Daily prayer in Ordinary Time 2024: 93, Sunday 11 August 2024, Trinity XI

Bread prepared on Saturday for the Sunday Liturgy in Ouranoupolis, near Mount Athos … the Gospel reading today continues the readings from the ‘Bread of Life’ discourse in Saint John’s Gospel (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Patrick Comerford

We are continuing in Ordinary Time in the Church Calendar and today is the Eleventh Sunday after Trinity (Trinity XI).

I am back in Stony Stratford after returning yesterday from an overnight family visit to Dublin. Later this morning, I hope to take part in the Parish Eucharist in Saint Mary and Saint Giles Church,reading one of the lessons. But, before today begins, I am taking some quiet time this morning to give thanks, for reflection, prayer and reading in these ways:

1, today’s Gospel reading;

2, a reflection on the Gospel reading;

3, a prayer from the USPG prayer diary;

4, the Collects and Post-Communion prayer of the day.

‘I am the bread of life … This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die’ (John 6: 48-50) … an icon in a shop window in Thessaloniki (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

John 6: 35, 41-51 (NRSVA):

35 Jesus said to them, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.

41 Then the Jews began to complain about him because he said, ‘I am the bread that came down from heaven.’ 42 They were saying, ‘Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How can he now say, “I have come down from heaven”?’ 43 Jesus answered them, ‘Do not complain among yourselves. 44 No one can come to me unless drawn by the Father who sent me; and I will raise that person up on the last day. 45 It is written in the prophets, “And they shall all be taught by God.” Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me. 46 Not that anyone has seen the Father except the one who is from God; he has seen the Father. 47 Very truly, I tell you, whoever believes has eternal life. 48 I am the bread of life. 49 Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. 50 This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. 51 I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live for ever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.’

Saint Teresa of Ávila (1515-1582) speaks of the ‘Dark Night of the Soul’ … her image at her convent church, the Convent of San José or Las Teresas, in Seville (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

This morning’s reflection:

Many people feel a deep experience of being driven into the ‘spiritual wilderness’ at different stages of their lives. During that time in the ‘spiritual wilderness,’ it is difficult to know that we are travelling through a place of pilgrimage rather than a place of abandonment, and that we are being refreshed and nourished there by God.

Two of the great Carmelite spiritual writers in Spain, Saint Teresa of Ávila (1515-1582) and Saint John of the Cross (1542-1591), write about the ‘Dark Night of the Soul.’

One of the themes running through this morning’s readings is the feeling of abandonment and exile, and how in the very moment we feel most distanced from God we find we are fed and nourished by him and are in his very presence.

In the first reading (II Samuel 18: 5-9, 15, 31-33), David and Absalom feel abandoned by each other, father and son. Yet David shows in the most appalling outcome to this rift that he has never lost his love for rebellious Absalom.

In Psalm 130, the psalmist cries ‘out of the depths’ to God, asking God to ‘hear my voice,’ and realises that God’s love is steadfast and everlasting.

In the Epistle reading (Ephesians 4: 25 to 5: 2), Saint Paul reminds us – no matter how we feel – to put away all anger and bitterness and to be kind to one another.

In the Gospel reading, the crowds who follow Christ into the wilderness are fed and then find that he is the ‘Bread of Life.’ They are being told that when we feel abandoned by family, friends and neighbours, God has not abandoned us; when we feel alone and as if we are in desert places, God never abandons us.

One of the reasons many people say they are turned off the ‘Old Testament’ is the amount of violence they find in it.

People who seem to have no problems passively watching news reports of starvation, war and oppression without feeling the need to respond, have real problems when it comes to Bible stories of wars, murders and battles.

We have them all here this morning in the first reading. It is a story of violence: father and son fighting each other after son has violated sister, mercenaries, pitched battles, slaughter and overkill – in those days a battle force of 20,000 amounted to weapons of mass destruction in the Middle East.

Trying to find religious meaning in all of this is difficult with our modern approaches to issues of justice and peace.

So difficult that it is not surprising some people find it difficult to reconcile what they see as the ‘God of the Old Testament’ with the loving God that Jesus addresses not just as Father, but simply and directly as Abba.

Yet, as we wade through the horror and gore, we catch a glimpse of the love of God as a perfect father.

David has never been a perfect father, a perfect husband, never a perfect king. All these failings are seen in earlier stories in this book: David and Bathsheba and the murder of Uriah (II Samuel 11: 2-27), and then David’s failure to deal with Amnon’s violation of his own half-sister Tamar (II Samuel 13: 1-21).

In this story, David’s love for his first-born son and heir is great, but it prevents him from administering justice. Yet, we know, justice delayed is justice denied.

Frustrated by David’s inaction, his third but second surviving son, Absalom, takes the law into his own hands, and has Amnon killed. After time in exile, Absalom returns to the court of his father. But David’s refusal to see him for two years leads Absalom to hate his father. Absalom plans a coup d’état and marches on Jerusalem.

David escapes across the Jordan with his army and begins a military comeback. But David’s advisers keep the king away from any direct decision about what should happen to Absalom.

David orders his commanders to ‘deal gently’ with his rebellious son. Despite his rebellion, David still loves Absalom, perhaps hoping against hope at this late stage to save his life.

Absalom’s militia are no match for David’s army. It is a cataclysmic battle. In the midst of the slaughter of perhaps tens of thousands, we hear of the death of one individual, the wayward Absalom.

As he is riding through the forest, the handsome prince is caught by the ‘head,’ perhaps by his long hair, and is left dangling from the branches of a great oak tree (verse 9; see II Samuel 14: 25-26).

In his desperate plight, we are left hanging too, wondering what happens, for this morning’s reading hastens the pace as it skips over some verses (10-14).

In those missing verses, a man tells Joab of the plight of the dangling Absalom. But he leaves it to Joab to make the decision of whether to kill Absalom.

He is still hanging from the tree when he is killed. But the men who are brave enough to kill the prince when he is an easy target are not brave enough to tell David what they have done to his son. It is amazing how brave men can become so timorous.

So, they send a Cushite, an Ethiopian or Sudanese mercenary or slave (verse 21), to tell David the whole story, both the good news and the bad news, about the victory and about his son being slain (verses 31-32).

David is heartbroken, and his open grief makes him politically weak too. Instead of honouring the victors, he mourns the death of his son.

The cry of a grieving parent for the death of a son or daughter, at any age, is a cry that pierces the soul. And David’s grieving, despite all that has happened before, is a truly authentic passage of reportage in the Bible:

‘O my son Absalom, my son Absalom! Would I had died instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my son!’

These truly are the words of a distressed father’s love for his son, a parent’s love for the child. No matter how wayward, how rebellious or how violent that child may be, the love of a parent for a child is impossible to quench totally.

This reading was chosen by Archbishop John McDowell for a devotional reflection at the General Synod some years ago. And, as he read it, I could feel my heart breaking.

David’s heartbreaking grief in the first reading is echoed in the opening words of our Psalm, the Psalm known as De Profundis: ‘Out of the depths have I cried to you, O Lord; Lord, hear my voice’ (Psalm 130: 1).

Yet, in this Psalm, David’s cry for deliverance ends with a message of hope for all. God is attentive to our pleas, despite everything that has gone wrong. God forgives, God is merciful, God offers unfailing ‘love,’ freedom from grievous sin.

Christ understands the difficulties created by the relationship between a parent and child, and between a parent who is grieved by the bickering and battling between two children: think of the parable of the Prodigal Son.

God’s love for us surpasses the love of any father or mother for their children.

God’s bitter weeping and grieving when he sees our plight is expressed most perfectly in the life, death and resurrection of his Son, Jesus Christ.

Of course, we can all cite exceptions to what I say. We know only too well there are abusive parents and there are dysfunctional families. But we also know that with God that there are no exceptions, that in Christ there is no abuse, and that Christ calls us into a relationship with his Father that is free of any dysfunction that we may have known in the past.

God’s grief for us is more perfect that David’s grief for Absalom. God does not refuse to meet us when we reach out to him. And the love of God the Father, offered to us through Christ his Son, knows no exceptions, knows no boundaries, when it comes to his children.

David and Absalom (Marc Chagall, 1956)

Today’s Prayers (Sunday 11 August 2024, Trinity XI):

The theme this week in ‘Pray With the World Church,’ the Prayer Diary of the Anglican mission agency USPG (United Society Partners in the Gospel), is ‘Whom Shall I Send?’ This theme is introduced today with a programme update from the Revd Davidson Solanki, Regional Manager Asia and Middle East, USPG:

In our last edition of the prayer diary we wrote about the Episcopal Province of Jerusalem and the Middle East’s new programme that they have launched in accompaniment with USPG ‘Whom Shall I Send’. And despite the continuing conflict that is taking place in the Middle East we are comforted that we can commence the second year of training this August.

The training programme has been created to equip lay and ordained young people called to serve in local parishes. The current cohort will continue to support parish priests and participate in practical workshops to deepen their understanding and sensitivity to the complexities of the area where they will commence their ministries.

Prayer for peace in the Holy Land

O God of all justice and peace, we cry out to you amid the pain and trauma of violence and fear which prevails in the Holy Land.

Be with those who need you in these days of suffering; we pray for people of all faiths – Jews, Muslims, Christians and all people of the land.

While we pray to you, O Lord, for an end to violence and the establishment of peace, we also call for you to bring justice and equity to the people. Guide us into your Kingdom where all people are treated with dignity and honour as your children.

Amen

The USPG Prayer Diary today (Sunday 11 August 2024, Trinity XI) invites us to pray reflecting on these words:

And now we give you thanks
because in choosing the blessed Virgin Mary
to be the mother of your Son
you have exalted the humble and meek.
Your angel hailed her as most highly favoured;
with all generations we call her blessed and with her we rejoice and magnify your holy name.

The Collect:

O God, you declare your almighty power
most chiefly in showing mercy and pity:
mercifully grant to us such a measure of your grace,
that we, running the way of your commandments,
may receive your gracious promises,
and be made partakers of your heavenly treasure;
through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord,
who is alive and reigns with you,
in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
one God, now and for ever.

The Post Communion Prayer:

Lord of all mercy,
we your faithful people have celebrated that one true sacrifice
which takes away our sins and brings pardon and peace:
by our communion
keep us firm on the foundation of the gospel
and preserve us from all sin;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Additional Collect:

God of glory,
the end of our searching,
help us to lay aside
all that prevents us from seeking your kingdom,
and to give all that we have
to gain the pearl beyond all price,
through our Saviour Jesus Christ.

‘By our communion keep us firm on the foundation of the gospel’ (Post Communion Prayer) … preparing bread for the Eucharist (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Yesterday’s reflection

Continued tomorrow

Scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible: Anglicised Edition copyright © 1989, 1995, National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide. http://nrsvbibles.org

‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty’ (John 6: 35) … bread in a restaurant in Thessaloniki (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Some reflections on the death of Canon Anna Matthews, a priest friend in Cambridge

Canon Anna Matthews … she was ‘a priest’s priest

Patrick Comerford

The death of Canon Anna Matthews in Cambridge ten days ago (8 March) is tragic and sad, and has come as a shock to all her friends and all who knew her.

Even among those who did not know her, there has been an outpouring of grief on social media by clergy and theologians trying to wrestle with the meaning of the death by suicide of a much-loved, caring and pastoral friend.

I cannot say I knew Anna well, but that was because of distance. I think we first met when she was an ordinand in Westcott House, and we got to know each other better when she returned to Cambridge as the priest at Saint Bene’t’s Church. When I was a student on courses at Sidney Sussex College organised by the Institute for Orthodox Christian Studies, Saint Bene’t’s became effectively my parish church: I would slip in there for the early Eucharist each morning before breakfast and lectures, and occasionally I was there on Sunday mornings on my way to the USPG conference in High Leigh.

We kept in touch, we have a high number of mutual friends on Facebook, and there was an invitation to return and preach in Saint Bene’t’s, an invitation that is now going to remain unanswered.

Anna was a priest’s priest, and her death leaves many of us with pain and dealing with many unanswered questions.

The language surrounding suicide has changed in recent years, so we no longer use the word ‘committed.’ No crime has been committed, and all involved and caught up in the tragedy are victims and are suffering.

There has been a parallel change in attitudes in the church too. Until recently, people who died by suicide were refused a proper funeral services and burial in consecrated ground. A rubric preceding the burial services in the Book of Common Prayer declared in stern, harsh, judgmental and unloving words: ‘Here is to be noted, That the Office ensuing is not to be used for any that die unbaptized, or excommunicate, or have laid violent hands upon themselves.’

The rubric was repeated in part by Canon 68 of 1603, which denied Church funerals and burials to those who ‘being of sound mind have laid violent hands upon themselves’. Roger Beckwith reflected many evangelical Anglican theologians of his age when he declared that a person who died by suicide ‘is a person who has committed so grievous and notorious an offence that, if he could have been, he ought to have been excommunicated for it. He is, therefore, as it were, excommunicated posthumously, being denied Christian burial.’

For centuries, the lack of understanding of suicide was reflected in the English civil law, which condemned suicide as homicide. But Canon 37, as it became, was often ignored sensibly by pastorally sensitive priests, who knew that funerals are for the comfort of family members, loved ones and friends. What was ‘sound mind’? What was meant by ‘violent hands’?

This canon came under increasing scrutiny in recent years as society's attitudes towards suicide became more understanding and compassionate, and the General Synod of the Church of England voted to amend this canon in 2017.

A report from the Board for Social Responsibility in 1959 noted that most people believed that anyone who attempted suicide must have been experiencing a degree of mental distress and deserved special sympathy and understanding. The canon was honoured more in the breach than in the observance.

Of course these were restrictions that were never found in the Bible in the first place. Indeed, the word suicide is not found in the Bible either.

I remember a tragic funeral for a teenager, where the evangelical preacher in his sermon, in presence of the bishop and the grieving parents referred to suicide as the unpardonable sin.

In the Bible, the Hebrew Scriptures refer to five events that are often interpreted as suicide:

1, When Abimelech was mortally wounded by a woman who dropped a millstone on his head, he cried to his armour-bearer to kill him so his death would not be credited to the woman (Judges 9: 54). But this is about male dignity in battle and, as death was inevitable, it was not a case of suicide.

2, The mortally wounded King Saul fell upon his own sword lest the Philistines abuse him further (I Samuel 31: 4). But, once again, this is about male dignity in battle.

3, Saul’s armour-bearer then took his own life as well (I Samuel 31: 5).

4, Ahithophel hanged himself after his advice was no longer followed by King David’s son Absalom (II Samuel 17: 23).

5, Zimri set himself afire after his rebellion failed (I Kings 16: 18). These three examples are also about male dignity and pride.

Additionally, some commentators ask whether Jonah attempted suicide (Jonah 1: 11-15).

When Samson destroyed the Philistine temple, he killed himself and all those with him (Judges 16: 29-30). Many see this as an act of military bravery rather than suicide as such.

The death of Judas is regarded as the only example of suicide in the New Testament. But there are two different, conflicting accounts of his death (see Matthew 27: 1-10, and Acts 1: 16-20).

Later, Saint Paul prevents the suicide of the Philippian jailer (see Acts 16: 27-28).

Looking out onto the world from Saint Bene’t’s Church, Cambridge (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

The word suicide is never used in the Bible, and is only found in cross-headings inserted by translators and editors. Indeed, the word did not exist in the English language until the 17th century, and tortured phrases, such as referring to people who ‘have laid violent hands upon themselves,’ failed to grasp or understand what was happening.

Before becoming Dean of Saint Paul’s, the poet-priest John Donne, wrote Biathanatos, an extended essay on suicide, in 1608.

One school of interpretation sees Biathanatos as an epiphenomenon of Donne’s morbid condition, others see in it an attempt by Donne to overcome temptation.

Biathanatos is a long and extremely difficult work with a challenging and, Donne says, ‘paradoxical’ thesis. It undertakes an exhaustive analysis of both secular and religious arguments against suicide, and argues that suicide is ‘not so naturally sin, that it may never be otherwise.’ He argues that suicide is justified when, like submission to martyrdom, it is done with charity or done for the glory of God.

In Donne’s unconventional view, Christ, in allowing himself to be crucified and in voluntarily emitting his last breath on the cross, was in fact a suicide.

Donne recognised that his unconventional thesis was ‘misinterpretable,’ and probably for this reason did not allow Biathanatos to be published during his lifetime. It was not published until a decade later, in 1647, after his death, by his son.

The word Biathanatos comes from the Greek Βιαθανατος, meaning ‘violent death’. The word suicide meaning ‘deliberate killing of oneself’ does not enter the English language until 1651 and is coined from Modern Latin. The timing of its first use is crucial to understanding its place in English culture: Charles I had been executed two years earlier; when his execution and those who signed his death warrant were condemned, the words used were ‘regicide’ and ‘regicides.’

The word suicide entered the English language alongside words such as regicide, fratricide and patricide. The word suicide had become established as a noun and a verb in the English language by the mid-18th century, when it was included by Samuel Johnson in his Dictionary.

The word is not, and has never been a Biblical term.

‘The Passion,’ a sculpture by Enzo Plazzotta in Saint Bene’t’s Church, Cambridge (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

In the classical world, what we now know as suicide was often associated with personal dignity or accepting personal responsibility.

Socrates was put on trial in the year 399 BC, charged with corrupting the youth and with impiety. The primary sources for his trial are provided by his friends Plato and Xenophon. His accusers cited two impious acts: ‘failing to acknowledge the gods that the city acknowledges’ and ‘introducing new deities.’

These two charges arose from Socrates asking philosophical questions. Citizens of Athens were chosen by lot to serve as jurors, and a majority voted to convict him. They took another vote to decide on his punishment and Socrates was sentenced to death by drinking hemlock. Instead of fleeing when he has the opportunity, Socrates, uses his death as a final lesson for his pupils, and faces the end calmly.

In the painting, ‘The Death of Socrates’ (1787) by Jacques-Louis David, Socrates is seen as an old man in a white robe who sits upright on a bed, one hand extended over a cup, the other gesturing in the air. He is surrounded by other men of varying ages, most showing emotional distress, unlike the stoic old man.

Socrates is being handed the cup by a young man who looks the other way, with his face in his free hand. Another young man clutches the thigh of the old man. An elderly man sits at the end of the bed, slumped over and looking in his lap. To the left of the painting, the wall becomes an arch, with more men in the background.

However, this depiction of the death of Socrates contains many historical inaccuracies. For simplicity, David removed many characters, including the wife of Socrates. On the other hand, he included Apollodorus, the man leaning against the wall just within the arch. But Apollodorus was sent away by Socrates for showing too much grief.

In his painting, David examines a philosopher’s approach to death. Socrates is stoic and calm because he sees death as a separate, actual realm, a different state of being from life but not an end to being.

In Plato’s Phaedo, Socrates seems to be more concerned with how Crito will handle his death than with his own wellbeing. In the painting, the gesture of Socrates indicates he is still teaching, even in the moment before his death.

The only words Christ is recorded as writing are words in the sand when a woman is about to be stoned to death. When he was asked why he did not commit his words to writing, Socrates replied: ‘I would rather write on the hearts of living men than on the skins of dead sheep.’

Like Christ, Socrates left behind no great writings. We know of Christ’s words from the Gospels and the other writings in the New Testament, we know of Socrates’ thoughts through Plato’s works.

Many writers have compared Socrates with Christ, and some of the early Church Fathers even considered Socrates a pre-Christian saint or something of a prophet. Yet Tertullian asked: ‘What has Athens to do with Jerusalem, or the Academy with the Church?’ (De praescriptione, vii).

Do Christ and Socrates share any ethical precepts? Or are those similarities shared by all great teachers of the past?

Is there a similarity between the way Christ and Socrates sought out the common people to teach them?

Christ and Socrates were both accused of ‘corrupting society’ and were put on trial. Do Socrates and Christ pose similar challenges to the prevailing religiosity and idolatries of the age?

Can you find similarities between the two in Socrates’ claims to be just a humble person trying to figure things out?

In Plato’s Crito, Crito visits Socrates on the night before his death, he questions why Socrates is content with remaining in prison and he offers him an escape route that would allow Socrates and his followers to leave the country and live in exile. Does Crito pinteracts with Socrates in a role similar to that of Judas with Christ?

Can we draw parallels between the dialogue between Socrates and Meletus, the judge at the trial, and the dialogue between Christ and Pilate?

Is there a similarity or a difference between the way Socrates is willing to accept his trial and sentencing, and the way Christ faces his trial and crucifixion?

Some consider Jesus’ death to have been a kind of suicide, as suggested by John Donne. Could we even talk about his willing acceptance of death as the ‘Suicide of God’?

After death, the person who dies by suicide continues to need the pastoral care of the church. That includes allowing that person to rest in peace. The dead person continues to retain human rights, and the right to respect, privacy and personal dignity.

There is, perhaps, too much speculation by people who did not know Anna Matthews about her and about how she died.

In a statement shared at St Bene’t’s in Cambridge last Sunday, her husband Stephen said: ‘Having received Communion at the 12:30 service on Thursday, as I prayed for Anna, I was given an image that has been of great comfort to me: Even as she fell, God lifted Anna up. She was shining in the light of the resurrection as the hurt that overcame her fell away, along with her body. So, I pray to merciful God with hope that she was spared the final anguish, and in death she was cleansed and resurrected with Christ, rising in his glory.’

And that is probably all that needs to be said for now.

Canon Anna Matthews offered a warm welcome at Saint Bene’t’s Church, Cambridge (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty’

‘This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die’ (John 6: 50) … bread prepared on Saturday for the Sunday Liturgy in Ouranoupolis, near Mount Athos (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)

Patrick Comerford

Sunday 12 August 2018,

The Eleventh Sunday after Trinity (Proper 14B).

11.30 a.m., Morning Prayer, Holy Trinity Church, Rathkeale, Co Limerick.

Readings: II Samuel 18: 5-9, 15, 31-33; Psalm 130; Ephesians 4: 25 to 5: 2; John 6: 35, 41-51.

David and Absalom (Marc Chagall, 1956)

May I speak to you in the name of God, + Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

One of the reasons I find many people say they are turned off the Old Testament is the amount of violence they find in it.

People who seem to have no problems watching boxers punch each other around the head in the ring, or watching ‘mixed martial arts,’ have real problems when it comes to stories in the Old Testament of wars, murders and battles.

And we have them all in our Old Testament reading this morning (II Samuel 18: 5-9, 15, 31-33).

It is a story of violence: father and son fighting each other after son has violated sister; mercenaries brought in; pitched battles with slaughter and overkill – in those days a battle force of 20,000 amounted to weapons of mass destruction in the Middle East.

After speaking at the Hiroshima Day commemorations in Dublin last Monday [6 August 2018], I am only too aware that trying to find religious meaning in all of this, with our modern approaches to issues of justice and peace, is such a difficult task.

So difficult, in fact, that it is not surprising to find some people find it difficult to reconcile the God of the Old Testament with the loving God that Christ speaks of as Father three times in this morning’s Gospel reading (see John 6: 44, 45, 46), and also, in the Lord’s Prayer, speaks of him in the simple and direct Aramaic of his day as Abba.

And yet, as we wade through the horror and gore in our first reading, we can realise that we have here a story that allows us to catch a glimpse of the love of God as a perfect father.

David has never been a perfect husband, nor has he ever been a perfect father, never a perfect king.

All these failings are there to see in earlier stories in this book: David and Bathsheba and the murder of Uriah (II Samuel 11: 2-27), and then David’s failure to deal with Amnon’s violation of his own half-sister Tamar (II Samuel 13: 1-21).

In this story, David’s love for his first-born son and heir is great, but it prevents him from administering justice.

There is an old legal adage or maxim that justice delayed is justice denied. Frustrated by David’s inaction, his third but second surviving son, Absalom, takes the law into his own hands, and has Amnon killed. After time in exile, through Joab’s mediation, Absalom returns to the court of his father, King David.

But David’s refusal to see him for two years leads Absalom to hate his father. Absalom plans a coup d’état. He knows how to capitalise on festering resentment to the growth of David’s empire, court and bureaucracy, and to David’s inability to accept changing social patterns and values.

Absalom marches on Jerusalem. Fleeing the city, David escapes across the River Jordan with his army and begins a military comeback. He divides his army into three groups, one each commanded by Joab, Abishai and Ittai (verse 5).

But David’s advisers keep the king away from any direct involvement in the decisions about what should happen to Absalom.

David orders his commanders to ‘deal gently’ with his rebellious son. Despite his rebellion, David still loves Absalom, perhaps hoping against hope at this late stage to save his life.

The battle is fought in the ‘forest of Ephraim’ (verse 6), on the east bank of the River Jordan. But Absalom’s militia, ‘the men of Israel’ (verse 7), are no match for David’s army.

It is a cataclysmic battle. In the midst of the slaughter, in the killing of perhaps tens of thousands of people, we hear of the death of one individual, the wayward Absalom, whose rebellion against his father began with good intent.

As he is riding through the forest, the handsome prince is caught by the ‘head,’ perhaps by his long, dangling hair, which he cut only once a year, and he is left dangling from the branches of a great oak tree (verse 9; see II Samuel 14: 25-26).

In his desperate plight, we are left hanging too, wondering what happens, for this morning’s reading hastens the pace as it skips over some verses (10-14), perhaps for the sake of abbreviation – not to make a long story longer on a Sunday morning. In those missing verses, a man tells Joab of the plight of the dangling Absalom. But he leaves it to Joab to make the politically-charged decision of whether to kill Absalom.

Ten young men are sent to take advantage of Absalom’s predicament. He is still hanging from the tree when he is killed.

Another missing verse tells us Absalom’s body was thrown into a ‘big pit in the forest’ (verse 17), despite the fact that he had already built himself an elegant, pillared tomb in the Valley of the Kings near Jerusalem so that he would not be forgotten (verse 18).

But the men who are brave enough to kill the prince when he is an easy target are not brave enough to tell David what they have done to his son. It is amazing how brave men can become so timorous.

And so, instead, they send a Cushite, an Ethiopian or Sudanese mercenary or slave (verse 21), to tell David the whole story, both the good news and the bad news, about the victory and about his son being slain (verses 31-32).

David is heartbroken, and his open grief makes him politically weak too. Instead of honouring the victors, he mourns the death of his son.

The cry of a grieving parent for the death of a son or a daughter, no matter what age either of them is, is a cry that pierces the soul. Once you hear it, you can never forget it.

No parent expects to see a child grow to full adulthood and then live to see that son or daughter die. It is an unnatural sequence or pairing of life events. It is one of the great injustices in life.

And David’s grieving, despite all that has happened before, despite his own role in bringing about these bitter and ugly events, is one of those truly authentic passages of reportage in the Bible:

‘O my son Absalom, my son Absalom! Would I had died instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my son!’ (II Samuel 18: 33).

These truly are the words of a distressed Father’s love for his son, a parent’s love for the child.

No matter how wayward, how rebellious, or how violent that child may be – and every parent has children who give problems – been there, done that – yet the love of a parent for a child is impossible to quench.

This was one of the readings chosen by Bishop John McDowell for the devotional reflections at the General Synod some years ago [2012], and, as he read it, I could feel my heart breaking.

Perhaps this is what it means when it is said David was ‘a man after God’s own heart’ (I Samuel 13: 13-14; Acts 13: 22). Despite David’s many faults, he had a heart like God’s, weeping over his wayward children, willing to die in their place, never allowing their rebellion and cruelty to harden his own heart towards them.

David’s heart-breaking grief is echoed in our Psalm: ‘Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord. Lord, hear my voice!’ (Psalm 130: -21).

The first verse in Psalm 130 is a call to God in deep sorrow, ‘out of the depths’ as it is translated in the Authorised or King James Version of the Bible and in the Book of Common Prayer. When the Book of Common Prayer gave Latin names to the psalms, the psalm was known by its Latin incipit, De profundis, and it has inspired composers (Bach, Mozart, Arvo Pärt), poets (Tennyson, Rossetti, Lorca) and writers (Oscar Wilde, Arthur Conan Doyle).

David’s cry is a cry to God for deliverance from personal trouble, yet it ends with a message of hope for all. God is attentive to our pleas, despite everything that has gone wrong. God forgives, God is merciful, God offers unfailing love, freedom from grievous sin.

Christ understands the difficulties created by the relationship between a parent and child, and between a parent who is grieved by the bickering and battling between two children.

That is why the story of the ‘Prodigal Son’ (Luke 15: 11-32) rings so true. It is not just the story of a grieving father waiting for a wayward son, but the story of a grieving father waiting for a son who may be his ruin, the story of a grieving father whose two sons have fought so much with each other that one refuses to welcome the other home. It has parallels with Absalom’s clashes with Amnon, and contrasts with David’s refusal to go out and meet Absalom when he returns home.

This morning’s Psalm is a prayer for deliverance from personal trouble, but it ends with a message to all people: wait in hope for God; he offers unfailing love.

God’s love for us surpasses the love of any father or mother for their children.

God’s love is never petulant. God never goes into a corner and sulks.

And God’s bitter weeping and grieving when he sees our plight is expressed most perfectly in the life, death and resurrection of his Son, Jesus Christ.

Christ understands that so well. He tells the people who follow him after he has feed the multitude in the wilderness, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty’ (John 6: 35).

Of course, there are many exceptions; of course, there are abusive parents and there are dysfunctional families. Even his critics try to abuse Christ by implying in this morning’s Gospel reading that he comes from a dysfunctional family (see verse 42).

But we also know that with God that there are no exceptions, that in Christ there is no abuse, that there are no exclusions to his understanding of family when he emphasises: ‘Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me’ (see verse 46).

Christ calls us into a relationship with his Father that is free of any dysfunction that we may have known in the past.

God’s grief for us is more perfect that David’s grief for Absalom. God does not refuse to meet us when we reach out to him. And the love of God the Father, offered to us through Christ his Son, knows no exceptions, knows no boundaries, when it comes to his children.

Jesus said to them, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty’ (John 6: 35).

And so, may all we think, say and do, be to the praise, honour and glory of God, + Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

‘I am the bread of life … This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die’ (John 6: 48-50) … an icon in a shop window in Thessaloniki (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

John 6: 35, 41-51:

35 Jesus said to them, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.’

41 Then the Jews began to complain about him because he said, ‘I am the bread that came down from heaven.’ 42 They were saying, ‘Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How can he now say, “I have come down from heaven”?’ 43 Jesus answered them, ‘Do not complain among yourselves. 44 No one can come to me unless drawn by the Father who sent me; and I will raise that person up on the last day. 45 It is written in the prophets, “And they shall all be taught by God.” Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me. 46 Not that anyone has seen the Father except the one who is from God; he has seen the Father. 47 Very truly, I tell you, whoever believes has eternal life. 48 I am the bread of life. 49 Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. 50 This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. 51 I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live for ever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.’

‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty’ (John 6: 35) … bread in a restaurant in Thessaloniki (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)

Liturgical Colour: Green.

Collect:

O God,
you declare your almighty power
most chiefly in showing mercy and pity:
Mercifully grant to us such a measure of your grace,
that we, running the way of your commandments,
may receive your gracious promises,
and be made partakers of your heavenly treasure;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Hymns:

62, Abide with me (CD 4);
24, All creatures of our God and king (CD 2, omits verses 5 and 6).
425, Jesus, thou joy of loving hearts (CD 25).

‘Grant … that we, running the way of your commandments, may receive your gracious promises’ … the Ten Commandments seen on carved stone in a synagogue in Thessaloniki (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)

Scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of Churches of Christ in the USA, and are used by permission. All rights reserved.

‘I am the bread of life … This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die’

‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty’ (John 6: 35) … bread in a restaurant in Thessaloniki (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)

Patrick Comerford

Sunday 12 August 2018,

The Eleventh Sunday after Trinity (Proper 14B).

9.30 a.m., the Eucharist (Holy Communion 2), Castletown Church, Kilcornan, Co Limerick.

Readings: II Samuel 18: 5-9, 15, 31-33; Psalm 130; Ephesians 4: 25 to 5: 2; John 6: 35, 41-51.

David and Absalom (Marc Chagall, 1956)

May I speak to you in the name of God, + Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

One of the reasons I find many people say they are turned off the Old Testament is the amount of violence they find in it.

People who seem to have no problems watching boxers punch each other around the head in the ring, or watching ‘mixed martial arts,’ have real problems when it comes to stories in the Old Testament of wars, murders and battles.

And we have them all in our Old Testament reading this morning (II Samuel 18: 5-9, 15, 31-33).

It is a story of violence: father and son fighting each other after son has violated sister; mercenaries brought in; pitched battles with slaughter and overkill – in those days a battle force of 20,000 amounted to weapons of mass destruction in the Middle East.

After speaking at the Hiroshima Day commemorations in Dublin last Monday [6 August 2018], I am only too aware that trying to find religious meaning in all of this, with our modern approaches to issues of justice and peace, is such a difficult task.

So difficult, in fact, that it is not surprising to find some people find it difficult to reconcile the God of the Old Testament with the loving God that Christ speaks of as Father three times in this morning’s Gospel reading (see John 6: 44, 45, 46), and also, in the Lord’s Prayer, speaks of him in the simple and direct Aramaic of his day as Abba.

And yet, as we wade through the horror and gore in our first reading, we can realise that we have here a story that allows us to catch a glimpse of the love of God as a perfect father.

David has never been a perfect husband, nor has he ever been a perfect father, never a perfect king.

All these failings are there to see in earlier stories in this book: David and Bathsheba and the murder of Uriah (II Samuel 11: 2-27), and then David’s failure to deal with Amnon’s violation of his own half-sister Tamar (II Samuel 13: 1-21).

In this story, David’s love for his first-born son and heir is great, but it prevents him from administering justice.

There is an old legal adage or maxim that justice delayed is justice denied. Frustrated by David’s inaction, his third but second surviving son, Absalom, takes the law into his own hands, and has Amnon killed. After time in exile, through Joab’s mediation, Absalom returns to the court of his father, King David.

But David’s refusal to see him for two years leads Absalom to hate his father. Absalom plans a coup d’état. He knows how to capitalise on festering resentment to the growth of David’s empire, court and bureaucracy, and to David’s inability to accept changing social patterns and values.

Absalom marches on Jerusalem. Fleeing the city, David escapes across the River Jordan with his army and begins a military comeback. He divides his army into three groups, one each commanded by Joab, Abishai and Ittai (verse 5).

But David’s advisers keep the king away from any direct involvement in the decisions about what should happen to Absalom.

David orders his commanders to ‘deal gently’ with his rebellious son. Despite his rebellion, David still loves Absalom, perhaps hoping against hope at this late stage to save his life.

The battle is fought in the forest of Ephraim (verse 6), on the east bank of the River Jordan. But Absalom’s militia, the men of Israel (verse 7), are no match for David’s army.

It is a cataclysmic battle. In the midst of the slaughter, in the killing of perhaps tens of thousands of people, we hear of the death of one individual, the wayward Absalom, whose rebellion against his father began with good intent.

As he is riding through the forest, the handsome prince is caught by his long, dangling hair, which he cut only once a year, and he is left dangling from the branches of a great oak tree (verse 9; see II Samuel 14: 25-26).

In his desperate plight, we are left hanging too, wondering what happens, for this morning’s reading hastens the pace as it skips over some verses (10-14), perhaps for the sake of abbreviation – not to make a long story longer on a Sunday morning. In those missing verses, a man tells Joab of the plight of the dangling Absalom. But he leaves it to Joab to make the politically-charged decision of whether to kill Absalom.

Ten young men are sent to take advantage of Absalom’s predicament. He is still hanging from the tree when he is killed.

Another missing verse tells us Absalom’s body was thrown into a ‘great pit in the forest’ (verse 17), despite the fact that he had already built himself an elegant, pillared tomb in the Valley of the Kings near Jerusalem so that he would not be forgotten (verse 18).

But the men who are brave enough to kill the prince when he is an easy target are not brave enough to tell David what they have done to his son. It is amazing how brave men can become so timorous.

And so, instead, they send a Cushite, an Ethiopian or Sudanese mercenary or slave (verse 21), to tell David the whole story, both the good news and the bad news, about the victory and about his son being slain (verses 31-32).

David is heartbroken, and his open grief makes him politically weak too. Instead of honouring the victors, he mourns the death of his son.

The cry of a grieving parent for the death of a son or a daughter, no matter what age either of them is, is a cry that pierces the soul. Once you hear it, you can never forget it.

No parent expects to see a child grow to full adulthood and then live to see that son or daughter die. It is an unnatural sequence or pairing of life events. It is one of the great injustices in life.

And David’s grieving, despite all that has happened before, despite his own role in bringing about these bitter and ugly events, is one of those truly authentic passages of reportage in the Bible:

‘O my son Absalom, my son Absalom! Would I had died instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my son!’ (II Samuel 18: 33).

These truly are the words of a distressed Father’s love for his son, a parent’s love for the child.

No matter how wayward, how rebellious, or how violent that child may be – and every parent has children who give problems – been there, done that – yet the love of a parent for a child is impossible to quench.

This was one of the readings chosen by Bishop John McDowell for the devotional reflections at the General Synod some years ago [2012], and, as he read it, I could feel my heart breaking.

Perhaps this is what it means when it is said David was ‘a man after God’s own heart’ (I Samuel 13: 13-14; Acts 13: 22). Despite David’s many faults, he had a heart like God’s, weeping over his wayward children, willing to die in their place, never allowing their rebellion and cruelty to harden his own heart towards them.

David’s heart-breaking grief is echoed in our Psalm: ‘Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord. Lord, hear my voice!’ (Psalm 130: -21).

The first verse in Psalm 130 is a call to God in deep sorrow, ‘out of the depths’ as it is translated in the Authorised or King James Version of the Bible and in the Book of Common Prayer. When the Book of Common Prayer gave Latin names to the psalms, the psalm was known by its Latin incipit, De profundis, and it has inspired composers (Bach, Mozart, Arvo Pärt), poets (Tennyson, Rossetti, Lorca) and writers (Oscar Wilde, Arthur Conan Doyle).

David’s cry is a cry to God for deliverance from personal trouble, yet it ends with a message of hope for all. God is attentive to our pleas, despite everything that has gone wrong. God forgives, God is merciful, God offers unfailing love, freedom from grievous sin.

Christ understands the difficulties created by the relationship between a parent and child, and between a parent who is grieved by the bickering and battling between two children.

That is why the story of the ‘Prodigal Son’ (Luke 15: 11-32) rings so true. It is not just the story of a grieving father waiting for a wayward son, but the story of a grieving father waiting for a son who may be his ruin, the story of a grieving father whose two sons have fought so much with each other that one refuses to welcome the other home. It has parallels with Absalom’s clashes with Amnon, and contrasts with David’s refusal to go out and meet Absalom when he returns home.

This morning’s Psalm is a prayer for deliverance from personal trouble, but it ends with a message to all people: wait in hope for God; he offers unfailing love.

God’s love for us surpasses the love of any father or mother for their children.

God’s love is never petulant. God never goes into a corner and sulks.

And God’s bitter weeping and grieving when he sees our plight is expressed most perfectly in the life, death and resurrection of his Son, Jesus Christ.

Christ understands that so well. He tells the people who follow him after he has feed the multitude in the wilderness, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty’ (John 6: 35).

Of course, there are many exceptions; of course, there are abusive parents and there are dysfunctional families. Even his critics try to abuse Christ by implying in this morning’s Gospel reading that he comes from a dysfunctional family (see verse 42).

But we also know that with God that there are no exceptions, that in Christ there is no abuse, that there are no exclusions to his understanding of family when he emphasises: ‘Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me’ (verse 46).

Christ calls us into a relationship with his Father that is free of any dysfunction that we may have known in the past.

God’s grief for us is more perfect that David’s grief for Absalom. God does not refuse to meet us when we reach out to him. And the love of God the Father, offered to us through Christ his Son, knows no exceptions, knows no boundaries, when it comes to his children.

Jesus said to them, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty’ (John 6: 35).

And so, may all we think, say and do, be to the praise, honour and glory of God, + Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

‘I am the bread of life ... This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die’ (John 6: 48-50) … an icon in a shop window in Thessaloniki (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

John 6: 35, 41-51:

35 Jesus said to them, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.’

41 Then the Jews began to complain about him because he said, ‘I am the bread that came down from heaven.’ 42 They were saying, ‘Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How can he now say, “I have come down from heaven”?’ 43 Jesus answered them, ‘Do not complain among yourselves. 44 No one can come to me unless drawn by the Father who sent me; and I will raise that person up on the last day. 45 It is written in the prophets, “And they shall all be taught by God.” Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me. 46 Not that anyone has seen the Father except the one who is from God; he has seen the Father. 47 Very truly, I tell you, whoever believes has eternal life. 48 I am the bread of life. 49 Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. 50 This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. 51 I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live for ever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.’

‘This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die’ (John 6: 50) … bread prepared on Saturday for the Sunday Liturgy in Ouranoupolis, near Mount Athos (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)

Liturgical Colour: Green.

Collect:

O God,
you declare your almighty power
most chiefly in showing mercy and pity:
Mercifully grant to us such a measure of your grace,
that we, running the way of your commandments,
may receive your gracious promises,
and be made partakers of your heavenly treasure;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Post Communion Prayer:

Lord of all mercy,
we your faithful people have celebrated
the memorial of that single sacrifice
which takes away our sins and brings pardon and peace.
By our communion
keep us firm on the foundation of the gospel
and preserve us from all sin;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Hymns:

62, Abide with me (CD 4);
24, All creatures of our God and king (CD 2, omits verses 5 and 6).
425, Jesus, thou joy of loving hearts (CD 25).

‘Grant … that we, running the way of your commandments, may receive your gracious promises’ … the Ten Commandments seen on carved stone in a synagogue in Thessaloniki (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)

Scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of Churches of Christ in the USA, and are used by permission. All rights reserved.