Month: July 2014

“Love your enemies”

You’ve got to be kidding! How utterly impossible and totally improbable! Why, we have the hardest time loving our wives, our husbands, our children, our parents, our friends; only, perhaps, our pets. What can it possibly meant to love our enemies? And yet, this is precisely what Jesus commands. A command, we might say, that is one of the distinctive features of Christianity and reveals the essential heart of the Christian Faith.

Enemies. What does that mean? Who are our enemies? Sometimes words reveal themselves. English is a bit of a mongrel language, taking words and bits of words from everything and everywhere. In its historical development much is owed to two streams: the one, Germanic, as in Old English or Anglo-Saxon; the other, latinate, via the influence of the French language, especially after William the Conqueror, 1066 and All That, as it were. Words like friends and enemies, for instance, derive from each stream respectively. Friend connects with freund in modern German, for instance; enemies from ennemis in French but looking back to the Latin, inimicos. We may speak in English, for instance, of being inimically opposed to something or other, meaning strongly opposed, even hostile.

In the French word, ennemis, you can hear the word amis, meaning friend just as in the Latin, inimicos, you can just make out amicos, again friend. This is even more pronounced in Spanish where the word for enemy is enemigos where amigos is clearly part of the word. What does all this word stuff mean?

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“Apart from me ye can do nothing.”

“I am the vine, ye are the branches … abide in me,” Jesus says, in what is known as the last of his famous “I am” sayings in John’s Gospel. For “apart from me ye can do nothing.” The truth and meaning of who we are is found in our being in Christ, our lives enfolded and engrafted into his living word and truth. This second lesson speaks profoundly and provocatively about the nature of our abiding in Christ. In some ways, the image is the greatest of the images of our incorporation into the divine life through the sacred humanity of Jesus Christ. We live in him and he in us.

But how? Only by attending to his word. It may be, as Peter points out to Jesus in the remarkable Eucharistic gospel for Trinity V, that “we have toiled all the night long and have taken nothing; nevertheless, at thy word, I will let down the net.” “At thy word” is the note of saving grace, the note of the means of our abiding in Christ. His word lives in us if we will let it.

The trouble is that we often refuse to hear. We reject the word and truth of God. What that means is shown in the first lesson from The Book of the Prophet Jeremiah. Jeremiah, a prophet whose word and presence is unwelcome to King Jehoiakim, has dictated to Baruch, his scribe, “all the words of the Lord which he had spoken to him.” He has written them on a scroll, presumably of papyrus. Then Baruch reads the words of Jeremiah first “in the hearing of all the people,” then, before the court officials, and then, before the princes. Clearly deeply troubled by what they hear, the princes bid Baruch and Jeremiah go into hiding. Finally, the scroll is read before the King. Is he moved to listen to the word of the Lord from the prophet Jeremiah? Not in the least.

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“Nevertheless, at thy word, I will let down the net”

Just another fishing story, it might seem. Jesus, standing by the lake of Gennesaret first teaches “the people who pressed upon him to hear the word of God,” using a ship as his pulpit, it seems, and then bids Simon Peter to “launch out into the deep and let down your net.” Peter’s response captures an essential aspect of human experience. “Master,” he says, “we have toiled all the night, and have taken nothing; nevertheless, at thy word I will let down the net.”

More than just another fishing story, the miracle here is not just in the amazing catch of fishes that broke their net and almost sank their ships. Neither is it just about the call of Simon Peter and James and John to catch men for God. No. This gospel story also speaks to the fears of our contemporary culture in profound and wonderful ways. It addresses the very modern concept of the empty meaninglessness of life.

Sometimes our fears define us and our world and culture. As the philosopher and Christian Peter Kreeft notes, the fear of the ancient world was the fear of death, the fear of the Medieval world, the fear of Hell, but the fear of the modern world is the fear of meaninglessness. “We have toiled all the night, and have taken nothing.” There is nothing and we are nothing, it seems and this has been a feature of modern literature as, for instance, in Ernest Hemingway’s 1933 short story, A Clean Well-Lighted Place, which is about facing the empty nothingness of life.

It is all nada. “Nada y pues nada y nada y pues nada” – Nothing and nothing then nothing and nothing and then nothing – as the older waiter observes, thinking about an old man in the café, perhaps a survivor of World War I and its atrocities in the face of which there is no answer, no meaning just the utter meaninglessness of war and destruction, of death and despair, and in the old man’s case, an attempted suicide. Has anything really changed? we might ask, as a passenger plane is shot down in the Ukraine, as girls from a boarding school are abducted and remain in captivity in Nigeria, as humanitarian disaster after humanitarian disaster unfolds for countless millions of people displaced by wars and conflicts beyond their control. Hemingway’s short story marks the first time the Spanish word nada which means nothing was used in English.

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