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Commentary on Luke 18:1-8

One of the attributes attributed to Luke’s Gospel is that his is a ‘Gospel of Prayer’. We see Jesus praying in this Gospel more than in the others and he gives more teaching about prayer. Urging perseverance, today:

Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart.

This is very much a theme in Paul’s letters (see Rom 1:9-10; Rom 12:12; Eph 3:13; Eph 6:18; Col 1:3; 1 Thess 5:16-17; 2 Thess 1:11; 2 Thess 3:13; 2 Cor 4:1,16 and Gal 6:9).

The parable features a totally corrupt judge, who fears neither God nor man. It also features a widow, probably the most powerless, the most pitiful and least pitied of people in the society of that time. She has lost her husband, re-marriage is likely out of the question, she has lost the support of her own family and her husband’s family, and there is nothing comparable to social welfare for her to lean on.

As far as a corrupt judge is concerned, she can be ignored. She has neither power nor money (for bribing). But this widow is different—she is persistent and will not give up. Eventually, the judge, for his sheer peace of mind, settles in her favour.

If, Jesus concludes, a corrupt and ruthless judge can be moved by the perseverance of a helpless widow, what kind of response can we expect when we, his people, call out in our helplessness to our loving and compassionate God?

I tell you, he will quickly grant justice to them.

That is, he will give them what is rightfully due to them.

But Jesus asks, in a challenge which should make us sit up and take notice:

…when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?

Times of persecution are on the way—they have already begun as this Gospel is written—and some followers will give up under pressure. They will not persevere in keeping close contact with God in prayer, so as to find him and his peace in the midst of their sufferings.

It is easy to pray when things are going well. It is often in times of pressure that we, too, give up praying when we need it most, when our faith is really being put to the test. We have to pray constantly and consistently. We should not be afraid to ask for what we believe we really need.

But then, if God is such a caring person, why should we have to pray to him at all? We need to keep praying, not for his sake, but for our own. By doing so, we maintain an awareness that:

I can do nothing on my own. (John 5:30)

As well, the more we pray, the closer we come to God. And as we pray, what we ask for will gradually change. Ultimately what we want is what we need. And what we need is to bring our thinking, our dreams, our ambitions totally into line with God’s way of seeing things. The problem is, as Jesus says at the end today, how many people will really be doing that when he comes looking for us?

How often do I pray? How consistently do I ask? What do I ask for? What do I really want? Do I distinguish between what I want and what I really need? And do I really have that faith and trust in the loving providence of my God?

There is another and very different interpretation of this passage. When we read this parable about perseverance, we usually think of it in these terms: God is the judge and we are the widow. This means we should persevere in pestering God until our needs are met.

But what happens if we turn that around and say that we are the judge and God is the widow? In some ways, this interpretation makes more sense. We, like the judge, are basically unjust. Sometimes we, too, have no fear of God; that is, we do not allow God to scare us into being good.

Similarly, like the judge we persist in refusing to listen to the cries of the poor all around us. But God is the persistent widow who will not go away. God keeps badgering us, refusing to accept as final our ‘No’ to love. God will persist until we render a just judgment, that is, until we let the goodness out, until we learn to love.*

In Genesis, we are told we are made in the image and likeness of God. Perhaps our prayer could be:

Dear God, Persevering One, help us to be more like you!

_______________________________________________

*This second interpretation of the parable comes from Sister Melanie Svoboda SND, Review for Religious, Sept-Oct 1996.

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Commentary on Wisdom 18:14-16; 19:6-9

Our final reading from Wisdom. It is full of poetical images, although underneath the beautiful language is the power of God that brings both life and death. The context is the liberation of the Israelites from their life of slavery in Egypt.

The reading opens with a beautiful image of “gentle [or peaceful] silence” covering the world, which is in the darkness of night. Then from God’s heavenly throne, his all-powerful Word “leaped from heaven”. This sentence (up to just this point) is used during the Christmas liturgy to express God’s entrance into our world through the Incarnation, made visible through the birth of Jesus.

The end of the sentence, however, is omitted. The complete phrase reads:

…your all-powerful word leaped from heaven, from the royal throne into the midst of the land that was doomed…

In this context, it is a different “word” that is being spoken of. It is the ‘word’ as the one who carries out God’s judgement on a sinful world. In this case, it is the sinful world of the Pharaoh’s Egypt which will not let the Israelites leave the country.

In the Book of Exodus, the massacre of the first-born, attributed to God himself and accompanied by the Destroying Angel, here in Wisdom becomes the work of the divine Word. The Word had already been represented as executing God’s sentences by, among others, Isaiah. This dramatic passage draws its inspiration from a verse in 1 Chronicles and possibly also from Homer (Iliad IV). In apocalyptic terms, the Word of Judgement prefigures, not the Incarnation of the Word in Jesus, but the dreadful aspect of his Second Coming.

The massacre is then described when the Word of Judgement carries out God’s clear command:

…a stern warrior carrying the sharp sword of your authentic command, and stood and filled all things with death…

This refers to the slaying of the first-born of every Egyptian family.

The author now moves on to the crossing of the Red Sea (the Sea of Reeds) as the Israelites fled from the Pharaoh and his armies. The author sees this action as part of a “whole creation…fashioned anew” as God manipulates the very elements of nature in leading his people out into a new world.

He describes the various wonders that took place when:

…the whole creation in its nature was fashioned anew, complying with your commands…

To facilitate the crossing of the Red Sea, the natural creation was re-organised or changed:

…so that your children might be kept unharmed.

In Genesis we see the elements brought into an ordered creation. Here a similar phenomenon is now witnessed, but this time the extraordinary behaviour of air, land and water violates the order established by the Creator.

As a cloud, representing the protective presence of Yahweh hovered over them, dry land appeared, where just previously there had been water, and the sea became “an unhindered way”; stormy waves became a green plain. A Hebrew midrash speaks, not only of abundant grass, but of fruit trees lining the road opened through the waters. Later rabbinical tradition enumerates ten miracles attending the crossing of the Red Sea.

Then, under the sheltering hand of God, the people crossed in safety, mesmerised by the amazing prodigies they were seeing. No wonder they were filled with joy and excitement:

For they ranged like horses and leaped like lambs, praising you, O Lord, who delivered them.

Underlying the reading is that God brings liberation to those who put their trust in him, but destruction to those who violate his way. Jesus, too, as Simeon foretold in the Temple, would bring about both “the rise and fall of many”.

Jesus can be a source of life for all who walk his Way of Truth and Life or we can reject that Way, and opt for darkness and death:

Whoever is not with me is against me, and whoever does not gather with me scatters. (Matt 12:30)

With Jesus, there is no half-way position, no fence-sitting, no neutrality.

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Laurence (Lorcan) O’Toole was born in 1128 near Castledermot in Kildare, of a marriage between the chieftain families of the O’Tooles and the O’Byrnes. His father, Maurice, had been a former Leinster chieftain who was subdued by the stronger MacMurrough family. As a pledge of loyalty, he had to hand over his youngest son, Laurence, then aged 10, as a hostage. Later, because of Maurice’s suspected disloyalty, Laurence was put far away in a herdsman’s hut until the abbot of Glendalough in County Wicklow was called in to mediate, and the boy put into his safekeeping. By the time Maurice came to reclaim his son, Laurence knew that he had a monastic vocation.

He became a monk at Glendalough, and was elected abbot at the age of 25. His duties included not only the governance of his monastery, but also the relief of famine and the suppression of brigands (some of them apostate monks) in the area.

In 1162, at the age of 32, he was obliged to leave the monastery when he was elected archbishop of Dublin, the first native-born Irishman to fill the see. His appointment marked the end of Viking domination in Dublin.

To ensure a supply of good pastoral clergy, he introduced Augustinian Canons of Arrouaise into the main church centres. They continued to wear their religious habit and to follow their community life. Laurence’s nephew became bishop of Glendalough, replacing an impostor who did not have the qualifications, but who was supported by the local chieftain. He was outstanding in his relief of the poor in his diocese. Later in his life, he would sometimes send them to England for rehabilitation.

Inevitably, Laurence became involved in civil as well as church affairs. When the Normans from England invaded Ireland in 1170, Laurence acted as peacemaker between Strongbow (the Norman) and the Irish. He remained in Dublin through two sieges and a famine. During the first siege, he had to rush from peace talks when some soldiers got into the city and were causing havoc among the citizens. In all the ensuing difficulties arising from the invasion, he consistently sided with the Irish.

He took part in various synods including one at Cashel in 1172, convened by King Henry II, when Pope Adrian IV’s Bull imposing universal clerical celibacy and the Sarum Rite was accepted. In 1172, he also negotiated a treaty between Henry II and Rory O’Connor, high-king of Ireland. On this occasion he visited Thomas Becket’s shrine at Canterbury, and himself narrowly escaped violent death at the hands of a crazy assassin.

In 1179, his activities widened. He and five other Irish bishops went to Rome for the third Lateran Council, where he gave Pope Alexander III a full report on the Church in Ireland and became papal legate. On their way to Rome, they had been obliged by Henry II to swear not to injure his rights as ruler of Ireland when they were in Rome. However, this did not prevent Laurence obtaining papal protection for the properties of the Dublin diocese and its five suffragans, especially Glendalough.

Also in 1179, a council was held at Clonfert which deposed seven ‘lay’ bishops, prevented priests’ or bishops’ sons from being ordained, and above all forbade any layman to have “the rule of any church or church matters”. The growing power of Dublin was made clear in 1180, when Laurence promoted a Connacht bishop to the primatial see of Armagh.

In all the subsequent vicissitudes of the Anglo-Norman invasion, Laurence kept steadfastly on the side of the Irish. On his second embassy to Henry II in 1180, on behalf of Rory O’Connor to negotiate tribute, Henry, angered by Laurence’s use of papal bulls in property disputes with Normans in Dublin, refused to see him and kept him waiting in Abingdon, England, for three weeks. Laurence followed the king to his court at Bures, near Bayeux, in Normandy and got permission to return to Dublin.

The weeks of strain and travel took its toll on the archbishop’s health. By the time he reached the abbey of St Victor at Eu in Seine-Inferieure, he was terminally ill. Someone suggested that he should make his will, and he answered:

God knows, I have not a penny under the sun to leave anyone.

The plight of his people in Dublin troubled him on his death-bed and his last words revealed his thoughts:

Alas, you poor, foolish people, what will you do now? Who will take care of you in your trouble? Who will help you?

He died on 14 November, 1180, at just 48 years of age and his relics were kept at the abbey in Eu.

Laurence led an austere life. As archbishop, he continued to live in community as a canon regular of Arrouaise. He wore a hair shirt, never ate meat, and fasted every Friday on bread and water. However, when he had to entertain guests, the expected menu was provided, although he himself drank coloured water to look like the wine others were drinking. To have had to leave Glendalough remained ever a personal regret. Every Lent he went back there to make a 40-day retreat in St Kevin’s ‘Bed’, the cave on the cliff above the Upper Lake. In this way he kept a link with the tradition of the Celtic saints.

It was Ireland’s good fortune that Laurence O’Toole died abroad. His life was written by a Regular Cannon of Eu a few years after his death, and as a result, the document survived when so many other valuable Irish writings were lost. In his memory, a French sea port was called after him and a great Gothic church dedicated to him in Eu.

Laurence was canonised by Pope Honorius III in 1225, just 45 years after his death. He has a place in the painted calendar of saints canonised in the 13th century in the basilica of the Four Crowned Martyrs at Rome.

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Commentary on Luke 17:26-37

Jesus is coming to the end of his public life. His passion and death are going to be traumatic experiences for his followers, which will take them by surprise and fill them with shock and alarm.

Later still, but before Luke had put his Gospel together, a cataclysm had overtaken Jerusalem when the city was laid siege to and utterly destroyed—the magnificent Temple along with it. The disaster is commemorated in the arch in Rome erected to honour the Emperor Titus’ victory, where one can see bas reliefs of the treasures of the Temple being carried off as loot.

Last of all, there is the end of all things, when our world will be no more. The what or the how of that end is something we know nothing about. In a sense, all three endings are included in Jesus’ warning today. His main lesson is for us to be ready and not to think that we can postpone our preparations. When the end strikes, it will be already too late.

Jesus gives the example of the time of the Flood, when people ate and drank right up to the moment of disaster (and we know from our own media how unprepared people can be when sudden floods and other sudden disasters strike). Similarly in the days of Lot, people were leading their ordinary lives when fire and brimstone (perhaps an earthquake?) rained down on the wicked city of Sodom. Only Lot and his family, who had been previously warned, escaped. In our time, almost every day we see something in our own media of similar cataclysms.

When “the day that the Son of Man is revealed” arrives, that is, when he comes at the end of time, it will be too late to take emergency measures. One will either be ready or not. If one is resting on the roof of one’s house (as was common at that time), don’t think of going down to save something. One person will be taken away and a companion left behind. The words seem to echo what happened at the fall of Jerusalem, and are similar to all natural disasters where some are swept away and those next to them survive. In context, the implication is that one goes to God and one does not.

These texts are not intended to fill us with fear and foreboding of a capricious God. They are timely advice not to be caught napping, but to remain alert to meet the Lord. It is good advice, not just for the end of our lives, but for every day and every moment of every day. If I am always ready now, I will be ready then.

By living continuously and consciously in the presence of God, in that ‘divine milieu’ of the Kingdom mentioned above—in the ever-present now—we are not going to be caught by surprise. Far from being afraid, we will look forward to the day with anticipation, leaving totally in God’s hands the hour of his call. In practice, too, that final call will not coincide with the end of our planet, but with the moment when our individual life on this earth will come to its end. Of the inevitability of that end, there is no doubt.

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Commentary on Wisdom 13:1-9

Today the author mocks those who fail to find God’s presence in the world around them. Instead, they turn to idolatry and make gods of the things of nature. It is one thing to see God in everything and another to make anything a god, an object of worship. The writer attacks three forms of idolatry (only the first of which is dealt with in today’s reading): the divinisation of natural forces and heavenly bodies, the worship of man-made idols, and the worship of animals.

The author calls “ignorant” all those who are not aware of the real God in the world around them. ‘Ignorant, ‘vain’ or ‘empty’ were epithets often used of false gods. Those who devote themselves to such ‘vanities’ are ‘vain’ themselves. They do not seem to be able to discover “the one who exists” (in some translations: ‘Him-who-is’) in all the good things around them nor, by studying the wonderful works of nature, have they been able to become aware of their Designer or Artificer. ‘The one who exists’ becomes, for later Christian philosophers, the ‘Pure Being’, the unique characteristic of God as source of all that comes to be.

Other natural phenomena, instead of leading them to their Maker, are themselves made into gods—fire, wind, the constellations, the power of the sea, the sun and the moon (‘luminaries of heaven’). All these are said to govern the world. People have become hypnotised by their beauty (and sometimes frightened by their power) and so divinised them without realising how much greater their Maker must be as the original Source of such beauty and power. In terms borrowed from the Greek philosophers and to be taken up by Christian philosophers and theologians of a later age, the author tells us that the greatness and beauty of all things gives us an analogy, that is, a faint image of the greatness and beauty of the Origin of all things.

The Old Testament had praised the power and majesty of the creating God, but did not talk of the beauty of the world as a work of art. The author reveals a Greek touch here in his aesthetic sensitivity of God as artist.

And, if it is the power in these phenomena that has impressed them, why can they not come to the conclusion that He who made all these things must be so much more powerful? If the things of the world around us can dazzle us with their beauty, what must their Maker be like:

For from the greatness and beauty of created things comes a corresponding perception of their Creator.

However, compared to those who have made gods of human artefacts of gold and silver (dealt with in the following section of the chapter), such people may be less guilty. They are to be commended for their search for God and their eagerness to find him. The author is sympathetic to these people’s problems. They are in search of God, of the ultimate source of meaning, but go astray by becoming dazzled by the beauty of what they see. In a sense, they cannot see the whole forest because of the beauty of this or that tree.

On the other hand, they are not without blame. If they are clever enough to make a study of the world in which they live, how come they have been so slow to find the Master that is behind all? He faults them for having proceeded so far in intellectual speculation and yet failed to come to an awareness of the God who alone gives meaning to all they see.

Later, Paul in his Letter to the Romans will also criticise those who, though without the help of revelation, fail to find God in the world around them and create gods out of material things. Later still, St Ignatius Loyola in the final contemplation of his Spiritual Exercises will urge the retreatant to consider that the truth and beauty of the things around him can be but the palest shadow of their Source. They are the signs not only of his truth and beauty, but also of his overwhelming love for us.

We, too, can be so caught up in things that we fail to see through them to the Source behind. As Teilhard de Chardin said, we live in a milieu divin (a ‘divine milieu’), in a world where everything is touched by God. He is the very air we breathe. It is a gift and a great source of peace to be consciously aware of this as we go through our day. And, as the poet Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote:

There lives the dearest freshness deep down things.

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Stanislaus Kostka was born at the castle of Rostkovo (Rostkow) in Poland into a noble and wealthy family in 1550. He received his early education from a private tutor and then was sent, with his older brother Paul, to the Jesuit college in Vienna where he studied from 1564 to 1567. He endured some bullying from his brother, as well as some misunderstandings with the tutor who accompanied the two boys.

At first, the two boys were boarders in the Jesuit residence at the college, but after seven months, they moved to the house of Senator Kimberker. Kimberker was a strict Lutheran who would not allow a Catholic priest into his house. This became an issue when Stanislaus unexpectedly fell ill in mid-December 1565. The boy kept asking for Holy Communion, but his brother tried to deter him. Stanislaus prayed to the patron of the sodality to which he belonged, St Barbara, to intercede with God so he could receive Communion before he died. He then had a mystical experience of Mary visiting him and placing the Christ Child in Stanislaus’ arms. Stanislaus understood this as a sign that he was to enter the Society of Jesus.

When he had recovered, he went to the Jesuit provincial in Vienna asking to join the Order. The provincial was favourable, provided Stanislaus had his parents’ approval, something the young man knew his parents would not give. It was then suggested that Stanislaus go to Augsburg in Germany and ask Peter Canisius, the Provincial there, to accept him. On the morning of 10 August, 1567, Stanislaus slipped out of Vienna. He took off his fine clothes and put on the clothes of a poor pilgrim. In this way, he was missed by his angry brother who came looking for him but did not recognise him on the road. Stanislaus walked more than 700 km to Augsburg, only to discover that Canisius was in Dillingen, another day’s walk. Canisius, recognising the fine qualities in the young man, agreed to accept him after testing him with some menial work. He also arranged for Stanislaus to join two young Jesuits on their way to Rome. It was felt that Stanislaus would be safer from his family in faraway Rome than in nearby Germany.

In late September, Stanislaus and the two Jesuits set off by foot and arrived in Rome on 25 October, 1567, where they made their way to the residence of the superior general, Francis Borgia. Stanislaus had brought with him a letter from Peter Canisius which said of him:

We hope for great things from him.

Borgia had Stanislaus remain at the Gesu residence in Rome for three months before he went to the Roman College, and then to the Sant’ Andrea novitiate. The young man was just 17 years of age, but his novitiate and Jesuit vocation would be short-lived.

In early August, 1568, he had a sense that he had not much longer to live. He developed a fever, but the brother infirmarian did not think it was serious and believed that the boy’s fears were unjustified. On 14 August, Stanislaus told the infirmarian he would die the next day, but again the remark was not taken seriously. Later that day he took a turn for the worse and lost all his strength. He received Viaticum and prayed with the novices and other Jesuits who were by his bedside. About three o’clock on the morning of the feast of our Lady’s Assumption on 15 August, he announced that Mary was approaching with angels to take him to heaven and soon died. He had been a novice for only about 10 months.

During this brief period Stanislaus showed himself to be a model religious and was blessed with ecstasy and visions. His elder brother, Paul, who had caused him trouble in the past, himself became a Jesuit, but not until he had reached the age of 60.

Stanislaus was canonized by Pope Benedict XIII in 1726. He is remembered for his generosity of heart and, though young in years, for sanctity beyond his years and an iron determination to follow God’s call despite family opposition. Stanislaus is a popular Polish saint and is also the patron of Jesuit novices.

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Commentary on Luke 17:20-25

Jesus was asked by some Pharisees when the Kingdom of God would come. In their mind, it was a definitive time that would be suddenly realised by the arrival of a triumphant Messiah-King. Jesus says it is not going to be like that at all. The Kingdom cannot be found by looking around for telltale signs so that you can say it is ‘here’ or ‘there’.

No, says Jesus:

…in fact, the kingdom of God is among you.

Not only is it “among” them, it is right in front of them! It is first of all in the very person of Jesus, who is the embodiment of God’s Reign. He is the Messiah-King. He is the living incarnation of God’s loving power revealed in his authoritative teaching, in his many healings of the sick, in his freeing of those from the power of evil spirits, and in his compassion for the sinner and the outcast. All are clear evidence that the reign of God “is among you”.

In every age, including our own time, there are people who get worked up about the ‘final coming of Christ’. But instead of focusing on a date in the calendar, we should be focusing on the realities of our everyday lives where, to those with eyes that see, the reign of God can easily be discerned working in other people’s lives and in our own. Wherever people are reflecting in their lives the vision of life—the values that Jesus revealed to us—the Kingdom is there. And such people are not confined to the Church. They can be, and are found, everywhere.

Jesus then turns to his disciples, telling them they :

…will long to see one of the days of the Son of Man, and you will not see it.

In the very early Church, many were convinced that Jesus would make his final coming during their own lifetime. It is likely that, from time to time, certain events were interpreted as signs of that final coming. People were saying, “Look there! or Look here!”, i.e. he is to be found in this place or that. But by the time Luke’s Gospel was written, many in that first generation of Christians had already died and there was still no sign of Jesus’ coming.

The ‘days’ following his expected coming may have all the more been longed for during times of severe persecution, when they looked for relief and help from their pain. An anxiety is reflected in the story of the disciples’ trying to wake a sleeping Jesus while their boat is threatened by mountainous seas (see Mark 4:35-41).

Jesus says that, when his day does come, it will be:

…as the lightning flashes and lights up the sky from one side to the other…

It will be both sudden and everywhere. In the meantime, Jesus:

…must endure much suffering and be rejected by this generation.

These words clearly refer to his own suffering and death, but can also be applied to the whole Risen Christ, including the Church, his risen Body, into our own age.

So, on the one hand, the reign of God is already here among us, and we need look no further than the daily experiences of our own lives to know and experience the power and presence of Jesus. On the other hand, the time of that final coming which “will wipe every tear from [our] eyes” and be the end of all suffering and rejection is not for us to decide—nor to be anxious about.

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Commentary on Wisdom 7:22—8:1

Today’s passage is a hymn to Wisdom. It reflects much of Greek philosophical influence affecting the Jewish author who treats Wisdom as a person and gives his own version of earlier personifications. In so far as Wisdom is identified with God as its origin, we might rephrase the first sentence of John’s Gospel to say that:

In the beginning there was Wisdom and Wisdom was with God and Wisdom was God.

The writer describes both the nature and origin of Wisdom and begins by listing twenty-one attributes of Wisdom. Borrowing freely from the vocabulary of Greek philosophy, the author next points out the various characteristics of Wisdom and concludes by identifying it with divine providence—in the last sentence of our reading.

The eulogy begins with the attributes of Wisdom, divided into three sets of seven each, that is, the multiplication of seven (for perfection) by three (for divinity). It is, in the thinking of the time, the most perfect of perfect numbers. The attributes are set out as follows so that each one can be looked at and considered separately:

There is in her a spirit that is intelligent, holy,
unique, manifold, subtle,
agile, clear, unpolluted,
distinct, invulnerable, loving the good, keen,
irresistible, beneficent, humane,
steadfast, sure, free from anxiety,
all-powerful, overseeing all,
and penetrating through all spirits that are intelligent, pure, and altogether subtle.

There then follows some other attributes:

For wisdom is more mobile than any motion because of her pureness; she pervades and penetrates all things.

Wisdom is totally devoid of any deception or distortion; she provides a clear vision which “pervades and penetrates all things”. Wisdom is:

…a breath of the power of God and a pure emanation of the glory of the Almighty.

The Spirit of God is also described as a movement of air—a ‘breath’ or a ‘wind’. Speaking to Nicodemus, Jesus said:

The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. (John 3:8)

Here there is a play on the Greek word pneuma, meaning both ‘spirit’ and ‘wind’. Similarly at Pentecost the coming of the Spirit is accompanied by a wind blowing through the place where the disciples are gathered. As well, on the cross, Jesus’ death is described as giving out the pneuma—which can be both his final breath and also his Spirit:

Then he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.
(John 19:30)

This is Pentecost on the cross.

The “glory of the Almighty” is “the eternal light” that is God. In the Old Testament, God is never called ‘light’. Some earlier texts already hinted at the concept of a transcendent light emanating from God, illuminating the faithful or his nation, being the radiance of his glory, or residing with him, but it will only be in the First Letter of John that we read explicitly “God is light” (1 John 1:5). Jesus himself will say virtually the same thing:

I AM the Light of the World. (John 8:12)

Wisdom is a reflection of the eternal light of God:

…a spotless mirror of the working of God, and an image of his goodness.

When we are possessed by true wisdom we are already in touch with God, with his power, with his love and with his goodness.

There is a loftiness and exclusiveness about Wisdom, for she is unique:

Although she is but one, she can do all things, and while remaining in herself, she renews all things.

Though herself unchanging and unchangeable, she changes the world through her insight and unending creativity.

In generation after generation, she has passed into the lives of good people, making “them friends of God and prophets”. In the Old Testament such friends were Abraham and Moses. Jesus, as the Son of God, called his disciples his friends. Prophets include not only the great prophets and inspired scribes, but all who, by their holy life and intimacy with God, penetrate into the knowledge of his will and his mysteries, and so become his authorised ‘interpreters’ to enlighten their fellows. Among these will be the many outstanding spiritual and theological writers and preachers who have given new insights into living with God and for God.

God loves nothing so much as the person who lives with wisdom.

Of course, God, who is Love, extends that love infinitely and equally to every single person and thing he has created. It is never withheld or withdrawn. But obviously, there is a special relationship with those who open their hearts and respond totally to the Love extended to them and who, in turn, pass that Love on to all those who come into their lives.

There is a brightness to Wisdom that is unique:

She is more beautiful than the sun and excels every constellation of the stars.

Since those words were written, we know so much more about the enormity of the constellations and the galaxies and yet the statement remains perfectly valid.

Compared with the light she is found to be more radiant, for it is succeeded by the night, but against wisdom evil does not prevail.

Nothing can avail against Wisdom, which contains all Truth, Goodness and Beauty.

And at the end, Wisdom is linked with the loving Providence of God which governs our world:

She reaches mightily from one end of the earth to the other, and she orders all things well.

The attributes that Paul gives to love in his famous passage in his First Letter to the Corinthians (chap 2) can also be applied to Wisdom. Divine Wisdom embraces both Truth and Love.

To be a friend of God, then, is to share his Wisdom, that is, to see and understand reality as he does. This is the most precious thing we can have in life for it gives meaning and direction to everything that we experience. It is to live in a light that is never extinguished and against which evil is impotent.

Let us pray today for this wisdom that will guide our lives and bring us the happiness, peace and security which we constantly seek.

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Commentary on Ephesians 4:1-7,11-13; John 17:20-26

The reading from John’s Gospel is from Jesus’ long discourse at the Last Supper. The last section of this discourse consists of a long prayer which Jesus makes: first, on the completion of his own work; second, a prayer for his disciples; and third, a prayer for all believers.

It is this third part of the prayer which forms our reading today. It is above all a prayer for unity among all Jesus’ followers. Even when John’s Gospel was written, divisions had already appeared.

So Jesus prays:

I ask not only on behalf of these but also on behalf of those who believe in me through their [i.e. his immediate disciples] word, that they may all be one. As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us…

And why does Jesus so especially emphasise this unity?

…so that the world may believe that you have sent me.

And he continues, speaking to his Father:

The glory that you have given me I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may become completely one, so that the world may know that you have sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.

How, then, can people be expected to accept the message of Jesus, when those who claim to be his followers are so deeply divided among themselves, even to the point of violence? This was the sad situation in Josaphat’s world. It was later the tragic situation in the Reformation, an ongoing process of splintering that has hardly stopped in our own day. It is scandal even today in many parts of the world.

Earlier, at the Last Supper, Jesus had told his disciples:

This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. (John 15:12)

He loved them to the point of giving his life for them. And he added that the sign by which outsiders would recognise his followers would be the love they had for each other. How can there be love without union, or union without love? It was this universal and unconditional love that Josaphat gave his life to uphold. It is as necessary today as it was then.

The First Reading from the Letter to the Ephesians speaks in a slightly different way of the conditions for true unity in the Church and among Christians. First there are the elements which bind us together. To begin with we need to live a life that truly reflects the gospel (especially today’s):

…with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love…

Then there is the presence of the Spirit and the binding force of true peace. Under the Spirit:

…there is one body…one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is above all and through all and in all.

These are the elements we must have in common. They give us our unique identity.

At the same time, there is room for a great deal of variety, as each one is called in a different way to serve and build up the community:

…some are apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors and teachers to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ…

In this way, we grow together:

…until all of us come to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to maturity, to the measure of the full stature of Christ.

Let us continue to work for greater unity among all Christians—first, in our own Church and then with members of other churches. The witness of the gospel depends on it.

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John Kuntsevich (whose family name is also found as Kuncevic, Kuncevyc and Kuntsevych) was born of a merchant family in the small town of Volodymyr (Vladimir) in the region of Volhynia (Vilna), then part of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania, about 1580.

After a local education, he was apprenticed to a merchant in Vilna. In 1604, at the age of twenty-four, John entered the Monastery of the Trinity of the Basilian Fathers in Vilnius, and it is here that he took the name Josaphat. His religious devotion, charity and sanctity rapidly became known, and prominent people came to consult him. About the same time, after a distinguished life as a layman, a certain Benjamin Rutski also joined the order. The number of novices steadily increased under Rutski, who had meanwhile been ordained priest.

Then began the regeneration of Eastern Catholic religious life among the Ruthenians (Belarusians and Ukrainians). In 1609, after private study under under the Jesuit priest, Fabricius, Josaphat was ordained priest by a Catholic bishop. After a period of time, he became the superior of several monasteries, and on 12 November, 1617, was reluctantly consecrated Bishop of Vitsebsk, with right of succession to the Archbishopric of Polotsk. He subsequently became archbishop in 1618.

Five hundred years before, a schism had taken place between the Eastern and Western Churches. Over the years, the split only grew worse, mainly centred on the authority of the pope in Rome. Then in the 16th century, in what is now known as Belarus and Ukraine, but was then part of Poland-Lithuania, an Orthodox archbishop of Kiev and five Orthodox bishops decided to commit the Christians under their pastoral care to reunion with Rome. Josaphat was still a young boy when the Synod of Brest Litovsk took place in 1595-96. However, there were many of the faithful who did not accept the bishops’ decision. Sadly, efforts to solve the disagreement involved not only words, but violence. Among the leaders of the anti-union party, Meletius Smotrytsky was conspicuous, and the most celebrated of his opponents was Josaphat, who promoted Catholic unity with Rome. There were martyrs on both sides and Josaphat tried to be a voice of peace and reconciliation.

As Archbishop, Josaphat restored the Byzantine churches, issued a catechism with instructions that it should be learned by heart, composed a code of behaviour for priests, assembled synods in various towns in the dioceses and firmly opposed the Polish Imperial Chancellor Sapieha, who wanted to make concessions in favour of the Eastern Orthodox. Throughout all his labours, he continued his religious life as a monk, with no lessening in a life of penance and prayer.

In 1620, a rival hierarchy was set up and Josaphat now had a serious problem of widespread schism to deal with. The situation was complex. There were conflicting interests, stirred by nationalism, long-standing customs and an Eastern dislike of Rome. Josaphat strongly supported union with Rome, but also held the right of Byzantine clergy, together with their local customs, to be on the same level as those of the Roman church.

During the schismatic conflict, he refused to avail himself of the opportunity of flight afforded him. Sadly misrepresented by both sides, Josaphat eventually became the victim of a murder plot, instigated by violent and uncontrolled supporters of his rival to the bishopric of Polotsk.

He clearly foresaw he would die a violent death. Finally on 12 November, 1623, while pleading that none of his servants should be made to suffer, he was struck by a halberd and then shot by Orthodox supporters.

After numerous miracles were claimed and reported, a commission was appointed by Pope Urban VIII in 1628, to inquire into the cause of Josaphat, and examined on oath 116 witnesses. Although five years had elapsed since Josaphat’s death, his body was claimed to still be incorrupt. In 1637, a second commission investigated his life, and in 1643, twenty years after his death, Josaphat was beatified. He was canonised in 1867 by Pope Pius IX.