Category: Scripture

8 min read

Scripture

What We Believe 5: The Church of Glory and Love (Jn 17:4-10)

Father Joshua J. Whitfield

April 28, 2023 7:00 am April 28, 2023

8 min read

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8 min read

As Jesus continues his prayer in John 17, he is still talking about glory. “I glorified you on earth by accomplishing the work that you gave me to do” (Jn…

As Jesus continues his prayer in John 17, he is still talking about glory.

“I glorified you on earth by accomplishing the work that you gave me to do” (Jn 17:4). St. Augustine thought Jesus was speaking prophetically here of his upcoming crucifixion. St. Thomas Aquinas also thought these words referred to his Passion, because, in a sense, it has “already begun.” But St. Thomas also understood it to refer plainly to Jesus’s earthly teaching, that is, all that’s found in the Gospels up to this point — his preaching, his miracles. The glory Jesus is praying for now is of a piece with his entire life. In living and dying, the glory is the same.

“Now glorify me, Father, with you, with the glory that I had with you before the world began” (Jn 17:5). St. Augustine read this right, and St. Thomas Aquinas agreed: here, Christ, in his human nature, asks the Father to glorify his human nature with the same glory Christ, in his divine nature, already always possesses, from “before the world began.” Earlier Jesus has told them, “I came from the Father and have come into the world. Now I am leaving the world and going back to the Father” (Jn 16:28). The Gospel writer and other early Christians understood Christ was with the Father before the world existed —pre-temporally, “begotten, not made” we say in the Nicene Creed, eternal with the Father. That’s because the Father and the Son are — again, as we say in the Creed — “consubstantial.”

Jesus intimated this earlier in the Gospel when he said things like, “My Father is at work until now, so I am at work.” When Jesus said this, the Gospel says the people wanted “all the more to kill him, because he not only broke the sabbath, but he also called God his own father, making himself equal to God” (Jn 5:17-18). The reason Jesus’s sabbath miracles were so scandalous, you see, was because only God worked on the sabbath. Saying he worked just as his Father worked, his first listeners knew what he meant. He would speak even plainer later in the Gospel saying, “The Father and I are one” (Jn 10:30). Since the beginning, Christians understood that what you said about the Holy One of Israel you also had to say about Jesus. They did not have the philosophical language the Church would later employ, but they knew Jesus shared glory with the Father from the beginning. Earlier in the Gospel Philip asked Jesus, “Master, show us the Father.” Jesus answered him, “Whoever has seen me has seen the Father” (Jn 14:8-9). Some have suggested Christians invented the idea of the divinity of Jesus only about the fourth century. This, by even a superficial reading of the New Testament, is patent nonsense. Early Christians believed Jesus was God. They certainly did not have the vocabulary of the fourth century, but they believed it nonetheless.

But, back to John 17 itself, what Jesus is asking his Father to do is to exalt him in his human nature. In this hour of darkness and betrayal, Jesus keeps talking about glory, the glory of his preaching, life and death. He is asking his Father, to use Paul’s later language, to greatly exalt him, giving him the name “above every name,” the “name of Jesus,” at which every knee should bend, confessing that “Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of God the Father” (Phil 2:9-11). Again, at the very least, it is a remarkable thing to pray for so close to scourging and death, so close to events that will seem anything but exaltation — except for believers. They will see. They will believe, finding eternal life (Jn 8:28; 3:14-15).

“I revealed your name to those whom you gave me out of the world. They belonged to you, and you gave them to me, and they have kept your word” (Jn 17:6). Jesus is talking here of the disciples — the Twelve, the seventy, the others. He was faithful in the delivery of the word as were they in keeping it.

“Now they know that everything you gave me is from you, because the words you gave me I have given to them, and they accepted them and truly understood that I came from you, and they have believed that you sent me” (Jn 17:7-8). Jesus is talking about his disciples; they accepted, understood and believed. But notice what is beginning to emerge, a movement, a mission that begins in God: “everything … the words,” the Father gives to the Son, the Son in turn gives to the disciples. What is given, of course, is Jesus himself. We should notice the movement, the trajectory, which will be made more explicit later: the Father sent the Son and the Son called and sent the disciples, making them “apostles,” which means “sent.” The disciples understand that their mission is to go and talk about Jesus, to give the word as Jesus gives it to them. The mission is to preach Jesus — whose glory is with the Father from before the beginning of the world — who is one with the Father and who offers eternal life.

And Jesus continues: “I pray for them. I do not pray for the world but for the ones you have given me, because they are yours, and everything of mine is yours and everything of yours is mine, and I have been glorified in them” (Jn 17:9-10). This is interesting. Jesus does not pray for the world, only his disciples. Is Jesus being exclusionary, bitter toward those who did not accept him? I don’t think so at all. Rather, this tells us something profound about how Jesus saves us, and that’s through a very divine but also a very human way of loving.

Think about it this way, I’ve got a friend named Mark. I love Mark as a brother in Christ. But it is just true that I love my wife more than I love him. No one would think it strange that I love my wife more than I love Mark. What would be strange is if I loved them equally. And that is because in creation there is something very good about the ethically jealous loves we experience. I should love my wife more than anyone else with a love forsaking all others. And you too should forsake all others, loving your wife or husband as you love no one else. But why? Because when you love someone uniquely and individually, you then know how to love other people properly. Your first love orders all your other loves. I love my kids more than your kids, for instance, and that is good. God gave me a unique, intense love for my children which I do not have for your children, and that is so my children can learn what it means to be loved well — all so that they can know how to love well in turn, and so on and so on. Unique, ethically jealous love is the way love spreads in this world. It is simply the natural way love grows. Personal loves always go before more general loves. That is just the way love works.

So let us listen to Jesus’s words again: “I pray for them. I do not pray for the world but for the ones you have given me” (Jn 17:9). Jesus loves with that same sort of unique, jealous, intimate, personal love. He knows that when he loves his disciples that way and when his disciples love other disciples that way, then that love will spread because we have all experienced it, because we have been loved and love in just that personal, intimate way. Christianity, you see, is not some political platform, some credenda, a set of abstract philosophical propositions. Rather, Christianity is simply love grown. So, Jesus here is indeed not praying for the entire world. But there is a good reason for that, because he loves with not just fully divine love, but fully human love, too. Because he loves the disciples, he prays for them with love that will — through the Church, in time — include the whole world. And it is a love that shares in the glory of the Father and the Son, not a worldly love at all. Here we see the very beginnings of the Church, of mission. And it all begins in God and in love in those who believe.

Father Joshua J. Whitfield is pastor of St. Rita Catholic Community in Dallas and author of “The Crisis of Bad Preaching” (Ave Maria Press, $17.95) and other books. Read more from the series here.

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9 min read

Scripture

What We Believe, Part 30: The Vision of Christ

Father Joshua J. Whitfield

April 18, 2023 12:28 pm April 18, 2023

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9 min read

Clearly, from the Catholic point of view, Scripture and Tradition should fit together, work together for the sake of presenting, without error, the “mystery of Christ,” so that all people…

Clearly, from the Catholic point of view, Scripture and Tradition should fit together, work together for the sake of presenting, without error, the “mystery of Christ,” so that all people might hear the “summons to salvation” (Dei Verbum, No. 1). The purpose of the Scripture is to show us Jesus, to teach, to sanctify, to change us.

The Church we’ve been talking about is the Catholic Church, the Scripture is the canonical Scripture, the Tradition is apostolic tradition centered on Peter. These are real things, not just ideas. And that’s because all of it points to the real Christ — who isn’t just a concept either. Rather, he’s a Christ we can see, whom we can touch and even taste.

Which brings us — to conclude our discussion of the Scripture and Tradition — to the final purpose of it all. And that is, simply, the vision of Christ. That’s what encountering the Scripture through Tradition within the communion of the Church does for the believer: it offers the vision of Christ. Such is what we mean when we talk about the “mystery of Christ” (Catechism of the Catholic Church, No. 80). That’s the event of revelation. And again, that’s a real encounter, a real vision. And that’s because it’s a sacramental vision, Eucharistic and holy.

Firstly, what we mean here is that the vision of Christ is granted in the Eucharist. We see this in Luke’s Gospel, in the story of the risen but hidden Jesus who walks and talks with two disciples on the road to Emmaus. Starting with “Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them what referred to him in all the scriptures,” Luke writes. Which causes the men to desire this mysterious figure. “Stay with us,” they beg him. It’s a prayer that gathers the three around a table. And there, Luke says, “they recognized him” in the breaking of the bread (Lk 24:25-32). Jesus opened Scripture to them, so they would see him in the Eucharist. This is what Scripture does: it helps us recognize Christ in the Eucharist. We see in this story the basic twofold shape of the Mass — the Liturgy of the Word and the Liturgy of the Eucharist. In the Liturgy of the Word, we hear the Scripture proclaimed and preached. In the Liturgy of the Eucharist, we encounter Jesus just as these two men did in the breaking of the bread. Our eyes are opened, and we recognize him.

For the present purpose, we should notice that this twofold pattern of Word and Eucharist is found throughout Christian history. In the writings of St. Justin Martyr, for instance, we find a description of the Eucharist as celebrated in Rome in the second century, and, in it, we see the same pattern found in Luke is the same found in the Mass today. “And on the day called Sunday all who live in cities or in the country gather together to one place, and the memoirs of the apostles or the writings of the prophets are read, as long as time permits; then, when the reader has ceased, the president verbally instructs, and exhorts to the imitation of these good things. Then we all rise together and pray, and, as we before said, when our prayer is ended, bread and wine and water are brought, and the president in like manner offers prayers and thanksgivings, according to his ability, and the people assent, saying Amen” (“First Apology,” No. 62). That’s the same pattern as found in Luke 24. That’s the Catholic Mass today. The Scripture helps us see Christ in the Eucharist. That ultimately is what the Scripture is for. It’s to help us find Christ and to receive him — in the Eucharist.

But the vision of Christ given us through the Scripture is not just Eucharistic. It’s not just about seeing Jesus. It’s also about seeing like Jesus. It’s about seeing the world through the eyes of Christ. If you think about it, that’s what the Revelation to John is. Swept up in the Spirit on the Lord’s Day, John heard a voice, “Write on a scroll what you see” (Rv 1:11). The Scripture not only helps us see Jesus, it also gives us a way of seeing, a way of looking at the world and at history much the same way John saw the world in the vision given him at Patmos.

But it’s not a way of seeing in some sort of silly magical sense. Rather, I mean what David Bentley Hart, a Orthodox theologian, means. He said, “the Christian should see two realities at once, one world (as it were) within another: one world as we all know it, in all its beauty and terror, grandeur and dreariness, delight and anguish; and the other world in its first and ultimate truth, not simply ‘nature’ but ‘creation,’ an endless sea of glory, radiant with the beauty of God in every part, innocent of all violence. To see in this way is to rejoice and mourn at once, to regard the world as a mirror of infinite beauty, but as glimpsed through the veil of death; it is to see creation in chains, but beautiful as in the beginning of days” (“The Doors of the Sea,” No. 61). That’s what it means to have the vision of Christ, to see all things as Jesus does. Being people of faith, seeing Jesus, formed in the idioms of Scripture and in the rhetoric of the word of God, it transforms the way we view things. It helps us see things differently, at a different angle — from a spiritual and ultimate perspective.

The Scripture is its own idiom, training believers to see the world a certain way. And that’s because the Scripture itself describes reality in a certain way. Scripture gives us a new way of seeing — the vision of Christ, seeing like Jesus. This actually is the teaching of the Second Vatican Council, that the purpose of the revelation of God in Christ is “to make known to us the hidden purpose of His will by which through Christ, the Word made flesh, man might in the Holy Spirit have access to the Father and come to share in the divine nature” (Dei Verbum, No. 2). That is, the purpose of the Bible is not to explain the universe scientifically, to be for us some sort of cosmic manual. Rather, the purpose of the Bible is to show us God’s heart, his salvation; and from that, to see everything else differently.

What I mean by this different way of seeing — given through the Scripture — we see most clearly in the lives of the early Christian martyrs. In them, we see powerfully what Christians look like when they see the world with the eyes of Jesus. As when martyrs like the priest Pionius — as so many others did — rejected pagan gods for the “God who is almighty … who made the heavens and the earth and all the things that are in them … the God we know through Christ his Word” (“The Martyrdom of Pionius,” No. 8). These people saw things differently. “Why do you rush towards death?” Pionius was asked. “I am not rushing towards death, but towards life,” he answered. Because in Christ he saw things in a radically different way — the way Christ does. Such is the moral and spiritual result of being a scriptural person. It gives us the eyes of martyrs.

But, of course, there’s even something more. When you become a scriptural person, Christ becomes visible in you. That is, people see Jesus in you. Again, we can see in the martyrs what I mean. We see this in St. Blandina, a second-century Christian slave who, in her dying moments, looked like Christ to her brothers and sisters. As the account of her martyrdom reads: “Blandina was hung on a post and exposed as bait for the wild animals that were let loose on her. She seemed to hang there in the form of a cross, and by fervent prayer she aroused intense enthusiasm in those who were undergoing their ordeal, for in their torment with their physical eyes they saw in the person of their sister him who was crucified for them, that he might convince all who believe in him that all who suffer for Christ’s glory will have eternal fellowship in the living God” (“The Martyrs of Lyons,” No. 1.41). Blandina believed in Jesus and loved him and knew him because she responded to the Gospel that was delivered to her. And in that love, she followed Jesus, obeyed him and lived like him. She saw the world as Christ did. And for her, that meant she had to go to the amphitheater and die. But in her faithfulness and adherence to God’s word, not so much intellectually but in love, she died brutally. But those who saw her saw Jesus. They saw Christ in the “person of their sister.” Which is the final result — this side of heaven — of being a person shaped by the Scripture. For Christ to become visible in you. If you want to be a scriptural person, that’s the goal. To be that sort of person who sees Jesus, sees as Jesus; and then by grace, to be the sort of person in whom others see Jesus. Which, of course, is to become a saint.

And that’s how we Catholics view the Scripture.

Father Joshua J. Whitfield is pastor of St. Rita Catholic Community in Dallas and author of “The Crisis of Bad Preaching” (Ave Maria Press, $17.95) and other books. Read more from the series here.

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5 min read

Scripture

Bible 101: A Brief Introduction to the New Testament

Sister Anna Marie McGuan

April 10, 2023 7:17 am April 10, 2023

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5 min read

As the Old Testament is divided into particular genres (the Pentateuch or Torah, the Historical Books, the Prophets, and the Wisdom books), a similar division of the New Testament can…

As the Old Testament is divided into particular genres (the Pentateuch or Torah, the Historical Books, the Prophets, and the Wisdom books), a similar division of the New Testament can also be helpful. The purpose of such a schematic outline is to orient the reader as he reads each book in this second half of the Bible. Knowing what type of writing one is reading can be extremely useful in understanding the text. For example, the Book of Revelation is a symbolic or allegorical interpretation of history and eschatology, the theology of the last things. It does not carry the same historical valence as the four Gospels, and it is not meant to be read as a literal historical account of the end times.

The New Testament literature can be divided more easily by genre or type of writing than the Old Testament because the contents of each book are more uniform.

Interestingly, as in the Old Testament divisions, one can perceive three categories of texts: the Gospels, the letters or epistles, and the apocalyptic genre. These correspond roughly to the three-fold division of the Old Testament according to the Jewish mindset: the Gospels are the new Law; the letters and epistles are similar to the Wisdom literature in that they contain doctrinal teachings, practical counsel and moral exhortation; and the apocalyptic genre can be compared to the prophets. In fact, some of the symbolic and allegorical imagery in the Book of Revelation, which can seem very strange to the modern reader, is very similar to some passages in the Old Testament prophets.

The Gospels

The texture of each section is different, which becomes almost immediately apparent as one begins to read. The Gospels are historical in nature, but they also contain a theological message. They answer: who is Jesus of Nazareth and what is the meaning of his life, death, and Resurrection? The four Gospels are according to Matthew, Mark, Luke and John.

The Acts of the Apostles is also a historical-theological book and is almost certainly the second volume of a two-volume work that includes the Gospel according to Luke. A look at the introductory verses of those two works makes it clear that they are meant to be read together.

Epistles and Letters

The epistles and letters of the New Testament claim various authors, most notably St. Paul. He is the purported author of 13 letters in the New Testament, not counting the Letter to the Hebrews, which has been traditionally ascribed to him as well. St. Paul’s style is intelligent, direct and zealous. After preaching the Gospel in Israel, Syria, Asia Minor and Greece, he corresponded with the communities to teach and encourage them in the Faith. He was on a mission to bring the salvation won by Jesus Christ to as many as possible and did so through almost constant travels. Hence, his letters allowed him to keep in touch with many communities.

St. Paul also asked that the communities share his letters with one another, which they did.

Other New Testament letters are attributed to St. Peter, St. John, St. James and St. Jude. Like the letters of St. Paul, they include doctrinal content and encouragement on the path of virtue. Some scholars posit that certain letters of the New Testament, like 1 Peter, are actually homilies because of their pastoral tone and scriptural explanations.

Book of Revelation

The Book of Revelation is in a category all its own as far as New Testament writings. The genre is that of apocalyptic literature, and it contains specific elements that, if not understood correctly, can lead to misinterpretation. For example, the use of numbers, colors and physical descriptions of monstrous beasts and cosmological disturbances is a symbolic way of describing and explaining the vicissitudes of history and the end times.

The apocalyptic genre is not meant to be read literally; it purposely describes events of history in mysterious images to offer a theological reading of that same history. The goal is to describe the theological importance of the events. For this reason, many scholars understand the Book of Revelation as a theological interpretation of the persecutions the first Christians were facing. The ultimate triumph of the armies of God over the bestial forces of evil and each person’s decision to worship God or bow down to the beast summarizes the Christian understanding of history: despite the horrific persecutions the Christians suffered, the war against evil has been won in the triumph of Christ, but each person must freely believe and cooperate with God to be saved.

The focus of all the New Testament writings is one: to bring to the world the person of Jesus Christ and the salvation he won for us. The diversity of literary styles and genre corresponds to the needs present in different communities and to the most effective way for the evangelists and other authors to preach the Gospel.

Sister Anna Marie McGuan is a Religious Sister of Mercy of Alma, Michigan. She serves the Diocese of Knoxville, Tennessee, as the director of the Office of Christian Formation. Read more from this series here.

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6 min read

Scripture

What We Believe, Part 18: The Church in the Spirit

Father Joshua J. Whitfield

April 3, 2023 1:47 pm April 3, 2023

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6 min read

The Church is a sacrament because it is in Christ. But also because it is in the Spirit. As we saw earlier, Lumen Gentium wastes no time describing the theological…

The Church is a sacrament because it is in Christ. But also because it is in the Spirit. As we saw earlier, Lumen Gentium wastes no time describing the theological nature of the Church, that it is in Christ like a sacrament, a sign and instrument. However, there’s more to be said.

To be in Christ, as we’ve seen, is to belong to God’s saving work, to belong to the history of salvation, so to speak. And it’s by that history — as told in Scripture and rehearsed in Lumen Gentium — that we are able to describe further the theological reality of our own experience as believers, the reality of the Holy Spirit dwelling within us.

Lumen Gentium puts it this way: “When the work which the Father gave the Son to do on earth was accomplished, the Holy Spirit was sent on the day of Pentecost in order that He might continually sanctify the Church, and thus, all those who believe would have access through Christ in one Spirit to the Father. He is the Spirit of Life, a fountain of water springing up to life eternal. To men, dead in sin, the Father gives life through Him, until, in Christ, He brings to life their mortal bodies” (LG 4). This, of course, is simply a rehearsal of Scripture, echoing the story of Pentecost (Acts 2:1-3), Jesus’s teaching in the John’s Gospel (Jn 4:14; 7:37-38), and Pauline teaching (Eph 2:18; Rom 8:10-11).

What’s remarkable, however, is Lumen Gentium’s claim that this rehearsed biblical story remains ongoing in us, in the Church. The Spirit given at Pentecost still dwells within in us, “continually” sanctifying the Church. That is, the Holy Spirit knows no ascension. And thus, as Lumen Gentium continues, “The Spirit dwells in the Church and in the hearts of the faithful, as in a temple.” And what the Spirit does is guide the Church (as Jesus said in Jn 16:13) in “the way of all truth,” continually restoring the Church in the “freshness of youth,” drawing the Church ever nearer its Spouse, the risen Bridegroom Jesus Christ (LG 4). The Spirit keeps the Church oriented toward its final heavenly goal, the heavenly Jerusalem; the Spirit keeps the Church aflame with desire for its final union, expressed in the final prayer of the New Testament — “Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!” (Rev 22:20).

But notice how the Spirit accomplishes this renewing, orienting work in the Church — “in communion and in works of ministry.” Lumen Gentium teaches that the Spirit “equips and directs” the Church with “hierarchical and charismatic gifts,” which he adorns with his “fruits” (LG 4). That is, we believe that the Spirit enlivens the Church both in its visible structures and ministries as well as in the hearts of all believers being sanctified. We believe the Holy Spirit is given assuredly and always to the Church’s hierarchical structure, to its clergy — bishops, priests and deacons. We believe, therefore, that our polity, our clerical structure, is divinely given. This will be explored further when considering the sacrament of Holy Orders and the papacy; suffice it to say at this point, though, that this is a fundamental claim — that the Church’s hierarchical structure of bishops, priests and deacons, a structure that belongs essentially to the mission of God and to the organic nature of the Church, cannot replaced. This claim is distinctly Catholic, shared though by the Orthodox Churches and even some Protestant traditions. This is why in Catholicism you’ll never see things like “executive pastors” or any other different forms of ecclesiastical organization, no matter how more efficient those different structures may be. It’s also why arguments surrounding leadership and hierarchy in Catholicism get so theological so quickly. Because we believe that even the visible structures of the Church belong to its nature as sacrament, enlivened by the Holy Spirit “continually.”

But, of course, one mustn’t think the Holy Spirit dwells among and enlivens only the hierarchy of the Church. Even though that may sometimes seem to be the case, it never is; about that, the Church’s teaching has always been clear. Charismatic gifts belong to whomever the Spirit wills, to all the holy. The presence of the Spirit in the Church — present not just in the hierarchy but in all the saints — guarantees God’s sovereignty over the Church. The Holy Spirit dwells in all God’s people, not just clergy. In the faithful nun or monk. In the faithful parent. In the old lady, warrior at prayer, praying her rosary before Mass, who scares you a little. And it’s that spiritual fact — the fact of Pentecost — that makes for the joy and suffering, the tension, conflict and creativity of the Church. It’s what makes the Church so beautiful and sometimes so strange, giving the Church “the freshness of youth.” It’s also why one shouldn’t put too much store in polls or surveys suggesting the demise of the Church; such headlines make the rounds from time to time as if on schedule. Important though they may be, of course, they are no cause for despair. And that’s because the Holy Spirit remains — always has and always will — sustaining the Church “uninterruptedly” (LG 4).

And finally, it helps to recall for what purpose we believers live in the Church in Christ in the Spirit — so that we may be formed individually and together into Christ, “redeemed” and “re-molded into a new creation,” Lumen Gentium teaches, echoing St. Paul (LG 7; 2 Cor 5:17). That’s what the Holy Spirit, continually dwelling in the Church, does: he builds up the body of Christ, in the unity of faith and in knowledge of the Son, into the full stature of Christ (Eph 4:12-13). This is nothing other than the mission for glory for which Jesus prayed in John 17; it’s just now we see more clearly how this mission for glory is also the Church and its mission — calling in Christ by the Spirit all believers, sisters and brothers “together from all nations, mystically the components of His own Body” (LG 7). This thing we call the Catholic Church of Jesus Christ.

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4 min read

Scripture

The Motives of Judas

Gerald Korson

April 2, 2023 8:52 pm April 2, 2023

4 min read

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4 min read

Judas Iscariot has long been one of the most fascinating characters in the New Testament. As Jesus’ betrayer, he has an unequaled notoriety — and rightly so. Scripture is clear…

Judas Iscariot has long been one of the most fascinating characters in the New Testament. As Jesus’ betrayer, he has an unequaled notoriety — and rightly so.

Scripture is clear in naming him as the turncoat, but his motivation has long been the subject of speculation. How could anyone knowingly, willingly commit such a horrible act against the innocent Lamb of God, the Savior of the world? Some explanations seem designed to mitigate Judas’ guilt by portraying him as one who was not so much sinister as weak, confused or simply trying to be helpful.

Let’s examine first the main theories, all derived from Scripture.

Theories About Motives

First is the theory that Judas betrayed Jesus because he was greedy for money. All four Gospels point to this as at least a contributing motive.

Matthew’s Gospel is unique in mentioning the 30 pieces of silver as the price Judas was paid for the betrayal (see 26:15). It also is the only account that tells of how Judas later regretted his actions, threw the money back at the chief priests and hanged himself (27:3-5).

Mark and Luke also tell about Judas selling out Christ to the high priests (see Mk 14:10-11; Lk 22:1-6). But Luke offers a new wrinkle: Satan first “entered into Judas” (22:3) before he met with the chief priests and scribes to plot Jesus’ arrest.

John’s Gospel is harshest in its treatment of Judas. It is the only Gospel that names Judas as the one who was outraged at the waste when a woman poured perfume on Jesus’ feet, estimating that it could have been sold for a year’s wages and the money be given to the poor (see Jn 12:1-8).

John also assigns Judas a motive for his objection: “He said this not because he cared about the poor but because he was a thief and held the money bag and used to steal the contributions” (12:6). John, like Luke, also mentions Satan’s role in Judas’ betrayal of Jesus (13:27).

So, lust for money and the devil’s influence are the clearest reasons given for Judas’ sin in scriptural accounts. He knew the value of a buck, and he was a man who could be bought. His orientation toward greed made him a relatively easy target for Satan. Perhaps the high priests’ reward represented for him “an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

Other Factors

The Gospels also hint at other contributing factors.

In Matthew, for example, Judas always addresses Jesus as “Rabbi,” but never as “Lord.” Some scholars see this as a sign of Judas’ failure to understand Jesus’ identity and saving role.

The designation “Judas [the] Iscariot” appears in more than one Gospel. “Iscariot” may be a conflation of the Hebrew ish Kerioth, or “man from Kerioth,” a town in the southern part of Judea. If so, it has been weakly speculated, Judas was the only non-Galilean among the Twelve and may have felt like the odd man out, an isolation that could conceivably have heightened the temptation to commit treason.

“Iscariot” also closely resembles a Greek word meaning “dagger-bearer.” This would suggest that Judas was a member of the Dagger-Bearers, the most radical arm of the Zealots.

The Zealots believed the Messiah would come as a military leader who would liberate the Jews from their Roman oppressors. The Dagger-Bearers among them were willing to free the Jewish people through what we would regard today as acts of terrorism. This theory holds that Judas was disillusioned by Jesus and believed that having Jesus arrested might force Him to start the revolution.

A Lesson for All

Which theory is correct? No doubt several of these factors, and perhaps others as well, played a role. In his weekly general audience of Oct. 18, 2006, Pope Benedict XVI spoke about Judas and mentioned some key theories. But, ultimately, he said, Judas’ motives remain a mystery.

The fundamental reality, the Pope noted, is that Judas “yielded to a temptation from the evil one.” He went on to point out a lesson for all believers by noting that as close as Judas was to Jesus, he was not invulnerable to sin.

“It is a mistake,” said Pope Benedict, “to think that the great privilege of living in company with Jesus is enough to make a person holy.

“Jesus does not force our will when He invites us to follow Him along the path of the beatitudes. The only way to avoid the pitfalls that surround us is to give ourselves entirely to Jesus, to enter into full communion with Him, so that we think and act as He did, in total obedience to the Father.”

Gerald Korson writes from Indiana.

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9 min read

Scripture

Mercy In The Bible

Dr. Peter Brown

March 28, 2023 3:32 pm March 28, 2023

9 min read

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What does it mean to say that Yahweh, the God of the Bible, is a merciful God? A good place to start in unpacking the idea is the Hebrew term chesed. Chesed (pronounced…

What does it mean to say that Yahweh, the God of the Bible, is a merciful God?

A good place to start in unpacking the idea is the Hebrew term chesed. Chesed (pronounced with a guttural sounding ch) is one of those delightfully untranslatable terms one finds in the Bible. It has the idea of “the giving of a break” but means much more than that. It combines the notions of “kindness,” “faithfulness,” “truth,” “persistent and steadfast loyalty” and, most of all, “love.”

We see it frequently in the context of the “unfailing love” God shows for Israel in the context of the covenant.

Though untranslatable, chesed captures an important dimension of divine mercy: steadfast and true kindness based on the covenant. Chesed is a wonderful word, but one that still fails to capture the fullness of mercy. Its relational dimensions make it too powerful to convey the idea of the seemingly random act of kindness toward someone you don’t really know well or who doesn’t deserve it. For that we need the term rachamim (again with the guttural ch sound). This one has a near English equivalent: “pity” or “compassion” — something akin to the sentiment that causes you to fall for the three-legged puppy who is neither cute nor potty-trained, but whose attraction is precisely that no one else wants him. In some cases rachamim even extends to family members.

Joseph is overcome with it in dealing with his brothers with whom by all rights he should have been angry (see Gn 43:30). God was furious with Israel, too, after the creation of the golden calf. Yet in one of the Bible’s most famous declarations of mercy, God turns away from his anger declaring in his sovereignty, “I who grant mercy [rachamim] to whom I will” (Ex 33:19).

The Greek New Testament unsurprisingly talks a great deal about “mercy,” too — using different language, of course. The most common term is eleeos, made famous in the Kyrie Eleison rite at Mass right before the Gloria where Catholics say, “Lord, have mercy.” Eleeos truly does mean something very close to what English speakers mean by “mercy,” combining the Hebrew ideas of chesed and raham. It is precisely because he is the “Son of David” with all that implies in terms of God’s covenant that Jesus is asked to take pity on blind Bartimaeus (see Mk 10:47-48; Mt 9:27; 20:30-31; Lk 18:38-39).

What the New Testament adds to “mercy” is splankna, another term difficult to capture perfectly in English, which suggests warm feelings from the deepest innards of the human person. The “deepest innards” is often translated “heart,” although splanknonpoints anatomically to the “guts” below the rib cage. Confusion on this point led to the Douay Rheims’ famous translation of Philemon 1:7 as “the bowels of the saints have been refreshed” when the idea is that the innermost being of the people of God was being renewed. When it comes to God, splankna is a “tenderizer” seasoning added to God’s mercy. The famous Canticle of Zechariah’s “tender mercy of our God” (Lk 1:78) combines the terms splankna and eleeos together.

So now with a little philology under our belt, we are now in a position to do a little biblical theology. We know roughly what God’s mercy is, but who gets it and how?

One central idea advanced by Our Lord is the connection of divine mercy for people with people’s mercy for one another.

This is the message of the parable of the debtor (see Mt 18:21-35) as well as the Lord’s Prayer — “forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors” (Mt 6:12). Our reception of divine mercy is wholly contingent on our ability to show mercy to others. This is not only because of the social dimension of chesed; by making God’s forgiveness contingent on our forgiveness we become a channel of divine mercy, which flows through us to others.

Another crucial aspect to the flow of mercy is based on the humanity of Jesus Christ. His humanity enables him to become our High Priest who is able to identify with our fleshly weaknesses, since he took on frail humanity himself, yet without sin. It is through the humanity of Jesus that we can approach the throne of grace confidently and receive mercy (see Heb 4:14-16).

But let’s not fall into the trap that mercy and forgiveness is an attribute of the New Testament while the God of the Old Testament remains a deity of wrath and judgment. Even a cursory knowledge of the Bible reveals that there are many times when mercy is shown in the Old Testament and many times when divine wrath and judgment are threatened in the New.

Old Testament Prophets

And the Year of Mercy, emphasized the scope of mercy, particularly for those on the margins or the periphery. This is a question actually of great salience for the Old Testament writers in terms of avoiding wrath or receiving mercy, but also in defining the boundaries to which mercy could extend. Does it extend to Israel alone even if Israel is just as culpable as the other nations? Or can the nations receive it, too? And in no place were these very difficult questions more discussed than in the Book of the Twelve, aka the twelve minor prophets from Hosea through Malachi.

The Book of Joel is all about God’s judgment and who can avoid it when it seems that it is in store for everyone. The prophet says in Joel 2:14, “Perhaps he [Yahweh] will again relent and leave a blessing.”

This is key to the biblical idea of mercy — maybe we will get it, but God certainly doesn’t owe it to us. Therefore, we have no right to presume it. On the other hand, if we repent and show our repentance with prayer and fasting, maybe there is hope (see Jl 2:15-18).

In fact, God is merciful (see Jl 2:18-27) and will pour out his Spirit upon all flesh in advance of the judgment (3:1). Paradoxically, “all flesh” do not escape judgment. The nations will be destroyed as God’s people will be exalted (Chapter 4), because they did not call on the name of the Lord (3:5) and accept his mercy. Joel’s view is a somewhat hopeful picture that God’s wrath on the Day of the Lord can be escaped by the few who have the Spirit.

But Amos’ take on judgment is strikingly different. He makes it crystal clear that the various judgments against the nations are fixed; Yahweh, in fact, will not repent (“revoke the punishment” is the translation in the Revised Standard Version; see 1:3,6,9,11,13; 2:1,4,6). The punishments are coming and there is nothing that the nations, or Judah and Israel, can do to avoid them.

And those who have read Joel and actually want the Day of the Lord (see Jl 2:1-2) are in for a rude awakening (Am 5:17). For Amos it will be darkness and not light, with no hope — none at all.

Amos’ message is almost wholly negative. Jonah, however, turns Amos’ message on its head. Due to the reluctant prophet’s preaching, the Gentile king of Nineveh dares to perceive the same prospect of mercy for his people that Joel had for Judah (see Jon 3:9).

And he received it! God did what Amos said he would not do — he “repented” of the judgment he would inflict (see Jon 3:10). The same God, “slow to anger” in his dealings with his covenant people (Ex 34:6), shows himself “slow to anger” with a wicked Gentile nation as well (Jon 4:2).

On the other hand, Nahum rejoiced with sadistic glee that despite its slowness, God’s judgment eventually did fall upon Nineveh after all (see Na 1:3a). But the pendulum swings back again with Habakkuk. Yes, God may punish the Assyrians, but his chosen instrument for doing so is Babylon, and they are about to come down to destroy God’s people in Judah as well (Hb 1:5-6).

Zechariah finds a way for the nations to benefit from God’s coming kingdom after all — the reign which is the main subject of his book (see Zec 14:9). The nations that fight against God will be vanquished, of course (Zec 14:1-4), yet, paradoxically, the portions of the nations who survive the war and become loyal to the true worship of God will experience divine blessing (14:16-21).

On the other side of the Cross, Paul, in Romans 9-11, wonders how it can be that God is showing so much mercy to mostly Gentile Christians while non-Christian Jews seem to have lost the mercy they once possessed. Will God once again withdraw the mercy shown to Gentiles and return it to the Jews? It is hard to say!

Mercy is deeply paradoxical.

Mercy will fall next where we least expect it. God will exalt His people and punish His enemies both in history and at the end of history, but He has enemies both inside and outside the visible boundaries of Israel/Church, and even His people within Israel/Church need purification and have done things worthy of divine chastisement, as have others outside Israel/Church who stand nonetheless to benefit from the purification and be restored to God’s friendship afterward.

Mercy is understandable only against the background of sin and imminent judgment from which no one is exempt. Everyone must repent and show mercy to others, and the greatest hope for mercy is in the humanity of Jesus Christ.

Repentance does not guarantee that one will avoid suffering and chastisement, but it is the constant condition necessary to receive God’s mercy that He stands forever prepared to offer to everyone.

Dr. Peter Brown is the Academic Dean for Catholic Distance University.

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