Love

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

Page 72 of 184 · 20 per page

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Reply to Objection 3: That a man wishes to enjoy God pertains to that love of God which is love of concupiscence. Now we love God with the love of friendship more than with the love of concupiscence, because the Divine good is greater in itself, than our share of good in enjoying Him. Hence, out of charity, man simply loves God more than himself. Whether our of charity, man ought to love himself more than his neighbor?Objection 1: It would seem that a man ought not, out of charity, to love himself more than his neighbor. For the principal object of charity is God, as stated above [2553](A[2]; Q[25], AA[1],12). Now sometimes our neighbor is more closely united to God than we are ourselves. Therefore we ought to love such a one more than ourselves. Objection 2: Further, the more we love a person, the more we avoid injuring him. Now a man, out of charity, submits to injury for his neighbor’s sake, according to Prov. 12:26: “He that neglecteth a loss for the sake of a friend, is just.” Therefore a man ought, out of charity, to love his neighbor more than himself. Objection 3: Further, it is written (1 Cor. 13:5) “charity seeketh not its own.” Now the thing we love most is the one whose good we seek most. Therefore a man does not, out of charity, love himself more than his neighbor. On the contrary, It is written (Lev. 19:18, Mat. 22:39): “Thou shalt love thy neighbor (Lev. 19:18: ‘friend’) as thyself.” Whence it seems to follow that man’s love for himself is the model of his love for another. But the model exceeds the copy. Therefore, out of charity, a man ought to love himself more than his neighbor. I answer that, There are two things in man, his spiritual nature and his corporeal nature. And a man is said to love himself by reason of his loving himself with regard to his spiritual nature, as stated above ([2554]Q[25], A[7]): so that accordingly, a man ought, out of charity, to love himself more than he loves any other person.

• From The Day the Revolution Began (2016)

  Second, this great and long-awaited event would be the ultimate new Exodus, the final great Passover. The victory over Babylon recapitulates the victory over Egypt. Images of Exodus crowd into passage after passage, so that even though in one text we may be dealing with Babylon, in another Syria, or in another ultimately with Rome, memories of the ancient slavery in Egypt are never far away. When we put these themes together—forgiveness of sins and end of exile, on the one hand, and Passover and Exodus, on the other, we find a composite notion of complete redemption transcending anything that Passover had meant before, transcending also anything that could be conveyed by the Day of Atonement on its own. When, in the New Testament, we find a strong emphasis on one particular set of Passover events fused together inextricably with the notions of dealing with sin, return from exile, and of course the kingdom of God and other related ideas, this combination of ideas provides the natural context of meaning. Third, the Passover context contributes, through its dramatic theme of the rescuing and guiding Presence of YHWH himself, the sense that the redemption, when it comes, will come through the personal, powerful work of Israel’s God himself. The Maccabean literature may indeed flirt with the possibility, borrowed from the non-Jewish themes of the “noble death” on behalf of others, that the martyrs may somehow have taken upon themselves the divine wrath. But the only biblical passage that might be read in that way—Isaiah 53—forms the climax of a matchless poem whose overall theme is the powerful and unchangeable love of the one God. When we find, in the New Testament, a repeated emphasis on the love of God as the driving agent for this great act of forgiveness and new Exodus—when the early Christians said things like, “God so loved the world that he gave his son,” or “The son of God loved me and gave himself for me,” or “Nothing in all creation shall be able to separate us from the love of God in the Messiah”—then we should be in no doubt that they were intending to draw on this entire narrative, focused particularly on Isaiah and Daniel. This brings to the fore more sharply than before some key theological questions. How, in Isaiah, can the shameful, cruel, and unjust death of the “servant” be a revelation of the divine love for Israel? And who is this “servant,” anyway? This last question has kept scholars up at night for many generations. That indeterminacy seems to me quite deliberate. As I said before, like many poets and other writers, whoever wrote Isaiah 40–55 did not want to make it too easy, did not want to foreclose on options. This is not the place to reopen an old, vexed, and many-sided question. But two brief points may be made in concluding this already overlong chapter.

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  grace are all transmuted into him," said Oisille, " but also of the most carnal among men ; and if you examine, you will find that those who have set their hearts and affections on seeking perfection in the sciences have not only forgotten the delights of the flesh, but even things which are most necessary to nature, such as food and drink. In fact, as long as the soul is in the body by affection, the flesh remains, as it were, in- sensible. Thence it comes that those who love hand- some and virtuous women take such delight in seeing and hearing them speak that the flesh then suspends all its desires. Those who cannot experience this content- ment are carnal persons, who, enveloped in too much fat, know not whether they have a soul or not ; but when the body is subjected to the spirit, it is almost insen- sible to the imperfections of the flesh, so that the strong persuasions of persons of this character may render them insensible. I knew a gentleman who, to show that his love for his mistress surpassed any other man's, was willing to give prooc of this by holding his bare fin- gers over the flame of a candle. He had his eyes bent on his mistress at the same moment, and he bore the fire with such fortitude that he burnt himself to the bone ; and yet he said that he felt no pain." " Methinks," said Geburon, " that the devil to whom he was a martyr ought to make a St. Lawrence of him, for there are few who endure such a great fire of love as not to fear that of the smallest taper. If a lady had put me to so severe a trial, I should demand a great recom- pense of her ; or, failing it, I should cease to love her." " You would then insist on having your hour after your mistress has had hers," said Parlamente. " So did a Spanish gentleman of Valencia, whose story was related to me by a very worthy commander." Srcentk day?^ QUEEN OF NA VARKE. 497 " Pray take my place, madam, and tell it us," said Dagoucin, " for I suspect it is a good one." " The story I am going to relate, ladies," said Par- lamente, " will make you think twice before you refuse a good offer, and not trust that the present state of things will last for ever. You shall see that it is subject to change ; and that will oblige you to have a care for the future." NOVEL LXIV. A gentleman, having been unable to marry a person he loves, be- comes a Cordelier in despite — Sore distress of his mistress thereat.

• From The Day the Revolution Began (2016)

  But here at last we begin to discover why it has that all-conquering power. If the enslaving powers are to be overthrown, they must be robbed of their power base; and their power base is, as we saw, the fact that humans hand over power to them by worshipping them instead of worshipping the Creator, by the idolatry and consequent distortion of life that can be lumped together as “sin.” Once that sin has been dealt with, the power of the idols is broken; once the Messiah has been “made sin for us,” the way is open for the ministry of reconciliation to fan out in all directions. Inside the Passover-like victory over the powers is the end-of-exile dealing with sin; and the way sin is dealt with is by the appropriate substitution of the one who alone is the true representative. The one bore the sin of the many. The innocent died in the place of the guilty. This only makes sense within the narrative of love, of new Exodus, of end of exile—of Jesus. Put it into another narrative, and it becomes a dark, pagan horror. Put it back where it belongs, and it speaks of a compelling love. “The Messiah’s love makes us press on.” That is the radical application of the cross to the apostolic life. Philippians A passage from one of the letters Paul wrote from prison, Philippians, may be brought in at this point. The famous poem in Philippians 2 pivots on the crucifixion: each of the two halves of the poem consists of three three-line stanzas, and the line in the middle, as it were, holds its arms out in both directions, making shocking and revolutionary sense: Who, though in God’s form, did not Regard his equality with God As something he ought to exploit. Instead, he emptied himself, And received the form of a slave, Being born in the likeness of humans. And then, having human appearance, He humbled himself, and became Obedient even to death, Yes, even the death of the cross. And so God has greatly exalted him, And to him in his favor has given The name which is over all names: That now at the name of Jesus Every knee within heaven shall bow— On earth, too, and under the earth: And every tongue shall confess That Jesus, Messiah, is Lord, To the glory of God, the father. (2:6–11) Whole books have been written about this passage. My only purpose here is to draw attention to three things of special relevance for the themes of this book. First, the poem is clearly telling the story of Jesus with the cross at its center. That alone is worth comment. But in its multiple resonances with various biblical passages, such as Genesis and Isaiah, the poem is also telling the story of both the human race and Israel, with both of them focused now on Jesus as the Messiah, Israel’s representative, who is also the quintessential human being.

• From The Day the Revolution Began (2016)

  One might almost have thought that Paul had been reading John: “The Word became flesh, and tabernacled among us. We gazed upon his glory” (1:14). For John, the cross reveals God’s glory; for Paul, God’s “righteousness”; for both, God’s love. Echoes of the Martyrs Now at last I think we can see what may have been going on in the use of language similar to Paul’s in 4 Maccabees 17, a passage often cited in the hope of proving the more usual reading, the truncated narrative of sin, punishment, and salvation. Fourth Maccabees in turn appears to depend on 2 Maccabees, whose chapter 7 also includes phrases that some have seen as pointers toward Paul’s meaning. (The dates of these two books are quite uncertain; but even if, as some think, 4 Maccabees was written later than Paul, this does not rule out the possibility that the kind of thing it says was already known in Paul’s Jewish world.) It is impossible to be certain about these things; the data is too limited, and the authorship unknown. But one possible line of thought may be proposed. First, 2 Maccabees 7 tells the grisly story of the seven brothers and their mother who, following the example of the elderly Eleazar, allow themselves to be tortured and killed rather than submit to the vicious de-Judaizing policy of Antiochus Epiphanes, the Syrian king who was doing his best, in the 160s BC , to erase Jewish identity and so facilitate his takeover of the country. The passage contains some of the most striking pre-Christian affirmations of bodily resurrection. The martyrs, in the midst of their tortures, celebrate their allegiance to the one God, the Creator, and trust him to give them their bodies back again. But there is more. Twice the martyrs acknowledge that Israel as a whole is being punished because of the nation’s sins (7:18, 38). But, declares the seventh brother, the suffering they are presently enduring should draw the nation’s punishment to its close: I, like my brothers, give up body and life for the laws of our ancestors, appealing to God to show mercy soon to our nation and by trials and plagues to make you confess that he alone is God, and through me and my brothers to bring to an end the wrath of the Almighty that has justly fallen on our whole nation. (7:37–38) The “trials and plagues” may be an allusion to the Exodus from Egypt. And the focus then is on the purpose of the martyrdoms. At the moment, the Jewish nation is suffering because of its own sins, and the fierce hostility of the Syrians is being interpreted as the outworking of the wrath of Israel’s own God, as in Jeremiah and similar accounts of the exile.

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  The bastard, feeling assured that Rolandine loved him, did not scruple to say to her one day, " You see, mademoiselle, to what I expose myself for your service, and how the queen has forbidden you to speak to me. You see, too, that nothing is farther from your father's thoughts than disposing of you in marriage. He has refused so many good offers that I know no one far or near who can have you. I know that I am poor, and that you could not marry a gentleman who was not richer than myseif ; but if to have a great deal of love were to be rich, I should think myself the most opulent man in the world. God has given you great wealth, and the ex- pectation of still greater. If I were so happy as to be chosen by you for your husband, I would be all my life your spouse, your friend, and your servant. If you marry one who is your own equal — and such a one, I think, will not easily be found — he will insist on- being the master, and will have more regard to your werJtli than to your person, to beauty than to virtue ; he will enjoy your wealth, and will not treat you as you deserve. My longing to enjoy this contentment, and my fear that you will have none with another, oblige me to entreat that you will make me happy, and yourself the best- satisfied and best-treated wife in the world." Rolandine, hearing from her lover's lips the declara- tion she had made up her mind to address to him, re- plied, with a glad face, •' I rejoice that you have antio Third day. \ QUEEN OF NAVARRE. igy

• From The Day the Revolution Began (2016)

  The servant will die for the nation, but will thereby do for the world what Israel was called to do but could not do, setting the nations free from their ancient bondage so that they can now join the single People of God. The same train of thought is visible in the First Letter of John: “The Righteous One, Jesus the Messiah . . . is the sacrifice which atones for our sins—and not ours only, either, but those of the whole world” (2:1–2). It stands behind passage after passage in Paul. Coming back from John’s letter to his gospel, there are hints and signs at various points that Jesus is taking upon himself the fate of others. John has woven this personal exchange into the larger narrative of Jesus’s victory over the “ruler of the world.” Thus, at the start of chapter 8, the crowd is ready to stone the adulterous woman; at the end of chapter 8 it is Jesus himself whom they want to stone. When the soldiers arrest Jesus, he insists that they let his companions go (18:8; John explains this with a reference to what Jesus had said in 17:12 about not losing any of the people the Father had given him). And all this takes place under the larger theme expressed in a striking biblical image: Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the desert, in the same way the son of man must be lifted up, so that everyone who believes in him may share in the life of God’s new age. (3:14–15) The reference is to Numbers 21:4–9, where the Israelites are being struck down by fiery serpents in response to their persistent grumbling against Moses. Moses is commanded to make a serpent of bronze and put it on a pole; anyone who was bitten by the serpents could look on it and so live. The bronze serpent thus became the sign of both the problem and God’s solution to the problem. The assumptions and mythological echoes that surround both the ancient story and the way John has Jesus allude to it are not our concern. What matters is that here too we are to see the underlying problem being dealt with. The sin and death that have afflicted humankind in general are to be drawn together to one point in Jesus’s going to the cross, so that all may gaze upon that event and come to realize that their snakebites, their sin and death, have been dealt with. And this leads directly into the best-known Johannine statement of the meaning of the entire story: “This, you see, is how much God loved the world: enough to give his only, special son, so that everyone who believes in him should not be lost but should share in the life of God’s new age” (3:16). Thus for John the larger victory is achieved by means of the intimate and personal exchange in which the one dies on behalf of the many.

• From The Day the Revolution Began (2016)

  That is what much of the rest of Romans 8 is about, starting with the end of v. 4: “as we live not according to the flesh but according to the spirit.” This points ahead to the resurrection itself (8:9–11), to the life of taking responsibility for one’s own body and its actions (8:12–16), and to the vocation to suffer and so to share the “glory” of the Messiah (8:17–25), that is, his strange, suffering, but powerful rule over the world. This leads to the ultimate new creation, when the present creation, groaning in travail, will be set free from its slavery to corruption and decay, “to enjoy the freedom that comes when God’s children are glorified” (8:23). That is the ultimate “glory,” the “royal” role for which humans were made and for which, as in 5:17, they are redeemed. They are “justified” in order to be “justice bringers.” This is the result of the revolution accomplished on the cross. The work of the cross is not designed to rescue humans from creation, but to rescue them for creation. If we told the story that way, all kinds of problems would either be solved or at least appear in a new light. The point then extends also to the “priestly” work of intercession. Humans who are redeemed through the Messiah and indwelt by the Spirit discover that, in the pain of ignorance about what to pray for, “that same spirit pleads on our behalf, with groanings too deep for words” (8:26). But God, the “Searcher of Hearts,” knows what the Spirit is thinking, because the Spirit is pleading for God’s people according to God’s will (8:27). And so it goes on, to the final statement of assurance: nothing can separate us from the love of God revealed in the death of the Messiah. I have stressed that here as elsewhere the picture only makes sense if we take the view that all the early Christians shared, that the living God of Israel was personally present in and as Jesus himself. This poses for later thinkers an obvious problem: How could God, as it were, be split into two? The first Christians do not seem to have seen it like that. Nor did they worry particularly about how to say what had to be said. They drew on various Jewish models already in use to talk about how the one God, utterly beyond and above the world he had made, was nevertheless present and active within it. This, after all, is how Israel’s scriptures speak of Israel’s God. For Israel, of course, this way of thinking about God was focused in the Temple in particular and also in Torah itself.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  (11) Whether he ought to love his wife more than his father or mother? (12) Whether we ought to love those who are kind to us more than those whom we are kind to? (13) Whether the order of charity endures in heaven? Whether there is order in charity?Objection 1: It would seem that there is no order in charity. For charity is a virtue. But no order is assigned to the other virtues. Neither, therefore, should any order be assigned to charity. Objection 2: Further, just as the object of faith is the First Truth, so is the object of charity the Sovereign Good. Now no order is appointed for faith, but all things are believed equally. Neither, therefore, ought there to be any order in charity. Objection 3: Further, charity is in the will: whereas ordering belongs, not to the will, but to the reason. Therefore no order should be ascribed to charity. On the contrary, It is written (Cant 2:4): “He brought me into the cellar of wine, he set in order charity in me.” I answer that, As the Philosopher says (Metaph. v, text. 16), the terms “before” and “after” are used in reference to some principle. Now order implies that certain things are, in some way, before or after. Hence wherever there is a principle, there must needs be also order of some kind. But it has been said above ([2549]Q[23], A[1];[2550] Q[25], A[12]) that the love of charity tends to God as to the principle of happiness, on the fellowship of which the friendship of charity is based. Consequently there must needs be some order in things loved out of charity, which order is in reference to the first principle of that love, which is God. Reply to Objection 1: Charity tends towards the last end considered as last end: and this does not apply to any other virtue, as stated above ([2551]Q[23], A[6] ). Now the end has the character of principle in matters of appetite and action, as was shown above ([2552]Q[23], A[7], ad 2; FS, A[1], ad 1). Wherefore charity, above all, implies relation to the First Principle, and consequently, in charity above all, we find an order in reference to the First Principle. Reply to Objection 2: Faith pertains to the cognitive power, whose operation depends on the thing known being in the knower. On the other hand, charity is in an appetitive power, whose operation consists in the soul tending to things themselves. Now order is to be found in things themselves, and flows from them into our knowledge. Hence order is more appropriate to charity than to faith. And yet there is a certain order in faith, in so far as it is chiefly about God, and secondarily about things referred to God.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Whether fraternal correction is an act of charity?Objection 1: It would seem that fraternal correction is not an act of charity. For a gloss on Mat. 18:15, “If thy brother shall offend against thee,” says that “a man should reprove his brother out of zeal for justice.” But justice is a distinct virtue from charity. Therefore fraternal correction is an act, not of charity, but of justice. Objection 2: Further, fraternal correction is given by secret admonition. Now admonition is a kind of counsel, which is an act of prudence, for a prudent man is one who is of good counsel (Ethic. vi, 5). Therefore fraternal correction is an act, not of charity, but of prudence. Objection 3: Further, contrary acts do not belong to the same virtue. Now it is an act of charity to bear with a sinner, according to Gal. 6:2: “Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so you shall fulfil the law of Christ,” which is the law of charity. Therefore it seems that the correction of a sinning brother, which is contrary to bearing with him, is not an act of charity. On the contrary, To correct the wrongdoer is a spiritual almsdeed. But almsdeeds are works of charity, as stated above ([2610]Q[32], A[1]). Therefore fraternal correction is an act of charity. I answer that, The correction of the wrongdoer is a remedy which should be employed against a man’s sin. Now a man’s sin may be considered in two ways, first as being harmful to the sinner, secondly as conducing to the harm of others, by hurting or scandalizing them, or by being detrimental to the common good, the justice of which is disturbed by that man’s sin. Consequently the correction of a wrongdoer is twofold, one which applies a remedy to the sin considered as an evil of the sinner himself. This is fraternal correction properly so called, which is directed to the amendment of the sinner. Now to do away with anyone’s evil is the same as to procure his good: and to procure a person’s good is an act of charity, whereby we wish and do our friend well. Consequently fraternal correction also is an act of charity, because thereby we drive out our brother’s evil, viz. sin, the removal of which pertains to charity rather than the removal of an external loss, or of a bodily injury, in so much as the contrary good of virtue is more akin to charity than the good of the body or of external things. Therefore fraternal correction is an act of charity rather than the healing of a bodily infirmity, or the relieving of an external bodily need. There is another correction which applies a remedy to the sin of the wrongdoer, considered as hurtful to others, and especially to the common good. This correction is an act of justice, whose concern it is to safeguard the rectitude of justice between one man and another.

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  down to the sea-beach, where they found her on landing. After thanking God for their arrival, she took them to her poor little hut, and showed them on what she had subsisted during her melancholy abode there. They could never have believed it, had they not known that God can nourish his servants in a desert as at the finest banquets in the world. As she could not remain in such a place, they took her straightway with them to Rochelle ; and there, when they had made known to the inhabitants the fidelity and perseverance of this woman, the ladies paid her great honour, and were glad to send their daughters to her to learn to read and write. She maintained her- self for the rest of her days by that honourable profes- sion, having no other desire than to exhort everyone to love God and trust in Him, holding forth as an example the great mercy with which He had dealt towards her. Now, ladies, you cannot say but that I laud the vir- tues which God has implanted in you — virtues which appear the greater, the weaker the being that displays them. " We are not sorry," said Oisille, " that you praise in us the graces of our Lord, for in truth it is from Him that comes all virtue ; but neither man nor woman con- tributes to the work of God. In vain both bestir them- selves and strive to do well ; they do but plant, and it is God that gives the increase." " If you have well read Scripture," said Saffredent, " you know that St. Paul says that he has planted and Apollos has watered ; but he does not speak of women having put their hands to the work of God." " You do like those bad men who take a passage of Scripture which makes for them, and pass over that which is contrary to them," said Parlamente. " If you 5 12 THE HEPTAMERON OF THE {Novel f^-]. have read St. Paul from one end to the other, you will find that he commends himself to the ladies who have toiled much with him in the propagation of the Gos- pel.' *' Be that as it may," said Longarine, " this woman is worthy of great praise, both for her love for her hus- band, for whom she risked her life, and her confidence in God, who, as you see, did not abandon her," " As for the first point," said Ennasuite, " I believe there is no wife present who would not do as much to save her husband's life." " And I believe," said Parlamente, " that there are husbands such mere beasts that it could be no surprise to their wives to find themselves reduced to live among their fellows."

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Reply to Objection 1: Man’s life is twofold. There is his outward life in respect of his sensitive and corporeal nature: and with regard to this life there is no communication or fellowship between us and God or the angels. The other is man’s spiritual life in respect of his mind, and with regard to this life there is fellowship between us and both God and the angels, imperfectly indeed in this present state of life, wherefore it is written (Phil. 3:20): “Our conversation is in heaven.” But this “conversation” will be perfected in heaven, when “His servants shall serve Him, and they shall see His face” (Apoc. 22:3,4). Therefore charity is imperfect here, but will be perfected in heaven. Reply to Objection 2: Friendship extends to a person in two ways: first in respect of himself, and in this way friendship never extends but to one’s friends: secondly, it extends to someone in respect of another, as, when a man has friendship for a certain person, for his sake he loves all belonging to him, be they children, servants, or connected with him in any way. Indeed so much do we love our friends, that for their sake we love all who belong to them, even if they hurt or hate us; so that, in this way, the friendship of charity extends even to our enemies, whom we love out of charity in relation to God, to Whom the friendship of charity is chiefly directed. Reply to Objection 3: The friendship that is based on the virtuous is directed to none but a virtuous man as the principal person, but for his sake we love those who belong to him, even though they be not virtuous: in this way charity, which above all is friendship based on the virtuous, extends to sinners, whom, out of charity, we love for God’s sake. Whether charity is something created in the soul?Objection 1: It would seem that charity is not something created in the soul. For Augustine says (De Trin. viii, 7): “He that loveth his neighbor, consequently, loveth love itself.” Now God is love. Therefore it follows that he loves God in the first place. Again he says (De Trin. xv, 17): “It was said: God is Charity, even as it was said: God is a Spirit.” Therefore charity is not something created in the soul, but is God Himself. Objection 2: Further, God is the life of the soul spiritually just as the soul is the life of the body, according to Dt. 30:20: “He is thy life.” Now the soul by itself quickens the body. Therefore God quickens the soul by Himself. But He quickens it by charity, according to 1 Jn. 3:14: “We know that we have passed from death to life, because we love the brethren.” Therefore God is charity itself.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  CHRYSOSTOM. (Hom. 46. in Joan.) Christ did this to bring us to a closer bond of friendship, and to betoken His love toward us, giving Himself to those who desire Him, not only to behold Him, but also to handle Him, to eat Him, to embrace Him with the fulness of their whole heart. Therefore as lions breathing fire do we depart from that table, rendered objects of terror to the devil. BASIL. (Moral. Reg. 21. c. 3. Reg. Brev. ad int. 172.) Learn then in what manner you ought to eat the Body of Christ, namely, in remembrance of Christ’s obedience even unto death, that they who live may no more live in themselves, but in Him who died for them, and rose again. (2 Cor. 5:15.) THEOPHYLACT. Now Luke mentions two cups; of the one we spoke above, Take this, and divide it among yourselves, which we may say is a type of the Old Testament; but the other after the breaking and giving of bread, He Himself imparts to His disciples. Hence it is added, Likewise also the cup after supper. BEDE. He gave to them, is here understood to complete the sentence. AUGUSTINE. (de Con. Ev. lib. iii. c. 1.) Or because Luke has twice mentioned the cup, first before Christ gave the bread, then after He had given it, on the first occasion he has anticipated, as he frequently does, but on the second that which he has placed in its natural order, he had made no mention of before. But both joined together make the same sense which we find in the others, that is, Matthew and Mark. THEOPHYLACT. Our Lord calls the cup the New Testament, as it follows, This cup is the New Testament in my blood, which shall be shed for you, signifying that the New Testament has its beginning in His blood. For in the Old Testament the blood of animals was present when the law was given, but now the blood of the Word of God signifies to us the New Testament. But when He says, for you, He does not mean that for the Apostles only was His Body given, and His Blood poured out, but for the sake of all mankind. And the old Passover was ordained to remove the slavery of Egypt; but the blood of the lamb to protect the first-born. The new Passover was ordained to the remission of sins; but the Blood of Christ to preserve those who are dedicated to God.

• From I'm Not a Mourning Person (2023)

  It’s not your job to make it better. It’s your job to bear witness, hold space for whatever feelings need to be expressed, and, above all, be loving. Love always knows what to do. COURAGEOUS ACKNOWLEDGMENT (FOR THOSE WHO WANT TO OFFER SUPPORT)As a person who has gone through grief in various forms, I’ve found courageous acknowledgment from the people around me, meaning addressing the elephant in the room, to be most helpful. Be willing to talk about what happened. Breathe and try to be good company to them (and to yourself). Can this be uncomfortable? Heck yes! Do it anyway. Remember, we’re building valuable skills here. Skills we desperately need in the school of life. What you say—or don’t say—carries a lot of weight. How you show up for those you love in times of need can strengthen your relationship or damage it. Here are a few helpful ways to share your condolences: “I am so sorry you’re going through this.” “I’m not sure what to say, but I’m here to listen.” “I don’t know how you feel, but I’m here to help in any way I can.” “I’m with you, and I love you.” “I’ll bet you could use some help right now. How about I . . . [fill in the blank—run errands, get you groceries, walk the dog]?” Hug them. Hold their hand. Tell them you love them. Validate their feelings, especially the raw, embarrassing ones. Don’t change the subject because you’re sweating. Stay in the muck. Talk about the person they lost. Ask if they had any special birthday or holiday traditions together. Share good memories, especially ones they may not even know about. If you didn’t know the person (or pet), you can say something like, “Though I didn’t know him, I can only imagine how wonderful he was because you are so wonderful.” Send a text or leave a message letting them know you’re thinking of them but that they don’t need to respond. And don’t take it personally if they don’t. Take cues from them. If they don’t want to talk, don’t push. If they drop off the map, go find them. I have a tendency to isolate myself like a sick animal when my pain hits a tipping point (thanks, trauma). My closest true-blue friend, Marie, always catches the scent when I’m up to shenanigans like this. “Hey, just send me a smoke signal and let me know you’re OK.”

• From White Oleander (1999)

  No matter how much she had damaged me or how flawed she was, how violently mistaken, my mother loved me, unquestionably. I thought of her, facing a court of law without the pawn formation of my lies. The queen stripped bare, she had mastered the end game on her own. Paul rolled a Drum cigarette, the shreds like hair as he lifted them from the bag, tore the shag from the ends, lit it with a match scraped under the box that served as our end table. “You want to go call her?” We couldn’t afford a phone. Oskar Schein let us use his. “Too cold.” He smoked, the ashtray resting on his chest. I reached over and took a puff, handed it back. We had come such a long way together, Paul and I. From the apartment on St. Marks to the squat in South London, an uninsulated barge in Amsterdam, now Senefelderstrasse. I wished we knew someone in Italy, or Greece. I hadn’t been warm since I left L.A. “Do you ever want to go home?” I asked Paul. He brushed an ash from my face. “It’s the century of the displaced person,” he said. “You can never go home.” He didn’t have to tell me, he was afraid I was going to go back. Become an American college coed on the three-meal plan, field hockey and English comp, and leave him holding the foster kid bag. There it was. On the one hand, there was Frau Acker and the rent, my cough, Paul’s print run. On the other, a place with heat, a degree, decent food, and someone taking care of me. I’d never told him, sometimes I felt old. How we lived was depressing. Before, I couldn’t afford to think about it, but now that she was out, how could I not. And now Oskar Schein was asking if he could see me alone, take me to dinner, he wanted to talk to me about a gallery show. I’d put him off, but I didn’t know how long I could hold out. I found him attractive, a bearish man with a cropped silver beard. Lying down for the father again. If it weren’t for Paul, I’d have done it months ago. But Paul was more than my boyfriend. He was me. And now my mother was calling me, I didn’t have to get on the phone. I could hear her. My blood whispered her name. I stared at her photograph, waving in the California sunlight. At this very moment, she was out. Driving around, ready to start again fresh, so American after all. I thought of my life bundled in suitcases against the wall, the shapes I had taken, the selves I had been. Next I could be Ingrid Magnussen’s daughter at Stanford or Smith, answering the hushed breathless questions of her new children. She’s your mother? What’s she really like?

• From I'm Not a Mourning Person (2023)

  Each morning my parents would sit at their sacred altar and meditate on those words. They’d read inspirational books, practice gratitude, and connect with each other outside the blur of medical terminology and doctors’ appointments. During this time, I watched as the irritations and preoccupations they had with life and each other slowly faded into the background and were replaced by a deep and abiding sense of what truly mattered: love. Every other week, I watched Dad hold fast and gin up the motivation to get hooked up to chemo. He’d visualize his tumor as a snowball—blessing the medicine as it entered his body and melted the tumor. For someone who often struggled with anxiety, you’d think this terrifying experience would have only exacerbated his nerves. And yet, the process of allowing himself to be more open, honest, and vulnerable (aka allowing himself to be himself) helped him heal in ways that went far beyond his physical body. By May of 2017, Dad’s courage and fortitude paid off. The tumor had shrunk enough for him to be eligible to receive the Whipple procedure—a complicated seven-hour surgery that would extend his life. At 5 a.m. sharp, we met him in the lobby of the hotel across the street from the hospital. Though it was only a two-minute walk, he wanted to arrive early (and spiffy), like always and for everything. Dad was nervous but hopeful. He even skipped along the sidewalk—his way of showing us that even though big shit was about to go down, he was still Dad. Still the guy who always tried to make the best of every situation. Cancer might take a bunch of his organs (part of his pancreas, small intestine, spleen, his gallbladder, and bile duct), but it couldn’t take his spirit. Dad being Dad buoyed our spirits, too. “They just started, and all is well,” the nurse assigned to us reported, as we huddled in the family lounge, waiting for news from the operating room. “He’s halfway through, and so far, so good . . .” “It’s going to take a little longer because the tumor was closer to the vein than expected, but they’re still on track. About an hour to go, and then the doctor will speak to you.” Between these nail-biter briefings, we tried to distract ourselves by creating an ultimate movie guide list on my phone. For me, action and thrillers. For Mom, movies about dogs. For Brian, Turner Classics and anything with subtitles (or what I call “cinema Ambien”). Somewhere between Citizen Kane and Marley & Me, Dad’s surgeon emerged. “I got it all,” he said. “We’ll need to do some more chemo as an insurance policy, but as of now, he’s in remission.” Ohthankgod. I exhaled so fully I thought I’d deflate. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so fortunate as I did at that moment. Mom was a puddle of relief. Brian acted like an ecstatic sports announcer whose favorite team had just scored—gooooal!

• From The Day the Revolution Began (2016)

  The revolution has happened through Jesus and is now a fact about the world; but it is a fact that has to be implemented through his followers, and for that to be the case it must also be a truth that happens in them. The revolution is cross-shaped at every point. That is what baptism is all about; attempts are sometimes made to pervert it into the idea that “God accepts me as I am,” but baptism always meant dying, and still does. When Jesus “accepted” Zacchaeus “as he was” by going to lunch with him, Zacchaeus was utterly transformed by that encounter. The revolution is always shaped by the cross, which launched it in the first place. All this is summed up and brought into sharp biblical focus in John’s dramatic story of Jesus washing the disciples’ feet (13:1–38). This is a vivid and moving scene that, like most biblical stories, has more dimensions than might appear at first glance. John places the scene at the start of the long buildup to the cross. Jesus has come to Jerusalem for the last time. The way John has told the whole story so far indicates that this is the moment of confrontation, of victory, of the completion of Jesus’s kingdom work. But Jesus, instead of marching into the Temple and facing up to the power brokers (he had done that already in chap. 2), takes his followers to the upper room and shares with them the secret of what is about to happen. Only he doesn’t simply explain it in words. Words point to the reality, and the reality is about flesh and blood; so Jesus explains his meaning in symbolic action and in the parables, warnings, comfort, and instruction that it generates. John’s gospel has brought us back again and again to the Temple. But now, though Jesus and his followers are not in the Temple but in a private room, John wants us to understand that we are looking at the true Temple. Jesus and his followers are standing for a moment at the dangerous intersection between heaven and earth. And over it all, and all that is to come, John speaks of love: covenant love, the divine love that goes all the way to the end (13:1). There was nothing that love could do for them that love did not do for them. And this is how it works. Jesus is enabling them to be there, in this new sacred space, by purifying them for God’s Presence. They need to be washed to have a share in his life. The foot-washing story follows the pattern of the famous poem in Philippians 2, which says that Jesus does not regard his equality with God as something to exploit, but empties himself, dies the slave’s death on the cross, and is then exalted. In this scene Jesus removes his outer garments and acts the part of the slave to cleanse the disciples.

• From I'm Not a Mourning Person (2023)

  Much to my mother’s dismay, I was always rescuing critters. I even made outfits for my “guests” by cutting tail holes in my baby clothes—the ones my mom had meticulously saved for my own children. Furry friends helped me through my tumultuous college years, painful breakups, job changes, and, of course, my diagnosis. My cat Crystal was the first “person” I uttered the “ c word” to. (“It’s cancer. What are we going to do, Crystal?”) Knowing that animals and nature would be a necessary part of healing my body, I left New York City after my diagnosis and moved to the mountains, where I dreamed of recovering and rescuing abandoned creatures in my spare time. Creatures who needed stable, loving homes—just like I once had. But my attachment to my animals ramped up several notches when it became clear postdiagnosis that being a pet mommy was much safer than being a human mommy. If I wanted to mother a biological child, I might be putting my life at risk. My oncologist described it like this: “Picture your disease like a rock balancing on top of a mountain. Right now, that rock is stable, not causing you any harm. If something (like the hormones from pregnancy) were to change that, your rock may start tumbling down the mountain. If that happens, there’s a chance we can catch it. We just don’t know if we can put it back on top of the mountain—which is where you’re the safest. There are just too many unknowns, so think hard before you potentially wake the sleeping giant inside you.” Brian and I talked long and hard about this dilemma. Though we loved the idea of having kids, we weren’t willing to put my life on the line to do it. Kids weren’t a make-it-or-break-it part of our vision for a life well lived. Plus, the last thing I wanted was to abandon a child and a partner. I knew what growing up in an environment of absence and loss felt like, and I didn’t want to pass that experience down the genetic chain. Contemplating mortality helps you get real clear, fast. We talked about adoption, but I was more open to the idea than Brian was—likely because I had such a positive experience with my own adopted father. Adoption isn’t for everyone. It’s also a lot harder for a stage IV cancer patient to qualify as a candidate. If my health deteriorated or I died, it would create more trauma for a kid who already experienced a painful and difficult start. Together, we arrived at a place where we believed that while kids might have been an added joy, not having them didn’t make us joyless or “childless” (such a belittling term). Quite the contrary. Our lives are filled with both joy and freedom.

• From Aquinas's Summa Theologiae (Critical Essays on the Classics Series) (2006)

  The Prima Secundae moves more slowly. Having briefly sketched a distinction between the different species of cardinal virtues (political, purifying, and so on), Thomas turns to the three theological virtues: faith, hope, and charity (Ia IIae, q. 62). These are the sole virtues that have God as their object. Because they enable us to share in the divine nature and direct us to a happiness unattainable in the present life, we cannot acquire them through our own resources; we can have them only through the grace of God. Thomas follows St. Paul in praising charity or love as the greatest of the theological virtues (Ia IIae, q. 62, a. 4; 1 Cor 13:13). Although God infuses all three virtues together, one can still discern a conceptual order. Through faith, we believe what God has revealed of Himself and of the future life; through hope, we come to love Him as the source of our own happiness; but only through charity can we love Him as an end in Himself—as the supreme good, deserving of more love than any other, not merely as good for us. The love characteristic of hope is the love of desire; charity alone produces the genuine love of friendship. The crucial difference in motivation explains why Thomas describes charity as the “mother,” “root,” and “form” of all the virtues, even going so far as to declare that faith and hope are not virtues properly so called in the absence of charity (Ia IIae, q. 62, a. 4; Ia IIae, q. 65, a. 4; Ia IIae, q. 66, a. 6). Readers must wait until the next question, concerning the causes of virtue, to learn more about the prudence and moral virtues given by God. Thomas argues first that we need these infused virtues to attain the complete happiness of the afterlife, then that they differ not merely in degree of perfection but in kind (species) from virtues acquired naturally (Ia IIae, q. 63, aa. 3—4). The difference in kind derives partly from the different goods to which the virtues are ordered. While naturally acquired moral virtues make people well suited to the human affairs and earthly happiness that concern all—because we are all human—infused moral virtues make people well suited to the life Christians must live because they are Christians: persons belonging to the household of God, with love of God as the highest good, faith in God’s word, and hope for the happiness of the afterlife. The difference in perceived goods and related motivations dictates different standards of conduct. This is Thomas’s second reason for regarding naturally acquired and infused moral virtues as different species. For instance, while human reason alone establishes that people should not eat or drink in ways harmful to body or mind, the higher rule of divine law requires more in the way of abstinence (Ia IIae, q. 63, a. 4).

• From The Day the Revolution Began (2016)

  When we find, in the New Testament, a repeated emphasis on the love of God as the driving agent for this great act of forgiveness and new Exodus—when the early Christians said things like, “God so loved the world that he gave his son,” or “The son of God loved me and gave himself for me,” or “Nothing in all creation shall be able to separate us from the love of God in the Messiah”—then we should be in no doubt that they were intending to draw on this entire narrative, focused particularly on Isaiah and Daniel. This brings to the fore more sharply than before some key theological questions. How, in Isaiah, can the shameful, cruel, and unjust death of the “servant” be a revelation of the divine love for Israel? And who is this “servant,” anyway? This last question has kept scholars up at night for many generations. That indeterminacy seems to me quite deliberate. As I said before, like many poets and other writers, whoever wrote Isaiah 40–55 did not want to make it too easy, did not want to foreclose on options. This is not the place to reopen an old, vexed, and many-sided question. But two brief points may be made in concluding this already overlong chapter. First, it really does look as though the sequence of Servant Songs (42:1–9; 49:1–7 [or possibly 1–12]; 50:4–9; 52:13–53:12) carries at the least overtones of the “royal” passages in the first part of the book (9:2–7; 11:1–10) and the similar, presumably messianic, passages in the later parts (61:1–4; 63:1–6). There is a well-known fluidity between the nation and its royal representative: the king holds the key to the destiny of the people. (That too is an old and difficult question, but some sort of “royal representation” makes a great deal of sense in the texts and the world of the time.) The “servant,” then, is some kind of “anointed” figure through whose work YHWH will bring justice to Israel and the nations, reminding us of Psalms such as 2 and 72. The shock of discovering that this royal “servant” was called, as part of his obedient vocation, to die an unjust and shameful death is almost too much, and perhaps it was for the prophet as well, or at least for his anticipated readers. But this is where the poem seems to point. The themes of the divine kingdom, the divine victory, and the divine forgiveness of sins all converge on this point. Thus, if the “servant” is the coming king through whom God’s redemptive purposes will be accomplished, one can at least imagine the possibility that his horrible death might be seen—with help, perhaps, from some of the Psalms —as a vocational necessity.