Christian Art | Lent | Daily Verses
Matthew 5: 43-48 – Lent Week 1, Saturday; also Tuesday Week 12 (King James Audio Bible KJV)
43 ¶ Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy.
44 But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you;
45 That ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust.
46 For if ye love them which love you, what reward have ye? do not even the publicans the same?
47 And if ye salute your brethren only, what do ye more than others? do not even the publicans so?
48 Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect.
The Sermon on the Mount continues with Christ’s call to reconciliation and forgiveness. Jesus urgently wishes the Jews to be at peace among themselves, and he implores his listeners not to aggravate the Roman oppressors, whose utter brutality in suppressing dissent would indeed ultimately destroy Jerusalem. (We should remember that, prior to AD 70, thousands of Jews could be crucified at just one go to suppress insurrectionary threats.) Just as God’s love is for everyone, so we should see everyone as being our neighbour. This is the truth of the teaching of Levitus (19:18): ‘You shall love your neighbour.’
Matthew particularly includes this saying of Jesus because, at the time when he is writing, as in the time of Jesus, there was much competition between rival factions, including among the Jews. The destruction of the Temple, and the slaughter in Jerusalem, in AD 70 would not have helped this situation: this plunged the Jewish people into greater confusion; enemies must have been sensed on every side. Matthew’s Gospel is, then, both a call to brotherly unity and a call to love and to seek to understand all mankind. Especially when people of different faiths and cultures live proximately, and thereby, as we see in the 21st Century, when tensions can be most liable to arise, there is a need to see all people as our neighbours.
These Bible verses develop on the themes of yesterday’s reading. We must reach out with love for all. We think of Jesus tortured and crucified. Despite the agonizing pain and the humiliation, being whipped, spat at, mocked with a crown of thorns, forced to carry his cross through the streets and the jeering crowds, stripped and nailed to the cross to die, Jesus’ thought is to petition his Father to forgive those who are torturing him to death, and to find an excuse for them: ‘Father, forgive them, they know not what they do.’ Jesus loved the people who are killing him. The poison of hatred did not succeed in polluting Christ’s love for us all. ‘Love your enemies.’
It is entirely just, therefore, that we are commanded to be perfect. Strictly speaking, this is impossible: God alone is perfect. We are taught, though, to model ourselves on the perfection of God, while we realise our human flaws and the infinite distance between ourselves and God. We pray for the considerable help grace can give to us as we seek to move toward divine perfection. We should think as well of which particular forms of perfection we are called to imitate. The context suggests that Jesus is thinking of God’s love and mercy. This is a universal call to holiness, to all the brotherhood of man. Christ commands everyone, without exception, to be thus perfect.
‘He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth: he is brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so he openeth not his mouth.’
King James Audio Bible | Endnotes
How Does Jesus Teach That God Is Love?
The events of the Garden of Gethsemane and the Crucifixion of Jesus, Jesus on the Cross, offer powerful reflections on the idea that ‘God is love’.
In the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus faced the agony of knowing that he was about to undergo the worst possible suffering and death. As he prayed to God for strength and courage, he showed his complete trust in the love of God. Jesus knew that his sacrifice would be the ultimate act of love, and he was willing to endure the pain and suffering because he believed in God’s love for humanity.
At the crucifixion, Jesus’ love for humanity was once again demonstrated. As the Apostle John wrote: ‘For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’ (John 3:16 KJV) Through his death, Jesus showed that God’s love is not limited by our human understanding. He bore the punishment for our sins so that we could be reconciled to God and experience his love and forgiveness.
The image of Jesus on the Cross has become a sign of God’s love for humanity throughout Christian history. The Cross declares that God is love, that God’s love is unconditional and sacrificial. It shows that God is willing to go to any lengths to demonstrate his love for us, even to the point of allowing his own Son to die.
The Gospel of Saint John opens with a powerful statement about the nature of God’s love: ‘In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.’ (John 1:1 KJV) This statement points to the idea that Jesus, who is often referred to as ‘the Word’. is a manifestation of God’s love for humanity. The Gospel goes on to describe Jesus as the light of the world, the way, the truth, and the life (John 8:12, 14:6).
Jesus’ death on the Cross is not simply an historical event, but a demonstration of God’s enduring love for all people. As the Apostle Paul wrote: ‘But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.’ (Romans 5:8 KJV) Through his death and resurrection, Jesus has provided a way for us to experience God’s love and forgiveness, and to live in hope of eternal life.
In conclusion, the Garden of Gethsemane and the crucifixion of Jesus on the cross offer powerful reflections on the thought that ‘God is love’. Jesus’ willingness to endure suffering and death shows his complete trust in God’s love, and his sacrifice on the Cross demonstrates the extent of God’s love for all people. Through his death and Resurrection, Jesus has provided a way for us to experience God’s love and forgiveness, and to live in hope of eternal life.
Oh my Jesus, I come before you in faith and trust, asking for your healing touch upon my body. You are the great physician who can heal all afflictions, and I pray that you would bring your healing power into my life. May your love and mercy flow through me, renewing my body, mind, and soul. Grant me the strength to endure any pain and the courage to face any challenge. I ask this in your holy name. Amen [ … ]
Saint Augustine reflects on the joy of the just, a joy rooted not in worldly circumstances but in God himself. He takes as his starting point the psalm’s declaration that ‘the just man will rejoice in the Lord’, and he invites the Christian to recognise this as both a present reality and a future promise. Joy in God is, for Augustine, a mark of the just because it springs from faith and hope—virtues that draw the soul beyond what it sees to what it awaits [ … ]
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 […]
