matthew – julie vieira

Monday of the First Week of Advent
Lectionary: 175

Isaiah 4:2-6
Psalm 122:1-9
Matthew 8:5-11

The season of Advent brings the beginning of a new Church year, and it also brings a palpable shift in the tone and cadence of our lectionary readings.

The last readings of the before Advent were rather epic, apocalyptically speaking. The prophet Daniel spoke of an anguished spirit, of visions of terrifying beasts—the greatest of which “devouring and crushing with its iron teeth and bronze claws” and “trampling with its feet” everything within its reach. (Daniel 7:19) In the gospel that follows, Jesus seems to confirm Daniel’s visions with strict warnings that people stay vigilant, lest they too find themselves on the receiving end of such tribulation.

Literally overnight, the church shifts into poetic, almost lyrical language. Just hearing the word “Advent”, seems to generate a little more pep in our liturgical step. And so today we can proclaim with the psalmist, “Come! Let us go rejoicing to the house of the Lord!” (Psalm 122)

I don’t know about you, but my personal disposition doesn’t always match up with the liturgical seasons. Sometimes I’m still in Good Friday well after Pentecost!

As I enter the Advent season, I find myself tentative, wondering if I’m stuck forever in Ordinary Time dealing with the vissitudes of everyday life as well as the endless litany of metaphorical beasts. I flinch a little bit as I enter the readings, my loins girded, ready to fight the good fight.

Unfortunately, Isaiah does not disappoint me. In the first reading, the prophet serves up – shall we say – an “interesting” metaphor of menstruation. He says:

The Lord shall wash away
the filth of the daughters of Zion,
and purge Jerusalem’s blood from her midst
with a blast of searing judgment … (Isaiah 4:4)

[Note: I leave this for Isaiah to mansplain at another time.] But really, “blasts of searing judgement”? This is not what I expect from Advent. I do not want to be lectured about filth and blood; I want to be transported to into a new space.

Yet perhaps this start to the First Monday of Advent is indeed apropos. Advent is not a promised escape from stress like the classic catchphrase, “Calgon, take me away!” Advent is a happening within the very midst of our everyday lives. God enters into the fray with us and, as Isaiah does eventually say, God provides us with “shelter and protection: shade from the parching heat of day, refuge and cover from storm and rain” – even on the heaviest of days.

I have the sense that the Centurion of today’s Gospel understands the truth of Advent far better than I do. It would have been nice if he could have had a retreat day or week, some time off to go and find Jesus and sit at his feet, resting in the peace and healing of this “guru”. But he knows that’s not going to happen anytime soon. He is in Ordinary Time and doesn’t even have a moment for a smoke break from his command post in Capernaum. He doesn’t have the opportunity to attend a miraculous wedding feast or a life-changing event at the River Jordan. What he longs for, he cannot go to, he cannot reach out and grasp; that is, he cannot make his servant well.

What happens? We know that the Centurion does not leave to find Jesus. In fact, Jesus himself shows up in Capernaum. The very one who can heal and give life, shows up in the midst of the filth and blood, the ordinary and rough stuff of everyday life.

The Centurion wastes no time, for time is not a luxury that he has.

“Lord, I am not worthy to have you enter under my roof;
only say the word and my servant will be healed.” (Matthew 8:8)

In other words, it’s like the Centurion is saying, “Look, Jesus. Let’s be real. Things are a mess right now. I need you, and I’m stoked that you were willing to come out and meet me where I am. It’s not pretty, but it’s where I am. I know who you are, and I have faith in you. You have a power that moves mountains and heals the sick and broken-hearted. I need for you to do that for someone I care about who needs you. Only say the word …”

We can learn a lot from this person of such integrity and faith. Advent is not a time to checkout and “leave the world”. True, we always need to retreat every so often. But the Season of Advent is not a month-long pass to abscond ourselves from our own humanity – with all its filth and blood right alongside near occasions of grace and healing and wisdom and mystery.

Isaiah implores us to look around us for that smoking cloud by day or a light of flaming fire by night. Look, he says, to the ordinary things of life – which for us might be a cloudy day, or a cozy blanket at night – whatever it is, to trust that you will alight upon a pathway bringing shelter, protection, and refuge.

What are the ordinary things of life that light up before you? that invite you to wonder? that cause your heart to ache? Think on these things, follow them, and see where the Spirit leads during this most holy season of Advent.

image : “Mud Improvisation: ‘The Accidental Artist'” by Dmytro Bukhantsov
Chernihiv region of Ukraine, 2020

Wednesday of the Fourteenth Week in Ordinary Time
Lectionary: 385

Genesis 41:55-57; 42:5-7a, 17-24a
Psalm 33:2-3, 10-11, 18-19
Matthew 10:1-7

I’ve always loved the story of Joseph. I wasn’t in it so much for the technicolored robe as I was for how he was able to survive after being nearly killed by his siblings and then sold into slavery. I was amazed that he was able to make a life for himself and eventually become a person of power and influence. It was poetic genius of the writers of Genesis to note that years later, the brothers would find themselves at the mercy of the very one whom they had rejected.

Even listening again to the story now, I feel great satisfaction in Joseph tossing his brothers into the guardhouse and making them think about what they had done. But what has always perplexed me is that upon hearing the brothers discuss what they had done, Joseph turned and wept.

He wept.

I want Joseph to shout and curse them, to throw tables and chairs. But Joseph just turned from them and wept.

This is neither the first nor the last time that Joseph weeps. In fact, throughout the accounting of his life, he has frequent bouts of weeping.[1] At one point, he weeps so loudly that even the Egyptians in the other room can hear him![2] Some have interpreted this weeping as a psychological characteristic of Joseph. He was a tender soul. Passionate and sensitive. That very well may be. But scholars say that’s not the reason for it’s inclusion in Scripture.

Jewish scholar Ariel Seri-Levi notes that there are three main categories for why people weep:

Mourning for the dead
Distress directed towards a leader – it might be, for example, a crying out for justice towards the government or towards the divine
An encounter or reunion between relatives or close friends

Weeping in each of these circumstances communicates something. It shows how a person is in relationship with someone or something.

When Joseph first encounters his brothers begging for food, he doesn’t break down and cry. He is composed and careful about how he will treat them. It isn’t until he hears them discuss what had happened those years ago when they “saw the anguish of his heart when he [had] pleaded” with them.

It is in this moment that Joseph weeps. Going back to Seri-Levi’s categories of weeping – Joseph was not weeping to mourn the dead. Nor was Joseph weeping in distress directed towards a leader. Joseph was weeping because this encounter was not exactly a “reunion” but opened his heart to the possibility that maybe his brothers did actually have a conscience and felt sorrow for what they had done. Seri-Levi says this is one moment for Joseph in a long process of being reunited with his family, and this is why Joseph cries so frequently. For example, when the brothers come back to Egypt and bring Benjamin this time, Joseph once again weeps upon seeing him, but because he is still unwilling to reveal his identity, he does so in secret.

There is much for us to learn in this Genesis reading about the importance of weeping and about the process of healing in our own relationships. But curiously, the church doesn’t pair this reading with a similar gospel reading. It could easily have been Jesus weeping when Lazarus died. No. Instead we get Jesus sending out the 12 apostles.

We get it – Joseph and his brothers are the 12 tribes of Israel in Genesis, and we have the same symbolic 12 in Matthew. That part makes sense.

But perhaps there is something more to reflect on. The story of Joseph and his brothers is a story of love, anguish, violence, wounds, regrets and healing. The same could be said for the 12 apostles. Both sets of 12 were people who were yes leaders, even saints, but who also lived day by day with their own humanity, broken and willful, and in a hostile world.

These are the ones whom God called.

Today, it is you and I who are called. Our messy humanity doesn’t exempt us but rather qualifies us to be sent out to tend to the brokenness in the world. Like Joseph, we may weep frequently. That’s okay. It’s part of healing and moves us ever closer to reunion with others and communion with God. As we go forth in this day, let us remember our own times of weeping – whether in grief, or in protest against injustice, or out of longing for reunion – and talk with God about how this weeping in turn brings the kindom of heaven ever more near.

[1] Ariel Seri-Levi, “Torah Portion of the Week: The Tales Behind the Tears” in Haaretz (December 29, 2016)
[2] Gen 45:2

Tag: matthew

“Advent, take me away!” ummmm … yeah, no.

and Joseph wept