’s discovery. The most beautiful encounter. I didn’t know it was there – in the park. A complete surprise. The tiny little thing bobbled and hopped, as it received in its little hands a nut from the man’s hands. Each surprising instant – it was childlike. I whispered: ‘Oh my wow.’ I walk toward the El Cortes Ingles. There is, for now, that settled feel of friends in bookshops. Though a null-affect, neutral day – it won’t glean, it is not to be scratched at. The queues are long in the Carrefour. Though, as it might be, on relatively modest incomes, many people live centrally. Their behaviours neither pinched nor stark. Yet the shop so busy while the street so empty… An error in the simulation, a glitch in the code. I potter about the aisles, which are pleasant enough, then at the tills I flinch at how expensive a little bag of up-sold nuts can be. Nonetheless, I queue for a packet of almonds. Two English men queue directly ahead of me. They are stocky, and have gay voices, their wheelie-bucket piled with soft drinks and party food, while they bitch to one another about the obviously terrible party they’re going to. The air heaves relief as I wander up the way to the broad plaza fringing Campo Grande. This is a place to see – a piece of Spain. There is a tourist information office, though unopened. At these fountains, three girls take selfies. Pompous-looking buildings, the military offices aside, line the park’s nearest vicinities. Hotel-bars have their patches. Liveried doormen idle time, for there are no paying customers, in and out the doorways’ shadows. A mixed group of kids play at the hoops on the pedestrian boulevard, and two boys practise on skateboards, working the thing out. I pass by them, touched by the thought, and happy that they are there. Wistful, I smile at the odds of the ball spilling over to me, and play in mind the agreeable scene of a fleeting connection. Then I am through the park gates. An air now – of humanity become self-selecting. Modestly understated. Understatedly modest. Campo Grande is nice but it isn’t grande… I walk slowly, and very soon hear for a second time English voices. Not them – it is an English family, just a little way ahead, a Dad and a Mum and a younger boy and an older girl, and theirs are Midlands accents. Dad seems to have been here and to know the place. He gestures panoramically. Mum wants her lunch. The girl at a difficult age. She carries a balloon-on-a-stick. Though she is sprouting – yet wears a loud dress. Then leggings, trainers. Her hair is nice… Maybe she is being okay about it. And not horrific. It’s okay once they get into it, but those months… Yet then, they mostly blossom, if they come from a good home, and become rounded personalities, entering into their womanhood. It was that… when yet they weren’t… I shudder to think of it. They walk toward the pond, and I trail, and would follow had I not been going that way. I wish I could say something so they might hear I am English too. (Fake a phone call?) How my voice might sound – there’d be all college hurling around in such matter I… a demented thing, ludicrous blurt – of Henry, Geoff, and all of them – not to mention the personal predicament. Maybe they’re a nice family. She is letting him explain what he needs to explain. And it would blow his fire, me being English. Mum and Dad. You’d probably see them all having their lunch in a little while. All sat round the table. With napkins and the menus out. Dad looks safe. I look into the pond. Terrapins live in there. But not today. I walk toward the join in the paths where the squirrel lives. There, I crumple the packet of almonds, making noise. I peer and I squat and crouch – chewing a mouthful. All the peacocks have perched right up in the trees’ branches. That never looks like something they should be doing. It’s disappointing that the squirrel isn’t here – but then the not-knowing-if is a part of it. Now, next, my visit to the National Sculpture Museum is an obligation. Canon Peter stood literally aghast when I hadn’t heard of it. Mortified, I made resolute promises. Though a few weeks have passed, it isn’t just any old something I could do on the hoof. A great commitment – it must command a known and prepared and anticipated not-just-any-old-time. But, rather, the sort you must wait for – and listen for. [ … ] Beyond Plaza Mayor, there would be a brief series of old-town alleyways. The National Sculpture Museum would be – just up there, this archway, this next…They are bleached and forgotten-looking walls, and the smoothed paving could be medieval. Not that it is making Tomàs anxious – I follow the map. A kind of place – uneasy credit-cards, and modern vaccinations, and a phone, might not help much. I fancy I feel the back-wall of a church, and that – fancifully – pressure-release drawn out of me. Only I am playing games in a nice way – making play-scared on the uncertainty – with only myself to see. The National Museum is there, modestly signed on stencilled plexiglass stuck to the stone wall. A uniformed lady sits just a little way inside the doorway. She reassures me there is no money required, and directs me over the courtyard into the planned route, showing me where I can pick up a free map. I get my […]
