The strangeness of divine presence makes perfect sense

The word “presence” should really be in the title of any book about biblical theology. Scripture is a historical and theological narrative about God’s presence among humanity. For example, last Sunday marked the beginning of Lent, and the readings centered on the idea of a Lenten pilgrimage to God’s own side. This Sunday’s readings also reflect on the theme of divine presence and the strangeness of its many manifestations.

Take, for example, this Sunday’s first reading. “Abram brought him all these [animals], split them in two, and placed each half opposite the other, but the birds he did not cut up” (Gn 15:10). Abram was following the instructions God gave after he asked for a sign that God would bless him with countless descendants. God responded by demanding a strange ritual. The closest comparison to the ceremony in Gen 15:5-18 comes from ancient Hittite and Assyrian treaty texts (Jer 34:18-20 alludes to this ritual as well). The cutting up of the animal symbolized the penalty for breaking the treaty. In Gen 15:5-18, however, only God steps through the pieces of the animal. God bears the full burden of the promise, “To your descendants I give this land” (Gn 15:18). Abraham and his descendents even today recognize God’s presence in their hope for the fulfillment of these promises. Where does God manifest the divine presence? For a person of faith, God is encountered foremost within the precepts of the covenant. 

Modern day eucharistic rituals that recall God’s covenant are strange, too. Cradle Catholics might not recognize this until they attempt to explain their belief in the eucharistic real presence to a person with no experience of religious thought. It takes deep faith to believe the words spoken over the bread and chalice: “This is my body. This is the chalice of my blood, the blood of the new and eternal covenant, which will be poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins.” It is no bloody sacrifice, but a remembrance that the divine presence is truly with us, especially at the eucharistic liturgy.

This Sunday’s second reading provides another example of the strangeness of this presence. “For many,” says Paul, “conduct themselves as enemies of the cross of Christ” (Phil 3:18). When Paul wrote to the Philippians, he reminded them that those who lacked mature faith within the community were the ones unable to find the presence of God through Christ crucified. For many, the crucified Christ was an obstacle to belief, but for Paul belief in such a contradiction was the sign that one was coming to maturity under the guidance of the Spirit. The foolishness of believing in the power of a murdered God is another strange contradiction that reveals the divine presence at work. Such folly remains a sign of maturity even today for Christ’s disciples.

For the second Sunday of Lent, the readings remind us that God has renewed the covenant repeatedly throughout history. These reminders were often quite strange and transcended human abilities to explain. There is nothing strange, however, in the belief of a transcendent presence that wants to be present to a people eternally in love. Lent calls us to renew our faith in this belief, a faith that is both strange and the source of everlasting joy. A befuddled Peter puts it best at the end of this Sunday’s Gospel: “Master, it is good that we are here.”