Who can live with the consuming fire? (3rd week of Advent)

“On Zion sinners are in dread,

trembling grips the impious;

Who of us can live with the consuming fire?

Who of us can live with the everlasting flames?

The one who practices virtue and speaks honestly,

who spurns what is gained by oppression,

who brush their hands free of contact with a bribe,

who stop their ears from hearing of bloodshed,

and shut their eyes to avoid looking on evil...”

--Isaiah 33:13-16

This reading from morning prayer touched me today.  And oddly enough, I read it by accident.  It wasn’t the reading for this morning –I was on the wrong page.  And yet... isn't that often how God works.

Anyway, the reading merged nicely with a short conversation I had last night. Shortly before bed, I was talking to a friend who has just decided to read Dante.  She bought her husband a beautifully illustrated copy of the Commedia and as she looked at the pictures, she became interested in the poem.  And so, I woke this morning still thinking about our conversation.  One thing that troubled her was the question of whether the poem were true.  Had Dante actually “died” and travelled through Hell and Purgatory and Heaven, then returned to life to write his poem.  Well, first, in the poem he isn’t dead. He makes his journey through the realms of the afterlife while still alive but guided by the spirit of the dead poet Vergil. And, second, I explained to her that as far as I know, the poem had never seriously been treated as a diary of an actual event.  However, I added, that didn’t make it any the less true. 

A mystical vision is another kind of truth –and I compared Dante’s poem to the visions of Teresa of Avila and Catherine of Siena. Though Dante is no doctor of the church, it seems to me that the vision contained in his Commedia is as profound and possibly as theologically valuable as what we find in the works of many saints and mystics.  And surely that element of the poem must have come from God.  But it was getting late and we both needed to attend to other issues, so we made vague plans to get together someday soon and continue our discussion of truth and poetry and mystics. Yet, something must have been left unsettled in my soul; because I woke still thinking about our discussion.

And then there was this reading: 

Who of us can live with the consuming fire?

Who of us can live with the everlasting flames?

Indeed, who of us can?  The consuming fire; the everlasting flame; what a devastating and yet perfect vision of Hell.  Who can live with that?  In Dante we see the suffering of the damned and often readers are struck by the horror of such punishments; it is what attracts many new readers to the poem.  I know from teaching the poem that often students are intrigued by the question of justice when discussing the punishments (Dante’s contrapassos).  But then they almost as quickly turn to the subject of mercy (and loopholes).  But what about... what if... What if someone couldn’t control himself? What about people with psychological problems? What if someone didn’t know something was wrong?... what about...what if...

But the poem isn’t about punishment (or justice) in a legalistic way.  It’s about freedom and choices and love.  What I read in Dante is that Hell isn’t a geographic place (on an actual or imaginary map) but a state of mind, of souls, of heart; it’s a commitment of sorts.  Take for instance Canto XXX of the Inferno.  This is a scene of devastating destruction and the souls within that vision of a kind of “everlasting flame” dwell not just in dread, but in misery and discord; beating each other, heckling each other, angering and frustrating one another through and by their every act, every word, every choice—because they seek not compassion or love, but only superiority and self-justification.  And yet, what would happen if Mother Teresa were to suddenly find herself walking amongst these souls?  Would she find herself in the same Hell?  Or would she immediately set about caring for the sick and the helpless; would she not comfort their pain and distress?  Ease their suffering with her gentle touch.  And in her compassion and love, Filled with love and compassion, she would see not evil but only souls in need.  And, filled with love, she would be filled with God; she would be dwelling fully in His presence and is that not the very meaning of Heaven? To be fully in the presence of God... So, even as she walked among those who made themselves damned she –through her love-- would be in a kind of Heaven.  

“Who of us can live with the consuming fire?”

The one who loves. The one who practices virtue.  The one who speaks not bitterness and cruelty; who utters no lie of self-deception and justification but speaks only truth in utter humility.  The one who stops her ears at words of anger and hatred, who closes his eyes to evil.  The one who walks in love...

Heaven is where we make it...

And so is Hell.

Let heaven and earth bear witness: 2nd Week of Advent

“...but the others offered no opposition;

not a stone was thrown, there was no

barricading of the hiding places.  They

only said: Let us all die innocent; let

heaven and earth bear witness...”

--1 Maccabees 2:36-37

This past Sunday was the second Sunday of Advent.  The reading from Luke’s gospel reminded us that Jesus was lived in a specific time –under Tiberius Caesar and Pontius Pilate and Ciaphas, et al.  And in Luke’s inimitable way he tells us that in this time of these powerful empires and celebrated leaders that the Word of God came not to a king or emperor or high priest, but to a nobody living in the desert, wearing animal skins and eating locust and honey.  God spoke not to the great in their temples and palaces, sitting on their thrones, but to the humble—to the nobodies. To a young girl living in Bethlehem and then to a crazy hermit living alone in the desert.  Why is that such an important part of this story?  Perhaps to remind us that if we want to hear God’s voice, we need to avoid the distractions that come with palaces and temples and throne rooms; that come with special greetings in the market place and honored places at the table.  Perhaps the author (Luke) is reminding us that God doesn’t work the way the world works.  God doesn’t measure value in the same terms that we use.  That what looks like success, like victory, to us isn’t necessarily success in the eyes of God.  And what looks like failure and loss to us isn’t necessarily either in the eyes of God.  For instance, I was thinking about these nameless figures from the book of Maccabees; they end up refusing to fight and are utterly destroyed by the Greek army sent to squash the Jewish revolt in Jerusalem.

When I read the description of their action, my first thought went to Gandhi and the non-violence movement, and I began to romanticize their choice, and I half thought they would be mentioned again in some celebratory terms... but so far, nada.  They simply showed up and died, and the rest of the story is about Judah and the other Maccabees and their improbable military victories against Greek army after army; yet, despite all their amazing victories what do we have in the end?  Because we read these stories in light of 2000 years of history, we read them in a light of ultimate loss.  We know that the book history has written is a history of how the Jews despite all their astonishing military victories, lost not only the temple and Jerusalem but their entire homeland; their self-rule; their autonomy; their freedom even and yet survived, and often thrived.  My ignorance of the 20^th century history of Israel will remain in silence on this most recent chapter of their history, except to note that still Israel remains a land of uncertainty and strif

And so, I still wonder: what lesson is God teaching us by this group of unnamed souls who “offered no opposition,” who “died innocent” and allowed “heaven and earth [to] bear witness.”  What if the lesson of Maccabees isn’t that we are called to defend God and country with the sword; but that we are called to be innocent and offer no opposition (i.e. to turn the other cheek and offer no opposition to evil when it comes) and to allow heaven and earth to be witness to all that God wills for us.  If we submit to God’s will we may end up anonymous and forgotten in the eyes of the world. In the eyes of the world, we may seem to have been nobody of consequence, but...  

A last interesting element in this book of 1 Maccabees.  In chapter 9 we get a powerful vision of what the “heroism” of these warriors becomes.   In this chapter the Maccabean warriors attack a wedding procession escorting the bride and groom to the wedding feast.  Out of revenge, they strike and when they are done avenging their brother’s blood (and the theft of their own supplies), they take whatever loot they can and return to the “marshes of the Jordan” (9:42).   What does this sound like to our modern ear?  How often do we read and hear news reports of suicide bombings at weddings and in marketplaces? Wherever people might gather and let their guard down.  It sounds a lot like terrorism.  As if the author were --consciously or not—showing us what a mentality of war leads to: anything goes, the end justifies the means.  Was the attack justified?  To Jonathan and Simon (and their followers) it must have seemed so.  They needed supplies and they needed to send a message.  Don’t mess with us!  They needed to strike fear into some hearts and terror into some souls. And it didn’t matter that innocent lives might be lost.  Their cause was bigger than that.  They were fighting for God.

And so my mind turns once again to those people in the desert.  And I think of the others who have wandered in the desert, vulnerable and afraid: Abraham and Sarah, Hagar and Ishmael, Jacob, Moses, John the Baptist... Jesus... all who found themselves vulnerable and helpless; innocent and dependent on the witness of Heaven (and earth) to protect them.  

And I wonder...  What kind of witness am I giving?  When I lash out at someone who hurts my feelings? Or I gossip about a coworker or neighbor? Or I laugh at a crude joke? Or I fail to speak up when someone else is talked about or attacked?  How often am I afraid of the desert? The isolation of being seen as uncool... How often do I fortify my defenses or run and hide when I think trouble is coming? What if I listened to the example of those anonymous souls who said:  Let us all die innocent; let heaven and earth bear witness?  And I have to ask myself how can heaven and earth bear witness if I won’t let them?    

p.s.
as a writer I find a great lesson in how these people, mentioned very briefly, haunt the rest of the book.  Everything the warriors and kings do is somehow overshadowed by their humble non-violent witness...  Hmmm...  so many lessons.  I guess the Bible really is a "good" book.

2nd Chronicles and the lesson of an interesting ending

“Cyrus, King of Persia, says this:

The Lord, the God of Heaven, has

given me all the kingdoms of the earth

and has appointed me to build Him a

Temple in Jerusalem, which is in Judah.

Whoever there is among you of all His

people, may his God be with him!
Let him go up.” 

--2nd Chronicles 36: 15

When I started my journey through the Bible, I was trying to write at least one post on every book, but over the past few months I’ve gotten off track.  Family trials and work and anniversaries, other writing[1] and daily life have gotten in the way at times.  I’ve been reading, but not writing as much.  And I have felt quite scattered; unfocused. Out of sorts.  And at times like I am making a mess of everything: starting the laundry, but forgetting to put it in the dryer; loading the dishwasher, but forgetting to start it –or forgetting to add soap; feeding the cats but forgetting about their litter box; intending to pray but allowing distractions to keep me distracted –scattered.  As the psalmist says: “...All doers of evil are scattered...” (92:9), and I certainly feel scattered –ineffectual-- even if I don’t feel evil (at the moment).

I think my habit of writing and posting meditations broke down around the time I was finishing 2^nd Chronicles.  I couldn’t keep up with everything, but I kept reading. And occasionally I would write in my notebook—little comments and thoughts.  But by the time I was ready to write a post, I was in the middle of a new book or 3 books on and I wanted to write about that one instead and... despite everything getting out of sorts, I went ahead and started writing comments about whatever it was I was reading at that moment, for instance Nehemiah, or Tobit or Judith but something about 2^nd Chronicles[2] kept troubling me.  And mostly it was the ending.

In the penultimate chapters (34-35), we meet the heroic figure of Josiah, a king who restores order and glory to Jerusalem.  Under his reign the Book of the Law (probably referring to Deuteronomy) is rediscovered (34:15) while the temple is being repaired. With the rediscovered law in hand, Josiah rededicates the people and renews the covenant with God.  He is a king of great zeal, intent on following the Lord. But just as suddenly there is the story of his odd death (35:19ff).  Necho, king of Egypt, is marching across Judah to advance against an enemy and Josiah goes out with an army to intercept him.  Necho tells Josiah that his quarrel is not with Judah. He has been commanded by God to march quickly against another foe; warning Josiah, “Do not interfere with God who is with me, as otherwise He will destroy you.” (35:21). But Josiah won’t listen.  I imagine he couldn’t believe that God would speak through the mouth of a pagan.  And because he ignores this warning, he suffers the consequences and is badly wounded and dies. His death is followed by a series of kings who do what is displeasing “in the eyes of the Lord.”  And in less than a chapter (36) we see the fall of Judah, the Babylonian Exile, and the return of the Jews to Jerusalem. The final paragraph tells the story of Cyrus, the new king of Persia, who sets the Jews free and sends them back to Jerusalem with orders to rebuild their temple.  The final words of the book are a command from Cyrus to set the Jews free.  Wow.  In the final pages of this history one pagan king speaks a warning from God, and another pagan king setting the Jews free and sending them home.  And I kept wondering: what is the author saying? What did the author intend by these two pagan kings? 

Then, I came across this interesting detail: 2^nd Chronicles is the final book in the Hebrew scripture (the Tanakh).  Which means that the Hebrew “Bible” ends with stories of two pagan kings doing the work of God.  And again, I wonder: What does that mean? The last words in the Hebrew scripture are not from Moses or a prophet or a recalling of some piece of wisdom from Solomon or King David, but a proclamation from Cyrus of Persia: “Whoever, there is among you of all His people, may his God be with him! Let him go up.” (36:23)  Hmmm.  To me, that is interesting.

Regardless of what any human author intended, what does the REAL author of scripture mean by these two kings? What is God teaching us here?   Are they a lesson in tolerance? A lesson in humility?  A lesson in trust?  All three?  I wonder... (Wait a minute!  There are THREE kings: Cyrus, Necho & Josia...Hmmm. Three kings? Teaching us something?...sounds familiar... )

One thing is for certain: that the last words of the Hebrew scripture depict a pagan speaking a messianic message is pretty amazing... And definitely something worth contemplating. So, stay focused, Mr. Sutter. Don’t let yourself get distracted... Don’t be scattered...  the dishes will still be there in the morning.  

Lord,

Open our hearts to your word.

Give us the presence of mind and will

to remain with You in Your word.  Teach

me to listen as You speak, and inspire me

to live what You teach.

Amen.

---

[1] Working on some poems (3 were accepted for publication); and trying to get back to my novel... (Poor Dorothy is stranded at MytiBurger on Kempwood )

[2] And now I have read all the way to Maccabees and feel a need to write a word about...  Aargh. There is so much to contemplate and so little time to... fold laundry.... let alone sleep.