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Office Of Readings | Advent 17th December | A Reading From A Letter Of Pope Saint Leo The Great | The Mystery Of Our Reconciliation With God | True Humanity Of Jesus Christ
‘The mystery of our reconciliation with God.’
This reading explains why the true humanity of Jesus Christ is essential for salvation. Saint Leo insists that it is not enough to say that Jesus was human in a general sense. Jesus must be recognised as truly belonging to human history, descended from the line traced in the Gospels.
The genealogies in Matthew and Luke are central to this argument. Matthew shows Christ’s descent from Abraham and David, locating him within the history of Israel. Luke traces the line back to Adam, emphasising that Christ shares the same human nature as all people. By linking Christ to both the first Adam and the last Adam, the Gospel shows that salvation concerns the whole human race.
Saint Leo contrasts the incarnation with earlier appearances of God in human form. In the Old Testament, God sometimes appeared in visible ways, but these were temporary signs pointing forward. They were not the incarnation itself. Reconciliation with God required not an appearance, but a real human birth, brought about by the Holy Spirit through the Virgin Mary.
The reading stresses that salvation could only occur if Jesus fully shared our condition. If Christ had not taken human nature from within the human family, his victory over sin and death would not have applied to us. Redemption had to be achieved from inside the human condition, not from outside it.
Finally, Saint Leo connects Christ’s birth with the new birth of believers. Just as Christ was conceived by the Spirit, so Christians are reborn by the same Spirit. Reconciliation with God is therefore not only an event in Christ’s life, but something shared by those who are joined to Jesus.
A Reading From A Letter Of Pope Saint Leo The Great | The Mystery Of Our Reconciliation With God
To speak of our Lord, the son of the Blessed Virgin Mary, as true and perfect man is of no value to us if we do not believe that he is descended from the line of ancestors set out in the Gospel.
Matthew’s gospel begins by setting out the genealogy of Jesus Christ, son of David, son of Abraham, and then traces his human descent by bringing his ancestral line down to his mother’s husband, Joseph. On the other hand, Luke traces his parentage backward step by step to the actual father of mankind, to show that both the first and the last Adam share the same nature.
No doubt the Son of God in his omnipotence could have taught and sanctified men by appearing to them in a semblance of human form as he did to the patriarchs and prophets, when for instance he engaged in a wrestling contest or entered into conversation with them, or when he accepted their hospitality and even ate the food they set before him. But these appearances were only types, signs that mysteriously foretold the coming of one who would take a true human nature from the stock of the patriarchs who had gone before him. No mere figure, then, fulfilled the mystery of our reconciliation with God, ordained from all eternity. The Holy Spirit had not yet come upon the Virgin nor had the power of the Most High overshadowed her, so that within her spotless womb Wisdom might build itself a house and the Word become flesh. The divine nature and the nature of a servant were to be united in one person so that the Creator of time might be born in time, and he through whom all things were made might be brought forth in their midst.
For unless the new man, by being made in the likeness of sinful flesh, had taken on himself the nature of our first parents, unless he had stooped to be one in substance with his mother while sharing the Father’s substance and, being alone free from sin, united our nature to his, the whole human race would still be held captive under the dominion of Satan. The Conqueror’s victory would have profited us nothing if the battle had been fought outside our human condition. But through this wonderful blending the mystery of new birth shone upon us, so that through the same Spirit by whom Christ was conceived and brought forth we too might be born again in a spiritual birth; and in consequence the evangelist declares the faithful to have been born not of blood, nor of the desire of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.
Christian Prayer With Jesus Christ
Lord God,
you chose to save us
by sending your Son among us
as one who truly shared our nature.
Grant that we may live
as those born again by your Spirit,
and remain faithful
to the gift of reconciliation
you have given us in Christ.
Amen.
Glossary Of Christian Terms
Incarnation – The taking of human nature by the Son of God in Jesus Christ.
Genealogy – A record of family descent, used in the Gospels to show Christ’s place in human history.
Adam – The first man; Christ is called the ‘last Adam’ because he restores what was lost through sin.
Reconciliation – The restoration of the relationship between God and humanity through Christ.
Holy Spirit – The Spirit of God, through whom Christ was conceived and believers are reborn.
New birth – Spiritual rebirth given by God, not by human effort.
Psalm 115 in the King James Version (KJV) of the Bible presents a narrative that contrasts the living God of Israel with lifeless pagan idols. This psalm is part of the ‘Egyptian Hallel’ group, typically read during Passover, and reflects a time when the Israelites, despite facing mockery from neighboring peoples, reaffirm their faith in God [ … }
Saint Luke states that Jesus was born in Nazareth and that his parents had to travel to Bethlehem for a census, which was conducted when Quirinius was Governor of Syria. The reference to Quirinius as Governor of Syria is significant because historical records indicate that he held this position twice, first from AD 6-9 and again from AD 11-12 This means that Jesus’ birth would fall around these dates, and at least a decade after the date suggested by Matthew. [ … ]
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 Tomà s 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 […]
