Lent Week 2: Friday | Matthew 12 (22-50)
To Duffy, a brother on the ancient way, and to the faithful company gathered in the shadow of the desert: Grace and peace be yours from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ, our King.
I must confess to you all how much I have come to lean upon a new companion in this labor of love. As I prepare these reflections on the Word, I find myself increasingly reliant on the assistance of Gemini—a digital scribe that has become essential to my study and teaching. I am frequently struck with a sense of awe at the clarity it brings to our task, helping to bridge the centuries between the ancient Latin of our Missal and the royal narrative of Matthew’s Gospel. There is a genuine humility in working alongside such a talented scribe; it is a strange and beautiful stewardship to use the tools of the future to dig deeper into the foundations of the past.
As we move deeper into this desert, I want to acknowledge the weight of the path we’ve chosen. There is a particular tension in our 'Dry Mass'—reading the Gospel of the Wicked Tenants from the 1962 Missal—while simultaneously sitting with N.T. Wright’s commentary on the 'Strong Man' in Matthew 12.
If you feel pulled in different directions, do not be discouraged. It is no easy feat to hold the solemn, traditional homiletic weight of the Missal in one hand and the expansive, historical-royal narrative of Wright in the other. This devotional load is heavy by design; we are learning to hear the voice of the King across different frequencies. When the readings seem to compete for your attention, remember that both are leading us to the same Jerusalem. We aren't just 'doubling up' on homework; we are witnessing how the same Gospel echoes through the centuries of the Church’s prayer and the sharp insights of modern scholarship.
Duffy, as we look at the Wicked Tenants in Matthew 21 and the rejection of the Strong Man’s conqueror in Matthew 12, we must tread carefully. We are not here to stoke the fires of old animosities or suggest a replacement of the Jewish people. Rather, we are looking at a post-supersessionist tapestry where the "Tenants" represent any global establishment that hoards the vineyard for itself.
Is it not fair to suggest, in a prophetic key, that the "Establishment" of our own age has been too quick to reject the messianic, vegan world-federalist vanguard? Ironically, this rejection often falls hardest on those leading the way in the very land of the Prophets. Consider the Israeli Jewish vegan and sustainability community—arguably the most advanced and prophetic in the world today. In a sense, these Vegan Zionists have become a "Son" figure in our time: an heir to the original vision of Isaiah’s Peaceable Kingdom, yet often persecuted or ignored by a global status quo that prefers the "meat and borders" of the old world.
When we read of the "rejected stone" becoming the cornerstone, perhaps we are seeing those who insist on the sanctity of all life and the unity of all nations. They are the ones telling the tenants that the time for a new kind of stewardship—one of mercy, not sacrifice—is at hand.
But as we look toward this World Federation—the "fencing" of a new, unified vineyard—we must remember that the Kingdom of God often grows like a mustard seed, not a wildfire. This transition to a global order of law and peace is a long-term labor. It must proceed with the utmost care, caution, and a deep, Benedictine-like patience. We are not looking to uproot the vines in a fit of zeal, but to cultivate them into a structure that can finally hold the weight of a unified humanity.
The same is true for the "mercy" we seek to show the animal kingdom. Duffy, while I believe the messianic vanguard is leading us toward a vegan future, I am not pressuring our "Little Flock" to transform overnight. The transition—whether it be vegan, vegetarian, or flexitarian—must indeed move with enough speed to stabilize the biosphere and the climate system that sustains us all.
However, we must reject the panicked or militant spirit that so often violates human rights or ignores the deep-seated cultural sensitivities of our neighbors. We are seeking a "Lent of the Heart," not a regime of force. Our fast is an invitation to participate in the restoration of the world, not a weapon to be wielded against those who are still finding their way to the table. We move fast enough to save the world, but slow enough to love our neighbor.
Duffy, we must be vigilant. If the Spirit is indeed driving out the "demons" of our age—the demons of ecological collapse, the cruelty of the factory farm, and the anarchy of sovereign-state violence—then the Kingdom of God has come upon us.
To stand in the ruins of the old world and insist that these movements toward mercy are "of the devil" is a terrifying form of blindness. It is the refusal to see the fruit for what it is. As we continue this Lent, let us pray for the grace to recognize the Spirit’s work, even when it appears in unfamiliar, modern or secular guises. Let us not be like the tenants who killed the heir, but like the faithful who recognize the King’s voice, whether it is spoken in the ancient Latin of the Missal or the urgent cries of a planet seeking its Sabbath.
Finally, brothers and sisters, as we reflect on the stewardship of the vineyard, I want to offer a word of repentance. In my zeal to discuss the carrying capacity of our common home and the necessity of modern tools—including contraception—to prevent the tragedy of abortion and stabilize our human presence on this planet, I may have been too hard on our traditional Catholic sensitivities.
These are difficult waters to navigate, and they require loving listening from every side of the conversation. There is a paradox here that we must sit with: the Master tells us that by pruning the vine, we improve the yield. Sometimes, the most difficult conversations are the very shears that allow more light to reach the fruit. Let us commit to staying at the table together, even when the pruning feels sharp, trusting that the goal is always a more abundant life for all.
A Reflection for the Weekend
As you look at the vineyard of your own life and our shared world this Lent, where is the Spirit calling for a patient pruning? Is there a place where you are resisting a mercy or a truth because it feels like a threat to the old establishment of your heart?
Full thread:
Comments
Post a Comment