A Homily for the Third Sunday in Ordinary Time
Readings: Nehemiah 8:2-4a, 5-6, 8-10 1 Corinthians 12:12-30 Luke 1:1-4; 4:14-21
I cannot say that I dislike or disapprove of the saying. I use it myself. But I still stiffen when someone says, “Scripture says…”
For example, a very nice evangelical Christian, whom I met while walking my dogs, asked if he could call me “Terry.” I said that would be fine. He then added, “For Scripture says, ‘Call no one your Father.’” I amiably responded—at least for someone who could not resist rising to the challenge, “‘Or your teacher,’ but we all do that as well, don’t we?”
We cannot banish the phrase, “Scripture says” because Scripture does indeed say a lot. But we should lose the notion that Scripture says something all by itself, because it does not.
Scripture is God speaking to us. It is a dialogue. The notion of Scripture speaking for itself is like having one half of a conversation. What would it even mean to say that Scripture has a meaning apart from those who encounter it? Does it sit on a shelf, speaking to and for itself? Before one can speak of revelation as a deposit of truth, one must recognize that revelation is an act with two parts. God speaks, and we respond.
If there is one truth that modern thought has established, it is surely this: No document speaks for itself. We cannot help but interpret texts, to read into them, because we bring to them our own concerns, our unique questions.
Indeed, one can define fundamentalists, in any of the Western religions of revelation—Judaism, Christianity and Islam—as those who deny their own acts of interpretation. They fail to recognize their own contribution to what they receive. They ignore the experiences and subsequent prejudices they bring to texts. Scripture is never alone. It is always dialogical.
The 16th-century Reformation doctrine of sola scriptura was intended to reform abuses of the church by appealing directly to God. A noble goal! But let’s be honest. God does not deign to enter our contests as a debater. When we quote it, Scripture is not the only one speaking. Right or wrong, we are the ones who assert that this, and not that, is the meaning of God’s word. How can anyone claim that Scripture speaks for itself if all sides of any argument can quote it in support of their contentions?
Yet great truths are revealed when we dialogue with Scripture. It truly is a presence of God in our midst. It is, as the 16th-century reformers insisted, the norma normans non normata, “the norm that norms and is not normed.” It judges all else. But being a divine word, it retains all the mystery proper to God’s transcendence.
Scripture is part of the dialogue between God and the church, and between God and the individual soul. In this loving encounter, God remains above the fray, though the better way to put it would be to say that God refuses, even in his sacred word, to scatter his own mystery. God does not become our reference tool, our instrument. Nor does God cajole, take away our freedom.
A homespun analogy, taken from family life, might be helpful. When I was struggling with the question of whether God was calling me to be a priest, I was initially disappointed to realize that God remained rather aloof to the concern. I would eventually learn that this is God’s way. God does not coerce. Indeed, one could say that the primary action of God in our lives is staying out of our way, staying above the fray.
The same was true of my parents. Like many young people, I had to be desperate before I would consult them about anything substantial. I simply presumed that whatever insights they had were nothing compared to my own perspicuity. Be merciful, O Lord, to the blindness of youth!
When I did seek advice, I could at least comprehend my mother’s points, her insights. Yet she would always conclude, “But son, I can’t tell you what to do.”
My father was a step removed. I could not tell where he was entering the discussion. “That’s a good point, son.” Then I would say the opposite, to which he would respond, “And that’s a good point, son.”
“Dad, they can’t all be good points!”
Wait for it…. “And that’s another good point, son.”
Even on the written page, my mother produced substantives in the letters she sent to me in the seminary: “We’ve paneled the family room.” “We saw your Uncle Gerald and Aunt Anita.” “Your sister is engaged.”
My father would fill his letters with his large, but near indecipherable, handwriting. I first had to decode the letters before I realized that they did not report much. They were simply expressions of his love, his presence in my life. Nonetheless, I treasured them.
Because Scripture is a dialogue, it is most authentically itself when it is proclaimed in assembly, when each of us hears it together with the rest, yet all of us hear something unique. Indeed, the church distinguishes three meanings of sacred Scripture:
1) The original intent of the human author
2) The understanding of the Catholic Church, the living tradition of the whole church
3) The utterly unique meaning that each soul discerns
These three may appear to be in conflict for a time, but with the grace of God they always grow back together. In their own way, each of them is dynamic and dialogical.
When those returning from exile discover the Book of the Law in the temple ruins, Ezra the scribe immediately summons the people and pronounces its content. He allows God’s word to be scattered to the winds where it lands in a thousand distinct hearts.
When Jesus enters the synagogue—the Greek word means “assembly”—
He stood up to read and was handed a scroll of the prophet Isaiah.
He unrolled the scroll and found the passage where it was written:
The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me
to bring glad tidings to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim liberty to captives
and recovery of sight to the blind,
to let the oppressed go free,
and to proclaim a year acceptable to the Lord (Lk 4:17-19).
Christ solemnly proclaimed God’s canonical word to his people, without deviation or diminishment. Then he paused and began to dialogue with it, began to interpret it. God’s word had been proclaimed, and then Jesus spoke in response.
“Today this scripture passage is fulfilled in your hearing” (Lk 4:21).
It is as if he had said: “God has spoken, but what does it mean? For that, you must now attend. You must watch, listen and learn.”
Christ did not make Scripture arbitrary. No, he instituted a fundamental Christian approach to the interpretation of sacred Scripture: God has made promises in Scripture, and God is now fulfilling those promises. Seeing that truth, seeing how it is accomplished, is the contribution we make to God’s act of revelation.
But how can we ever really know? How can we say with certainty where truth lies?
It lies with God.
And when humans enter the discourse? Are we then doomed to assert that Scripture speaks for itself, that it births a muddied myriad of meaning? No, for as Scripture says, “By their fruits you will know them” (Mt 7:16).
