Friday, July 21
Numbers 34: The present chapter may be read as a contrast with the chapter we have just finished, and this contrast pertains to both time and place. Having looked backwards in the previous chapter, the inspired writer now turns his attention to the future, and as the former chapter took the measure of the desert, the present chapter will measure the Promised Land.
The large territory considered in the first half of this chapter (verses 2-15) was not all conquered during Joshua’s period of conquest. Not until the monarchy in the tenth century before Christ did Israel occupy such a large area. When in this chapter, three centuries earlier, its distribution was being considered, the thought may have seemed fantastic.
Nonetheless, the territory outlined here really does correspond very closely to the “Canaan” over which earlier Egyptian pharaohs had exercised dominion until the close of the fourteenth century before Christ. In this sense it would have seemed normal to Moses and his contemporaries to think of Canaan (verse 2) in these same dimensions.
Having come up from the south, Moses first considered Canaan’s southern border. Under Israel’s occupation this southern border will be the land of Edom (verse 3)—that is, a line running westward from the border of the Dead Sea to the Mediterranean (cf. Joshua 15”3-4; Ezekiel 47:19). The Wadi el-Arish (“river of Egypt”—verse verse 5) serves as a kind of natural division of the Negev from the Sinai Peninsula.
The “sea” (verse 5) and “great sea” (verse 6) are references to the Mediterranean, Israel natural western border.
On the north a line running eastward from the Mediterranean, somewhat north of Byblos, to the desert beyond Damascus, will border Israel. Zedad is northeast of Mount Hermon (verse 7-9).
Respecting the eastern border of Canaan, its northeastern corner will be Benaias (a later name, derived from the Greek god, Pan), the major source of the Jordan River. Then the Sea of Galilee, the Jordan, and the Dead Sea will roughly form the natural eastern border (verses 11-12).
We note that these boundaries completely exclude the land recently claimed by Gad, Reuben, and half of Manasseh. These latter tribes, therefore, are not considered in the division of the land just circumscribed (verse 13-15)
The chapter ends by listing the names of the men charged with the division of the Holy Land (verse 16-29).
Saturday, July 22
Mary Magdalen: Listed among the earliest and most devoted disciples of Christ (Luke 9.1-3), Mary Magdalen is remembered as foremost among the witnesses to his Resurrection (Mark 16.9). From earliest Christian times, without recorded exception, July 22 has been observed as a feast day honoring her memory. The universality of this tradition argues for its great antiquity.
The most detailed account of her meeting with the risen Christ is found in today’s Gospel reading, John 20:11–18. In this text, Mary Magdalen, like the
bride in the Song of Solomon (3:1–4), rises early while it is still dark and goes out seeking Him whom her soul loves, the one whom she calls “my Lord.”
In an image reminiscent of both Genesis and the Song of Solomon, she comes to the garden of His burial (19:41). Indeed, she first takes Him to be the gardener, which, as the new Adam, He most certainly is. Her eyes blinded by tears, she does not at once know Him. He speaks to her, but even then she does not recognize His voice. The dramatic moment of recognition arrives when the risen Jesus pronounces her own name: “Mary.” Only then does she know Him as “Rabbouni,” “my Teacher.”
In this story, then, Christians perceive in Mary Magdalene an image of themselves meeting their risen Lord and Good Shepherd: “the sheep hear his voice; and he calls his own sheep by name . . . , for they know his voice” (John 10:3–4). This narrative of Mary Magdalen is an affirmation that Christian identity comes of recognizing the voice of Christ, who speaks our own name in the mystery of salvation: “the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me” (Galatians 2:20). This is truly an “in-house” memory of the Church; it can only be understood within the community of salvation, for it describes a wisdom not otherwise available to this world.
Numbers 35: Part of the disposition of the Promised Land, a theme now continued from the previous chapter, is the arrangement for regional “cities of refuge.” These were special place of sanctuary for those whose lives were endangered by families seeking blood vengeance.
Since these assigned cities of refuge were all priestly cities, however, the chapter begins with the disposition of the priestly cities (cf. also Leviticus 25:32-34; Joshua 21:1-40). The tribe of Levi, the priestly tribe was to inherit forty-eight cities, including the six cities of refuge, dispersed throughout the whole Promised Land (verses 6-7). Attached to this inheritance is pastureland in the vicinity of the priestly cities (verses 2-5).
Most of this chapter, however, is devoted to the cities of refuge themselves (verses 10-34). Because they were priestly cities, these cities of refuge had shrines and altars that would serve as precincts of sanctuary (cf. Exodus 21:14; 1 Kings 1:51).
Sunday, July 23
Acts 20.1-16: Paul is still in Ephesus, but this is his last day in that city.
These sixteen verses cover a good amount of time.
At the end of three years in Ephesus, Paul returned to Macedonia in late 55, his journey apparently taking in also the large region northwest of Macedonia, known as Illyricum or Dalmatia (cf. Romans 15:19). While traveling in Macedonia, Dalmatia, and Greece during the year 56, Paul wrote 2 Corinthians (perhaps from Philippi, where he received a report on the Corinthian congregation from Titus — 2 Corinthians 2:13; 76-14), 1 Timothy, and Titus. Sometime during that year he apparently journeyed with Titus to Crete as well (cf. Titus 1:5).
Although Paul planned to spend the winter of 56/57 at the Greek city of Nicopolis, a port on the Adriatic Sea (Titus 3:12), at the beginning of January he returned to Corinth, not far eastward, where he lived during the first three months of 57 (Acts 20:2-3). While there, he wrote the Epistle to the Romans.
Intending to return to the Holy Land with the money collected for the needs of the poor there (Romans 15:25-27), he journeyed north to Macedonia one last time, where he celebrated Pascha with his beloved Philippians (Acts 20:6).
Luke, who had been pastoring that congregation since the year 49, now joined Paul’s company for the trip to the Holy Land. Luke will be with Paul for the rest of the latter’s recorded life.
Traveling in two separate companies over to Troas, Paul needed several extra companions to carry and protect the money collected for Jerusalem. Their names are enshrined forever in Acts 20:4.
Paul’s trip from Macedonia to Troas required five days (Acts 20:6). His company remained at Troas an entire week in order to share in the Sunday Eucharistic worship (20:7). Perhaps Paul had intended to be present for that worship on the previous Sunday but had simply not arrived early enough. In any case, we suddenly find him pressed for time.
When Paul finally left for Troas that Sunday morning, after losing a night’s sleep for the all-night vigil of worship, he decided to walk overland to the port of Assos while the others sailed around the small cape from Troas (20:13). It was a warm April day, and Paul, tired, preoccupied, and in a bit of a hurry, inadvertently left his heavy winter cloak at Carpus’s house in Troas, along with some other items (2 Timothy 4:23).
Numbers 36: The Book of Numbers ends with a final determination about the property of heiresses, the topic of an earlier discussion (27:1-11). The question raised in this chapter is directed to the inheritance of this property in the event that the inheriting heiress marries outside of her own tribe (verse 3). That is to say, what is needed is a further clarification of the earlier ruling, and Moses perceives the need for this clarification (verse 5).
The solution to the difficulty is a prohibition against these heiresses, if they do claim their inheritance, marrying outside their own tribe, lest the inherited property be lost to that tribe (verse 7). This solution is consistent with the intention of the earlier disposition—namely, to preserve in integrity the inheritance of each tribe and family (verse 8).
These heiresses dutifully conform to the prescribed arrangement (verses 10-13).
The last verse of this book asserts divine sanction for the decisions and judgments made throughout chapters 22-36, raising them to the same level of authority as the commandments received on Mount Sinai.
Monday. July 24
Mark 10.46-52: All through chapters 8 to 10 Mark has narrated Jesus’ journey along the way (hodos) of the Cross, a story structured on the Lord’s three predictions of his coming Passion. At each stage in this journey His own disciples, the twelve Apostles, have shown nothing but resistance to the Word of the Cross. The time has now arrived for Jesus to begin the week of the Passion. He journeys through Jericho on His way to Jerusalem.
The “way” (hodos) of the Cross is mentioned several times through chapters 8-10. It is Mark’s travel motif.
Indeed, the opening dialogue of this section is placed “on the road”: Now Jesus and His disciples went out to the towns of Caesarea Philippi; and on the road [hodos] He asked His disciples, saying to them, ‘Who do men say that I am?’”
At the very time Jesus was giving the disciples his second prophecy of the Passion, they were arguing among themselves which of them had preeminence. This happened “on the road”: “Then He came to Capernaum. And when He was in the house He asked them, ‘What was it you disputed among yourselves on the road [hodos]?’ But they kept silent, for on the road [hodos] they had disputed among themselves who would be the greatest.” The repetition of the word hodos here heightens the irony: On the very way of the Cross, the Apostles are spiritually walking in the opposite direction.
In the present chapter, it was “on the road” that the rich man approached Jesus: “Now as He was going out on the road [hodos], one came running, knelt before Him, and asked Him, ‘Good Teacher, what shall I do that I may inherit eternal life?’”
The word hodos appears again, when Jesus gives the third prophecy of the Passion: “Now they were on the road [hodos], going up to Jerusalem, and Jesus was going before them; and they were discomfited. And as they followed they were afraid.”
Finally, in this story of the blind man, we are told, “As He went out of Jericho with His disciples and a great multitude, blind Bartimaeus, the son of Timaeus, sat by the road [hodos] begging.” This beggar cries out for mercy.
As usual the disciples, endeavoring to exert their own authority, try to stifle the cries of the blind man. He cries out all the more, calling Jesus the “Son of David.”
Up till this point in Mark’s account, Jesus has resisted this messianic title, which in context was fraught with dubious political implications. This time, however, He does not forbid the man to call Him “Son of David.” The context has changed; Jesus is on the threshold of His Passion.
The curing of the blind man in this scene—the last miracle of healing in the Gospel of Mark—represents the curing of the spiritual blindness that has characterized Jesus’ disciples all through these past three chapters of Mark. For three chapters Jesus has been summoning them to follow Him along the way of the Cross, but they have resisted the summons.
This blind man, however—now enable to see—follows Jesus along the way (hodos—verse 52).
The memory of this blind man’s name indicates that he was a person well known among the early Christians. For Mark, he was a “type” of the true believer.
Tuesday, July 25
Mark 11.1-11: An initial lesson to be learned from today’s story is the need for a serious measure of caution with respect to the opinions of men. Nay, more, we should learn seriously to distrust the opinions of men, especially the enthusiasms of crowds.
Jerusalem was crowded when Jesus rode into it, because tens of thousands of pilgrims had arrived from the wide breadth of the Fertile Crescent and the full circumference of the Mediterranean Basin.
Almost none of these people had ever heard of Jesus. When they beheld the tumult that accompanied Jesus’ entry into the Holy City, they had to inquire, “Who is this?” They did not know who he was. What they learned on Palm Sunday they knew only by way of rumor and hearsay.
Jesus did seem to have a following, of sorts, mainly country folk from up north in Galilee. Some of these international visitors may have been impressed; we do not know.
One thing, however, we do know: Six days later this very crowd was calling for Jesus to receive torture and capital punishment. We find them standing, early in the morning, before the tribunal of Pontius Pilate, screaming for his blood. Six days earlier they had never heard of Jesus of Nazareth; now they wanted him dead.
This was not something the people thought out; they gave no serious consideration to the matter. They made up their minds of the basis of what are called “sound bites.” They listened to rumors and gave ear to speculations. This enormous crowd—this motley group made up of Parthians and Medes and Elamites, those dwelling in Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya adjoining Cyrene, visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, Cretans and Arabs—this enormous crowd, who came to Jerusalem for a solemn pilgrimage—they took part in an act of murder.
How could this possibly have happened? Very simply, any crowd of people can become a mob. If certain people can control a crowd—and people like this are always available—it can become a lynch mob.
What we learn in this story is not, in the first instance, a theological truth. We learn a very simple non-theological lesson; we learn never to trust a crowd to make a decision about anything. Clear thinking does not take place in a crowd. It is arguable that the most dangerous place in the world is a rally or what is known as a demonstration. When crowds come together, people are invariably moved by emotion; there is no such thing as a mob mentality, because the mens, the mind, is alien to its experience. The only safe street gatherings are those dominated by prayer and enforced silence.
This is not a theological lesson. This is simple homespun, practical wisdom. Let us never degrade our minds by subjecting them to group-thought. Let none of us ever trust a crowd on any subject more serious than a tennis match.
When I was a very little boy the most cultured nation in Europe was experiencing a great spiritual renewal, complete with songs and torchlight processions. Before anyone could figure out how it happened, those same people took to burning books in mass gatherings. And it was not long before they were burning their fellow citizens.
Wednesday, July 26
Acts 21.1-14: Although in the early Church the Holy Spirit poured the gift of prophecy upon women as well as men (Acts 2:18; 1 Corinthians 11:5), the New Testament never names any of those women. Indeed, it says precious little about them.
Exceptional in this regard are the daughters of Philip the evangelist, of whom Luke writes, “Now this man had four virgin daughters who prophesied” (Acts 21:9). As unmarried, these women lived in their father’s home in Caesarea. Since Luke accompanied Paul on his last visit to that place in the late spring of A.D. 59 (cf. “we” in 21:8,10), he certainly met them and was able to write about them first-hand.
What else do we know about these four daughters of Philip? Several things: We know, for example, they had formerly lived in Jerusalem, where their father had been one of the original “seven” chosen to assist the Apostles (6:5). Thus, we also know that the family spoke Greek (6:1-5).
For a while, things went well, inasmuch as “the word of God spread, and the number of the disciples multiplied greatly in Jerusalem” (6:7). After the conversion of a large number of Sadducees, however, things in Jerusalem turned ugly. A persecution arose against the Church, leading to the stoning of Stephen, another of those original “seven” Greek-speaking converts (6:7—7:60). Since Philip and Stephen had been associated so closely, Philip’s family was surely in imminent peril. Consequently, they were among the large number of Jewish Christians who fled Jerusalem at that time (8:1).
The family moved up to Samaria, where Philip, no longer in imminent danger from the Jews, had a fruitful ministry, his preaching being accompanied by miracles and exorcisms (8:5-8). We do not know if the family accompanied Philip in the preaching tour that he undertook from the Gaza Strip up to Caesarea (8:40), but we do know that they were soon all together again in that latter city on the Mediterranean coast. It was there that Luke met them several years later, as we have seen, on Paul’s final trip back to the Holy Land.
We don’t know how long the family stayed at Caesarea, but they eventually left for Asia Minor. Polycrates of Ephesus, in the late second century, mentioned Philip’s burial at Hierapolis in Asia Minor. Two of the daughters were buried there too.
A third daughter was buried at Ephesus. Polycrates, as the bishop of that city less than a century later, was heir to her memory preserved in the local church. She was apparently endowed with the gift of prophecy up to the end, for Polycrates wrote, “she conducted herself in the Holy Spirit” (Eusebius, Church History 3.31.3).
Since most of the family had lived at Hierapolis, however, they were better known to Papias, the bishop of that city. Papias was a contemporary of three other great bishops living near the turn of the century– Clement of Rome, Polycarp of Smyrna, and Ignatius of Antioch (Eusebius, 3.34—36)—but he seems to have been alive (and writing) some decades later.
From the daughters of Philip, who must have been rather old by the end of the first century, Papias heard first-hand stories about the Apostles themselves. One of those stories concerned Justus Barsabbas, of whom we otherwise know nothing except that he was one of the two candidates proposed to replace Judas Iscariot (Acts 1:23).
According to the daughters of Philip, who had still lived at Jerusalem back in those very early days, Justus Barsabbas once drank poison (either by accident or as a form of execution, we presume) but was not harmed (Eusebius, 3:39.9). It may be the case that this is the story reflected in the section later added to the Gospel of Mark (16:18).
The historical record does not preserve the names of Philip’s four daughters, but it does intimate quite a bit about their interesting life during the first century of the Church, their familiarity with the Apostles, and the impression they left on the Tradition.
Thursday, July 27
Psalms 72 (Greek & Latin 71): This psalm is often referred to as a “messianic” psalm, in the sense that it is concerned with God’s “anointed” king. Considering only the simplest reading of this psalm, it is difficult to escape the impression that it was composed for use at ceremonies of royal coronation, the ritual point of dynastic transition: “Grant Your justice to the king, O God, and Your righteousness to the king’s son.” The title added to this psalm does, in fact, ascribe it to Solomon, the first successor to the Davidic throne.
Two narrative sections of Holy Scripture readily come to mind in connection with the themes of Psalm 72. The first text is 2 Samuel 7, containing Nathan’s great prophecy about the royal house of David, which now became the beneficiary of a special covenant to guarantee that his descendants would reign forever over his kingdom. A number of lines of our psalm, especially those pertaining to the permanence and extension of David’s royal house, reflect that historical text.
The second pertinent passage is 1 Kings 3, which describes Solomon’s prayer for the “wise heart” that would enable him to govern God’s people justly. Repeatedly throughout this psalm mention is made of the justice and wisdom that would characterize God’s true anointed one.
Both aspects of Psalm 72, as well as the two narrative texts that it reflects, proved to be more than slightly problematic in Israel’s subsequent history. For example, Solomon’s vaunted wisdom as a ruler, that for which he had prayed at Gibeah, didn’t last even to the end of his own lifetime, and it was displayed among his posterity with (not to put too fine a point on it) a rather indifferent frequency. Similarly, what is to be said about the permanence of the reign of David’s household over God’s people? More than half of that kingdom broke away shortly after the death of David’s first successor, nor was any Davidic king ever again to reign on his throne after the fall of Jerusalem in 586 bc. What, then, could be said for either the prophecy of Nathan or the prayer of Solomon? How were the promises in this psalm to be understood?
As Christians, of course, we believe that the inner substance of all these prefigurings finds its fulfillment in Jesus the Lord, the goal of biblical history and the defining object of all biblical prophecy.
The Archangel Gabriel announced the fulfillment of these ancient prophecies when he told the Mother of the Messiah that “the Lord God will give Him the throne of His father David. And He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of His kingdom there will be no end” (Luke 1:32, 33). Yet other angels announced to the shepherds that “there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ [Messiah] the Lord” (2:11). He was to be at once David’s offspring and His Lord (cf. Mark 12:35–37).
As for Solomon, was he the wise king? Well, in measure, to be sure, but now behold, a greater than Solomon is here. If Solomon’s wish was to rule God’s people wisely and with righteousness (a word that comes repeatedly in our psalm), what shall we say of the One whom the New Testament calls our wisdom and our righteousness (1 Cor. 1:24, 30)?
Friday, July 28
Mark 12.1-12: The parable of the vine-growers—listed prominently in Jesus’ teaching during the last week of his earthly life—provides a sharp, defining outline of how he came to understand, not only his ministry to his contemporaries, but also his larger significance in the history of Israel. It illustrates how Jesus thought about his mission and destiny. No other of his parables, arguably, contains such an obviously “autobiographical” perspective.
When Jesus addressed this parable to the men who plotted to kill him, those Jewish scholars of the Bible could hardly fail to recognize, in these initial details, the story’s resemblance to a lyrical poem of the prophet Isaiah eight centuries before. Perhaps some of them knew Isaiah’s poem by heart:
A song of my beloved regarding his vineyard: My beloved has a vineyard / On a very fruitful hill. / He dug it up and cleared away its stones, / And planted it with the choicest vine. / He built a tower in its midst, / And also made a winepress in it (Isaiah 5:1-2).
As to the meaning of the “vineyard,” the explanatory note in Isaiah left no doubt: “For the vineyard of the Lord of hosts is the house of Israel, / And the men of Judah are His pleasant plant” (Isaiah 5:7). The “vineyard” has the same meaning in Jesus’ parable.
Jesus’ parable narrates the history of Israel in terms of God’s expectations: “Now when vintage-time drew near, he sent his servants to the vinedressers, that they might receive its fruit.” This feature of the vineyard, too, Jesus took from Isaiah, who declared that God “expected it to bring forth grapes (Isaiah 5:2).
The parable arrives at its culminating point, which is the mission of the Son: “Then the owner of the vineyard said, ‘What shall I do? I will send my beloved son. Probably they will respect him when they see him.’”
The son in the parable is described as “my beloved,” agapetos mou, the same expression the Father used to address Jesus at both his baptism and his Transfiguration.
This identical expression—agapetos mou—is found, likewise, in the Septuagint (Greek) version of Isaiah’s poem—“My beloved has a vineyard.”
Here agapetos mou translates Isaiah’s Hebrew expression dódi, “my beloved.” Jesus’ parable, then, identifies the son as the “my beloved” in Isaiah’s poem. It is to him that the vineyard truly belongs, because he is the heir. He is the son with regard to God, and the heir with regard to Israel’s history.
The vine-growers cannot plead ignorance for their crime, because they recognize the son, and their very recognition of him fuels their malice:
But when the vinedressers saw him, they reasoned among themselves, saying, “This is the heir. Come, let us kill him, that the inheritance may be ours.”
This, then, is Jesus’ interpretation of both his mission and his coming death: He is the “heir” of the ancient ministry of the prophets. He sees that his own murder will be the culminating crime in Israel’s continued rejection of God and His messengers.
The parable’s identification of Jesus as Son and Heir—the fulfillment of prophetic history—passed into Christian theology very early, as we see in the Epistle to the Hebrews:
God, who at various times and in various ways spoke in time past to the fathers by the prophets, has in these last days spoken to us by a Son, whom He has appointed heir of all things.
By that time, Jesus was aware of the finality of the hour; something truly new and revolutionary was soon to happen—to wit, Jerusalem would be destroyed, and the care of the vineyard would pass to a new stewardship: “Therefore what will the owner of the vineyard do to them? He will come and destroy those vinedressers and give the vineyard to others.”
Much of Jesus’ preaching, during the final week of his life, was taken up with the impending destruction of Jerusalem and the other signs that would inaugurate the final stages of world history.
We are the “others” introduced at the end of this parable.