Jesus of Nazareth, Part Two: Holy Week

I am so thrilled to be in the process of reading the Holy Father's new second volume on Jesus of Nazareth. The book is published by Ignatius Press and will be released on Thursday, March 10th.

I loved the first book, Jesus of Nazareth: From the Baptism in the Jordan to the Transfiguration, which I reviewed on Love2learn.net. I led a discussion group on the book with some homeschooled teens that proceeded slowly through the book over the course of many months. I wrote a number of blog posts about the book and the discussion on my old blog. We also own the first book on audio, purchased especially for my teenage son, who plugs through complex material rather well when it's in audio format. I like to keep this audio on my iPod and re-listen to chapters here and there. It's that good.

I want to make very clear that the teens in my group and I as their leader all got a lot out of the book, but didn't pretend, or even really attempt, to understand everything in the book. We studied one chapter per week and tended to focus on the additional significance and meaning that Pope Benedict brought out of each of the Gospel stories. There were some tough vocabulary words here and there, but the process of understanding became easier as we encountered the words multiple times and were also aided by a very handy glossary in back (this second book also includes a glossary).

I just received my soft-review-copy of this new book yesterday, so I've just made it to the first segment that I'm permitted to talk about before the release of the book: Chapter 3, Section 4 on "the Mystery of the Betrayer" (in the midst of a chapter on the Last Supper). There are two things that caught my eye in this segment that I thought I'd share here. The first is that the pope interprets Jesus' words regarding his betrayer as something that also applies to some in the Church in the future.

So the psalm verse casts a prophetic shadow over the Church of the evangelist's own day, in which the Eucharist was celebrated, and indeed over the Church of all times: Judas' betrayal was not the last breach of fidelity that Jesus would suffer. "Even my bosom friend, in whom I trusted, who ate my bread, has lifted his heel against me' (Ps 41:9). The breach of friendship extends into the sacramental community of the Church, where people continue to take 'his bread' and to betray him.

Jesus' agony, his struggle against death, continues until the end of the world, as Blaise Paschal said on the basis of similar considerations. We could also put it the other way around: at this hour, Jesus took upon himself the betrayal of all ages, the pain caused by betrayal in every era, and he endured the anguish of history to the bitter end.

I'm always amazed at how reading Pope Benedict's writings (both before and after he became pope) challenge me - not only in forcing me to put in the effort to understanding, but also, in a more philosophical way, to expand the way I look at my faith and at the world through the lens of my faith.

The second piece that struck me is the concept of Judas' second tragedy and the idea of a wrong kind of remorse:

His second tragedy - after the betrayal - is that he can no longer believe in forgiveness. His remorse turns into despair. Now he sees only himself and his darkness; he no longer sees the light of Jesus, which can illumine and overcome the darkness. He shows us the wrong type of remorse: the type that is unable to hope, that sees only its own darkness, the type that is destructive and in no way authentic. Genuine remorse is marked by the certainty of hope born of faith in the superior power of the light that was made flesh in Jesus.

Powerful stuff! I think both of these passages help illustrate how much we should look on the Gospels, and an illuminative study of the Gospels, as something comprehensively relevant to our lives today.

Well, this certainly seems to be a day for quotes...

I started reading Michael Dubruiel's How to Get the Most Out of the Eucharist before Mass this morning (for once we arrived quite early and I didn't have ALL the kids in tow) and fell in love with this introductory quote he shared from St. Peter Damien:

Place upon the altar of your devotion all that you enjoy, all that you are capable of doing, the whole of the life you live, all that you hope for; and then offer yourselves as a sacrifice to God, which is greater than all holocausts.

I read most of the introductory chapter. It's quite good and challenging in a way that I found very helpful.

The Feast of the Transfiguration

I have to admit that I never really "got" the Feast of the Transfiguration until well into my adult years. In fact, it was really only after reading Pope Benedict's Jesus of Nazareth that I began to have a sense of the beauty of the Gospel event and the feast that we celebrate.

(As an aside, I remember that while teaching in a small Catholic school when I was first married, the 7th and 8th grade religion teacher - it was a very small school, so grades were combined - assigned the students to write a paper on the Transfiguration and I thought - *I* couldn't do that!)

Anyway, Pope Benedict's book is beautiful and I love understanding some of the symbolism and connectedness (both to the Old Testament and to other events in Jesus' life) of the Gospel. Here are a few things the Pope shares about the feast:

1. It's important to see it in connection with Peter's Confession - "You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God." This event takes place about a week before the Transfiguration and there is some speculation that it actually took place on the Jewish Feast of Atonement (Yom Kippur):

This would mean that Peter's confession fell on the great Day of Atonement and should be interpreted theologically against the backdrop of this feast, on which, for the one time in the year, the high priest solemnly pronounced the name YHWH in the Temple's Holy of Holies.

(How cool is that?)

There are two different theories regarding the time at which the Transfiguration took place - both of which placed it during the Feast of Tabernacles (either at the beginning - which would fit with Peter's Confession being on the Feast of Atonement - or at the end, which would place the Confession at the beginning of the Feast - the Feast of Tabernacles lasts an entire week).

The Pope argues that the Transfiguration was the fulfillment of the Feast of Tabernacles - which itself was a Feast of hope and expectation:

'The manifestation of the glory of Jesus,' to quote Danielou, 'appears to Peter to be the sign that the times of the Messiah have arrived. And one of the qualities of these messianic times was to be the dwelling of the just in the tents signified by the huts of the Feast of Tabernacles'... By experiencing the Transfiguration during the Feast of Tabernacles, Peter, in his ecstasy, was able to recognize 'that the realities prefigured by the Feast were accomplished... the scene of the Transfiguration marks the fact that the messianic times have come'. It is only as they go down from the mountain that Peter has to learn once again that the messianic age is first and foremost the age of the Cross and that the Transfiguration - the experience of becoming light from and with the Lord - requires us to be burned by the light of the Passion and so transformed.

There of course are other significances to the story, such as this:

The Transfiguration is a prayer event; it displays visibly what happens when Jesus talks with his Father: the profound interpenetration of his being with God, which then becomes pure light. In his oneness with the Father, Jesus is himself "light from light." The reality that he is in the deepest core of his being, which Peter tried to express in his confession - that reality becomes perceptible to the senses at this moment" Jesus' being in the light of God, his own being-light as Son.

Ah, but this is only a light scratch of the surface of the Pope's writings on this topic. You'll have to read the book to see more - especially in the given context of Peter's Confession.

I Didn't Really Plan Today to be "Quote Day"...

...but I'm reading a selection from Jesus of Nazareth for tonight's discussion (we're nearly finished with the book, by the way; next week will be the final discussion) and I had to make note of this powerful passage:

Whenever messianic or other related titles are applied to [Jesus], as for example by the demons he casts out, or by Peter in his confession, he enjoins silence. It is true, of course, that the title Messiah, "King of the Jews," is placed over the Cross - publicly displayed before the whole world. And it is permissible to place it there - in the three languages of the world at that time (cf. Jn 19:19f.) - because now there is no longer any chance of its being misunderstood. The Cross is his throne, and as such it gives the correct interpretation of this title. Regnavit a ligno Deus - God reigns from the wood of the Cross, as the ancient Church sang in celebration of this new kingship.

God's Generosity

We've been studying the eighth chapter of Pope Benedict XVI's Jesus of Nazareth lately. It was interesting because last Thursday's reading involved both the story of the Samaritan Woman at the Well (which was the previous Sunday's Gospel) AND the story of Jesus healing the blind man at the Pool of Siloam (which was yesterday's Gospel).

One of my favorite parts from this read, though, was from an exposition on the story of the Wedding Feast of Cana. It involved the interweaving of the reality of God's generosity as evident in the superabundance of the miracle of changing water into wine and how that is the same generosity as the sacrifice on the cross...

There is another basic element of the narrative linked to this timing. Jesus says to Mary that his hour has not yet come. On an immediate level, this means that he does not simply act and decide by his own lights, but always in harmony with the Father's will and always in terms of the Father's plan. More particularly, the "hour" designates his "glorification," which brings together his Cross, his Resurrection and his presence throughout the world in word and sacrament. Jesus' hour, the hour of his "glory," begins at the moment of the Cross, and its historical setting is the moment when the Passover lambs are slaughtered - it is just then that Jesus, the true lamb, pours out his blood. His hour comes from God, but it is solidly situated in a precise historical context tied to a liturgical date - and just so it is the beginning of the new liturgy in "spirit and truth." When at this juncture Jesus speaks to Mary of his hour, he is connecting the present moment with the mystery of the Cross interpreted as his glorification. This hour is not yet come; that was the first thing that had to be said. And yet Jesus has the power to anticipate this "hour" in a mysterious sign. This stamps the miracle of Cana as an anticipation of the hour, tying the two together intrinsically.

How could we forget that this thrilling mystery of the anticipated hour continues to occur again and again? Just as at his mother's request Jesus gives a sign that anticipates his hour, and at the same time directs our gaze toward it, so too he does the same thing ever anew in the Eucharist. Here, in response to the Church's prayer, the Lord anticipates his return; he comes already now; he celebrates the marriage feast with us here and now. In so doing, he lifts us out of our own time toward the coming "hour."

We thus begin to understand the event of Cana. The sign of God is overflowing generosity. We see it in the multiplication of the loaves; we see it again and again - most of all, though, at the center of salvation history, in the fact that he lavishly spends himself for the lowly creature, man. This abundant giving is his "glory." The superabundance of Cana is therefore a sign that God's feast with humanity, his self-giving for men, has begun. The framework of this event, the wedding, thus becomes an image that points beyond itself to the messianic hour: The hour of God's marriage feast with his people has begun in the coming of Jesus. The promise of the last days enter into the Now.

The Parables (Reading from Tonight's Teen Discussion)

Unfortunately I don't have time for a super elucidating post about this, just for a few amazing tidbits from tonight's breathtaking reading on the parables (from Jesus of Nazareth by Pope Benedict XVI, of course). Honestly, you'll probably get more out of reading these two quotes slowly and thoughtfully than a bunch of side notes from me anyway. :)

Now, every educator, every teacher who wants to communicate new knowledge to his listeners naturally makes constant use of example or parable. By using an example, he draws to their attention a reality that until now has lain outside their field of vision. He wants to show that something they have hitherto not perceived can be glimpsed via a reality that does fall within their range of experience. By means of parable he brings something distant within their reach so that, using the parable as a bridge, they can arrive at what was previously unknown. A twofold movement is involved here. On one hand, the parable brings distant realities close to the listeners as they reflect upon it. On the other hand, the listeners themselves are led onto a journey. The inner dynamic of the parable, the intrinsic self-transcendence of the chosen image, invites them to entrust themselves to this dynamic and to go beyond their existing horizons, to come to know and understand things previously unknown. This means, however, that the parable demands the collaboration of the learner, for not only is something brought close to him, but he himself must enter into the movement of the parable and journey along with it.

I thought the following imagery was very beautiful and also has something to say about how God works in the world in a more general sense AND how we can help bring others to Christ...

This brings us back to the Lord's words about seeing and not seeing, hearing and not understanding. For Jesus is not trying to convey to us some sort of abstract knowledge that does not concern us profoundly. He has to lead us to the mystery of God - to the light that our eyes cannot bear and that we therefore try to escape. In order to make it accessible to us, he shows how the divine light shines through in the things of this world and in the realities of our everyday life. Through everyday events, he wants to show us the real ground of all things and thus the true direction we have to take in our day-to-day lives if we want to go the right way. He shows us God: not an abstract God, but the God who acts, who intervenes in our lives, and wants to take us by the hand. He shows us through everyday things who we are and what we must therefore do. He conveys knowledge that makes demands upon us; it not only or even primarily adds to what we know, but it changes our lives.

Risk and Friendship

I've been thinking a bit lately about how making a step toward friendship with someone or even *being* friends with someone makes you vulnerable in many ways and can, at times be a frightening thing. Or at least something where fear can get in the way and prevent you from making that step. My mind, at least, tries to put these road blocks in my way - "Ugh. Maybe they'll think I'm stupid or presumptuous. Maybe I shouldn't say anything at all." Friendship does sometimes cause extremely painful misunderstandings. There's a significant risk there, especially to someone who is sensitive about such things as relationships.

Of course the rewards of friendship are much greater and entirely "worth it", but not everyone can make it past that first big hurdle and I know, for me, that first hurdle can be very difficult. There is also a significant sense of relief when my offer of friendship is accepted by the other.

Discussions on the Internet can be like that too. If I really share my opinion, which may not be fully formed, will I sound stupid? will some people misunderstand me or dislike me?

There's a certain degree to which the practice of humility is necessary in making such steps (at least in an act against pride which is uncomfortable with vulnerability). It also reminds me of the charity and openness and understanding I should have to others .

So I was interested to understand in a new way, in a portion of Pope Benedict XVI's Jesus of Nazareth, how God models for us a participation in such risks. God came down and made Himself vulnerable to us. Wow!

This is from the Holy Father's commentary on the Our Father, in the segment entitled "Hallowed Be Thy Name". I'll try to summarize here along with a few choice quotes:

First, he brings up the obvious connection of "Hallowed be thy Name" with "Thou shalt not speak the name of the Lord thy God in vain."

This leads to a detailed discussion of God revealing Himself to Moses in the burning bush.

In one sense God doesn't give himself a name "among other gods" as if he's one of many.

God's answer to Moses is thus at once a refusal and a pledge. He says of himself simply, "I am who I am" - he is without any qualification. This pledge is a name and a non-name at one and the same time.

He also points out that God didn't actually refuse Moses' request. He gave him something very significant which establishes a relationship with mankind.

God establishes a relationship between himself and us. He puts himself within reach of our invocation. He enters into relationship with us and enables us to be in relationship with him. Yet this means that in some sense he hands himself over to our human world. He has made himself accessible and, therefore, vulnerable as well. He assumes the risk of relationship, of communion, with us.

The process that was brought to completion in the Incarnation had begun with the giving of the divine name.... God has now truly made himself accessible in his incarnate Son. He has become a part of our world: he has, as it were, put himself into our hands.

This enables us to understand what the petition for the sanctification of the divine name means. The name of God can now be misused and so God himself can be sullied. The name of God can be co-opted for our purposes and so the image of God can also be distorted. The more he gives himself into our hands, the more we can obscure his light; the closer he is, the more our misuse can disfigure him. Martin Buber once said that when we consider all the ways in which God's name has been so shamefully misused, we almost despair of uttering it ourselves. But to keep it silent would be an outright refusal of the love with which God comes to us. Buber says that our only recourse is to try as reverently as possible to pick up and purify the polluted fragments of the divine name. But there is no way we can do that alone. All we can do is plead with him not to allow the light of his name to be destroyed in the world.

And so God is our true model for friendship and charity (and much more!). He comes to us in love despite fallen man's tendency to manhandling. I love the beautiful commentary on God's name too!

The Lord's Prayer from Jesus of Nazareth

I was catching up on my Jesus of Nazareth readings last week when I came across some really beautiful thoughts in the Holy Father's chapter on the Lord's Prayer.

The Sermon on the Mount, as we have seen, draws a comprehensive portrait of the right way to live. It aims to show us how to be a human being. We could sum up its fundamental insights by saying that man can be understood only in light of God, and that his life is made righteous only when he lives it in relation to God. But God is not some distant stranger. He shows us his face in Jesus. In what Jesus does and wills, we come to know the mind and will of God himself.

If being human is essentially about relation to God, it is clear that speaking with, and listening to, God is an essential part of it. This is why the Sermon on the Mount also includes a teaching about prayer. The Lord tells us how we are to pray.

We are at our most attentive when we are driven by inmost need to ask God for something or are prompted by a joyful heart to thank him for good things that have happened to us. Most importantly, though, our relationship to God should not be confined to such momentary situations, but should be present as the bedrock of our soul. In order for that to happen, this relation has to be constantly revived and the affairs of our everyday lives have to be constantly related back to it. The more the depths of our souls are directed toward God, the better we will be able to pray. The more prayer is the foundation that upholds our entire existence, the more we will become men of peace. The more we can bear pain, the more we will be able to understand others and open ourselves to them. This orientation pervasively shaping our whole consciousness, this silent presence of God at the heart of our thinking, our meditating, and our being, is what we mean by "prayer without ceasing." This is ultimately what we mean by love of God, which is at the same time the condition and the driving force behind love of neighbor.

The Scandal of the Cross

There was one line in particular that struck me in our reading (from ch. 4 of Pope Benedict XVI's Jesus of Nazareth) for last week's teen catechism discussion. It was this:

The scandal of the Cross is harder for many to bear than the thunder of Sinai had been for the Israelites.

The timing of this phrase was particularly interesting as most of us were reading Fabiola for the lit discussion the following day. Though many were converted by their admiration of the fortitude of the martyrs, others (certainly many in our own time) find it hard to swallow that a good God would allow his followers to suffer and die, or for evil to even exist in the world.

Which reminds me of my husband's recent post on liberty. Which reminds me of a portion of the Sermon on the Mount (which we're studying in Jesus of Nazareth right now) that was quoted in Fabiola:

You have heard that it was said, 'You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. (Emphasis mine - taken from Matthew 5: 43-45)

Pope Benedict XVI on the Beatitudes

(from chapter 4 of Jesus of Nazareth)

The Beatitudes, spoken with the community of Jesus' disciples in view, are paradoxes - the standards of the world are turned upside down as soon as things are seen in the right perspective, which is to say, in terms of God's values, so different from those of the world.

How very Chestertonian of him. :)

Jesus of Nazareth, Chapter 4, Part I

I've been looking forward to this chapter on "The Sermon on the Mount" since I first opened the book and took a peek at the Table of Contents. The Holy Father doesn't disappoint. This is a very long chapter, with several major sub-segments:

Introductory Remarks
The Beatitudes (nearly 30 pages!)
The Torah of the Messiah

I'll break my posts on this chapter into at least those three parts, but might split it up further as well.

Introductory Remarks

Have you ever wondered what Jesus told his disciples on the journey to Emmaus? The Pope points to Matthew's Gospel:

Matthew claims the Old Testament for Jesus, even when it comes to apparent minutiae. What Luke states as a fundamental principle, without going into detail, in his account of the journey to Emmaus (cf. Lk 24:25) - namely, that all the Scriptures refer to Jesus - Matthew, for his part, tries to demonstrate with respect to all the details of Jesus' path.

The Pope details the setting of the Sermon on the Mount and what it symbolizes...

Matthew uses the word disciple here not in order to restrict the intended audience of the Sermon on the Mount, but to enlarge it. Everyone who hears and accepts the word can become a "disciple."

Jesus sits on the cathedra of Moses. But he does so not after the manner of teachers who are trained for the job in a school; he sits there as the greater Moses, who broadens the Covenant to include all nations.

Some contrasts between this scene and Moses' interaction with God on Mount Sinai...

God's power is now revealed in his mildness, his greatness in his simplicity and closeness. And yet his power and greatness are no less profound. What formerly found expression in storm, fire, and earthquake now takes on the form of the Cross, of the suffering God, who calls us to step into this mysterious fire, the fire of crucified love: "Blessed are you when men revile you and persecute you" (Mt 5:11).

The scandal of the Cross is harder for many to bear than the thunder of Sinai had been for the Israelites. In fact, the Israelites were quite right when they said they would die if God should speak with them (Ex 20:19). Without a "dying," without the demise of what is simply our own, there is no communion with God and no redemption.

Jesus of Nazareth, Chapter 3

This chapter is titled "The Gospel of the Kingdom of God". The Holy Father examines what Jesus means by the "Kingdom of God" (and examines several major theories) which ends up cutting to the very heart of His purpose in coming to earth as a man. Here are a few highlights...

In the vocabulary of contemporary linguistic theory, we would say that the evangelium, the Gospel, is not just informative speech, but performative speech - not just the imparting of information, but action, efficacious power that enters into the world to save and transform.

He identifies three different interpretations of what Jesus meant by the Kingdom of God: that Jesus is the Kingdom in person, that "man's interiority" is the essential location of the Kingdom of God and that the Kingdom of God is at least closely related to the Church.

In the end he seems to most closely identify with the first interpretation, but explains that it doesn't go far enough. A few more highlights...

When Jesus speaks of the Kingdom of God, he is quite simply proclaiming God, and proclaiming him to be the living God, who is able to act concretely in the world and in history and is even now so acting. He is telling us: "God exists" and "God is really God," which means that he holds in his hands the threads of the world. In this sense, Jesus' message is very simple and thoroughly God-centered. The new and totally specific thing about his message is that he is telling us: God is acting now - this is the hour when God is showing himself in history as its Lord, as the living God, in a way that goes beyond anything seen before. "Kingdom of God" is therefore an inadequate translation. It would be better to speak of God's being-Lord, of his lordship.

The pious Jew prays every day the Shema Israel: "Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God is one Lord; and you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might". The recitation of this prayer was understood as the act of taking on one's shoulders the yoke of God's sovereign lordship. This prayer is not just a matter of words: the one who prayers it accepts God's lordship, which consequently, through the act of praying, enters into the world. The one who is praying helps to bear it on his shoulders, and through his prayer, God's lordship shapes his way of life, his day-to-day existence, making it a locus of God's presence in the world.

The new proximity of the Kingdom of which Jesus speaks - the distinguishing feature of his message - is to be found in Jesus himself. Through Jesus' presence and action, God has here and now entered actively into history in a wholly new way. The reason why now is the fullness of time (Mk 1:15), why now is in a unique sense the time of conversion and penance, as well as the time of joy, is that in Jesus it is God who draws near to us. In Jesus, God is now the one who acts and who rules as Lord - rules in a divine way, without worldly power, rules through the love that reaches "to the end" (Jn 13:1), to the Cross.

Jesus of Nazareth, chapter 2, "The Temptations of Jesus"

This chapter offers some amazing insights into the three temptations of Jesus in the desert. Instead of trying to overview each of the temptations here (partly because I'm limited on time and partly because I don't want to over-quote), I'm just going to share a few insightful tidbits for your consideration (and hope that you'll consider reading the entire book!)...

The Letter to the Hebrews is particularly eloquent in stressing that Jesus' mission, the solidarity with all of us that he manifested beforehand in his Baptism, includes exposure to the risks and perils of human existence: "Therefore he had to be made like his brethren in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make expiation for the sins of the people. For because he himself has suffered and been tempted, he is able to help those who are tempted" (Heb 2:17-18). "For we have not a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin" (Heb. 4:15)

There are two other great narratives concerning bread in Jesus' life. The first is the multiplication of loaves for the thousands who followed the Lord when he withdrew to a lonely place. Why does Christ now do the very thing he had rejected as a temptation before? The crowds had left everything in order to come hear God's word. They are people who have opened their heart to God and to one another; they are therefore ready to receive the bread with the proper disposition. This miracle of the loaves has three aspects, then. It is preceded by the search for God, for his word, for the teaching that sets the whole of life on the right path. Furthermore, God is asked to supply the bread. Finally, readiness to share with one another is an essential element of the miracle.

Whenever I watch the movie The Miracle Worker (about Helen Keller) - particularly the old one - one scene especially reminds me of how God uses the things of this world (and particularly our needs) to bring us to him. The scene is when Annie Sullivan convinces the parents to let her taken Helen to a little cabin alone for several weeks so that she will have to learn to rely upon Annie and thus become more receptive to her teaching endeavors.

The whole conversation of the second temptation takes the form of a dispute between two Bible scholars. Remarking on this passage, Joachim Gnilka says that the devil presents himself here as a theologian.

Interesting!

The Christian empire attempted at an early stage to use the faith in order to cement political unity. The Kingdom of Christ was now expected to take the form of a political kingdom and its splendor. The powerlessness of faith, the earthly powerlessness of Jesus Christ, was to be given the helping hand of political and military might. This temptation to use power to secure the faith has arisen again and again in varied forms throughout the centuries, and again and again faith has risked being suffocated in the embrace of power. The struggle for the freedom of the Church, the struggle to avoid identifying Jesus' Kingdom with any political structure, is one that has to be fought century after century. For the fusion of faith and political power always comes at a price: faith becomes the servant of power and must bend to its criteria.

First Post on the Pope's New Book

Yes, I love it and I knew I'd love it, though I didn't love it from the very first sentence. I got a little bogged down in the Foreward and so skipped ahead to the Introduction (which was quite important as well as engaging) and am now in the midst of the first chapter. This book covers, in particular the part of Jesus' public life from the Baptism in the Jordan until the Transfiguration. I'm particularly intrigued by the upcoming chapter on the Sermon on the Mount. The Beatitudes have always intrigued me, but also mystified me just a little.

Here's a little taste of what the Holy Father teaches us about the significance of Jesus' baptism by St. John the Baptist...

Looking at the events in light of the Cross and Resurrection, the Christian people realized what happened: Jesus loaded the burden of all mankind's guilt upon his shoulders; he bore it down into the depths of the Jordan. He inaugurated his public activity by stepping into the place of sinners. His inaugural gesture is an anticipation of the Cross. He is, as it were, the true Jonah who said to the crew of the ship, "Take me and throw me into the sea" (Jon. 1:12). The whole significance of Jesus' Baptism, the fact that he bears "all righteousness," first comes to light on the Cross: The Baptism is an acceptance of death for the sins of humanity, and the voice that calls out "This is my beloved Son" over the baptismal waters is an anticipatory reference to the Resurrection. This also explains why, in his own discourses, Jesus uses the word baptism to refer to his death (cf. Mk 10:38; Lk 12:50).

The Pope goes on to explain how "the Eastern Church has further developed and deepened this understanding of Jesus' Baptism in her liturgy and in her theology of icons." Interesting and beautiful concepts to stew on!

Jesus of Nazareth by Pope Benedict XVI