Friday, January 31
Psalm 78: Just as the early Christians saw the Passover and other events associated with the Exodus of the Old Testament as types and prophcies of the salvation brought by Jesus (cf. 1 Cor. 5:7; John 19: 36, etc.), so they interpreted the forty years of the Israelites’ wandering in the desert as representing their own pilgrimage to the true Promised Land.
Thus, the passage through the Red Sea became a symbol of Baptism, the miraculous manna was a foreshadowing of the Eucharist, and so forth. In particular did they regard the various temptations experienced by the Israelites in the desert as typical of the sorts of temptations to be faced by Christians. This deep Christian persuasion of the true significance of the desert pilgrimage serves to make the Books of Exodus and Numbers necessary and very useful reading for serious Christians.
In the New Testament there are two fairly lengthy passages illustrating this approach to the Israelites’ desert pilgrimage. One is found in 1 Corinthians 10:1–13. In this text the Apostle Paul begins by indicating the sacramental meanings of certain components in the Exodus story: “All our fathers were under the cloud, all passed through the sea, all were baptized into Moses in the cloud and in the sea, all ate the same spiritual food, and all drank the same spiritual drink” (vv. 1–4).
The Apostle’s chief interest, however, is moral; by way of warning to the Corinthians he points to the sins and failures of the Israelites in the desert: “Now these things became our examples, to the intent that we should not lust after evil things as they also lusted. And do not become idolaters as were some of them. . . Nor let us commit sexual immorality, as some of them did, . . . nor let us tempt Christ, as some of them also tempted, . . . nor complain, as some of them also complained” (vv. 6–10). For Saint Paul the entire story of the Israelites in the desert is a great moral lesson for Christians: “Now all these things happened to them as examples, and they were written for our admonition, upon whom the ends of the ages have come” (v. 11).
The second New Testament text illustrating this theme is even longer, filling chapters 3 and 4 of Hebrews. The author of this book was much struck by the fact that almost none of those who had departed from Egypt actually arrived in the Promised Land. And why? Because of unbelief, disobedience, and rebellion in the desert: “For who, having heard, rebelled? Indeed, was it not all who came out of Egypt, led by Moses? Now with whom was He angry forty years? Was it not with those who sinned, whose corpses fell in the wilderness?” (3:16, 17). Here, as in 1 Corinthians, the story of the desert pilgrimage is remembered as a moral warning for those in Christ.
Psalm 78 (Greek and Latin 77) is largely devoted to the same theme, which provides its proper interpretation. This psalm, which is a kind of poetic summary of the Books of Exodus, Numbers, Deuteronomy, and even some of Joshua, Judges, and 1 Samuel, concentrates on the Chosen People’s constant infidelity and rebellion, but especially during the desert pilgrimage: “But they sinned even more against Him by rebelling against the Most High in the wilderness. . . . How often they provoked Him in the wilderness, and grieved Him in the desert! Yes, again and again they tempted God, and limited the Holy One of Israel. They did not remember His power: The day when He redeemed them from the enemy.”
Quite a number of hours are required to read the whole story of the people’s infidelity in the desert as it is recorded through several books of the Bible. Psalm 78, however, has long served as a sort of meditative compendium of the whole account. Its accent falls on exactly those same moral warnings that we saw in 1 Corinthians and Hebrews—the people’s failure to take heed to what they had already beheld of God’s deliverance and His sustained care for them. They had seen the plagues that He visited on the Egyptians, they had traversed the sea dry-shod, they had been led by the pillar of cloud and fire, they had slaked their thirst with the water from the rock, they had eaten their fill of the miraculous bread, they had trembled at the base of Mount Sinai, beholding the divine manifestation. In short, they had already been the beneficiaries of God’s revelation, salvation, and countless blessings.
Still, “their heart was not steadfast with Him, nor were they faithful in His covenant.” And just who is being described here? Following the lead of the New Testament, we know it is not only the Israelites of old, but also ourselves, “upon whom the ends of the ages have come.” The story in this psalm is our own story. So we carefully ponder it and take warning.
Saturday, February 1
Genesis 32: After taking leave of Laban, Jacob must think about how to approach Esau, for Esau represents the tricky aspect of Jacob’s homecoming (verse 4-7). Esau, meanwhile, has moved south to the land of Edom, a dry and inhospitable land that lucidly explains the words of God, “Esau have I hated, and laid waste his mountains and his heritage, for the jackals of the wilderness” (Malachi 1:3).
If Jacob is feeling threatened by Laban, he now feels even worse from the information that his older twin is coming to meet him with four hundred armed men. That last part is hardly the sort of detail calculated to allay anxiety. Indeed, a certain sense of anxiety may be exactly what Esau wants to inspire in Jacob. If so, the maneuver is successful.
Jacob does two things (verses 8-13). First, he prepares for the worst, taking certain practical steps with a view to at least a partial survival of his family. Second, he takes to prayer, certainly the most humble prayer he has made so far.
Ultimately, after all, this is a story of Jacob’s relationship to God. Up to this point, God is still Isaac’s God, the “God of my fathers” (verse 9). Jacob has not yet done what he promised at Bethel — take God as his own (28:21). God had also made certain promises to Jacob at Bethel, and Jacob now invokes those promises.
He continues his preparations for meeting the brother he has not seen in twenty years (verse 14-23). He sends delegations with gifts, which are intended to impress Esau. Jacob, after all, knows that Esau has four hundred men, but Esau does not know how many Jacob may have. Jacob’s gifts, including five hundred and eighty animals, verge on the flamboyant.
Jacob approaches the fords of the Jabbock, at a place called Peniel, or “face of God” (verse 30). To prepare the reader for this place, verses 22-23 used the word “face” no fewer than five times. Jacob knows that Esau will soon be “in his face.” He must “face” Esau, which is why he is going directly toward him. Up to this point, Jacob has been a man of flight, flight from Canaan, flight from Haran, flight from Esau, flight from Laban. This all must change. Jacob cannot face his future until he has faced his past.
Even before he can face Esau, however, Jacob must face Someone Else (verses 23-33). This encounter with God, which apparently Jacob has not anticipated, is far more significant than his encounter with Esau. A millennium later the prophet Hosea would meditate on this scene. This wrestling match is Jacob’s decisive encounter with God. Everything changes. First, his name is changed to Israel (verse 29), as Abram’s was changed to Abraham in a parallel encounter with God (17:3-5,15). Second, God is no longer simply “the God of my fathers.” He is now “the God of Israel” (verse 20). Third, Jacob will limp from this experience for the rest of his life (verses 26,32-33). No one wrestles with the living God and looks normal and well adjusted. There is a further irony here. Jacob began life by tripping his brother as the latter exited the womb. Now Jacob himself will be permanently tripped up by a limp.
Jacob has remained on the near side of the river all night long, not fording the Jabbock with the rest of his family. When he rises in the morning, he must limp across alone. Esau and his four hundred men are just coming into view.
Sunday, February 2
The Presentation in the Temple: It is characteristic of fluids that they have no shape of their own but are given contour by the solid bodies that contain them. This is true, for example, of rivers: The configuration of a river is determined entirely by the outline of the land that borders it on both sides. A river necessarily partakes of a double profile.
Let us consider that mile-wide line separating Indiana from Kentucky, a boundary known as the Ohio River. This great river, as it passes between Indiana and Kentucky, assumes the adjacent outlines of both sides. It partly resembles Indiana, and partly Kentucky.
Such is the nature of a border between any two things: it receives its shape from both of them. It is—literally—defined by both of them.
I submit that this feast of the Lord’s Presentation is a border of this sort. It is a boundary between two seasons: at once the fortieth day of Christmastide, and a festival preparatory for the coming season of Lent. As a boundary between these two seasons, it receives its shape or definition from both of them.
The prophetic words of Simeon indicate this second aspect of the Lord’s Presentation. The old man said to the Mother of Jesus: “Behold, this One is set for the fall and rising of many in Israel, and for a controversial sign—yes, a sword will pierce through your own soul as well—that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.”
The darker aspect of the Presentation was also conveyed in the appearance of the prophetess Anna. St. Luke says of her that “spoke of Him to all those who looked for redemption in Jerusalem.”
In our Lord’s first appearance in the Temple, then, this prophetic couple discerns the presentation of the ultimate sacrificial victim. The Child came for dedication. If this was not evident to other bystanders that day, it certainly was to Simeon and Anna.
And through their prophetic words, the message of the Cross was also made plain to Mary, the Lord’s Mother. A sword, said Simeon, would pierce her heart.
In what spirit does Jesus first come to the Temple? According to the Epistle to the Hebrews, “when He came into the world, He said: ‘Sacrifice and offering You did not desire, but a body You have prepared for Me. In burnt offerings and sacrifices for sin You had no pleasure.’ Then I said, ‘Behold, I have come—in the volume of the book it is written of Me—to do Your will, O God.’”
As we move toward the Great Fast, this is the consecratory scene presented to the eyes of the Church. The spotless Lamb is borne to the place of sacrifice. He comes to the very place where Abraham brought his beloved son as an immolation to the Lord. To take away the sins of the world, Jesus arrives at the location where the sons of Aaron offered their sacrifices when Solomon dedicated the Temple amid the chanting of the children of Asaph.
This scene is also an invitation to us who celebrate this feast day. We too arrive with the baby Jesus, here at the threshold of Lent, to renew the dedication of ourselves, to join with the Lord’s Mother and hear the prophecy of Simeon about penetrated hearts. With Christ our Lord, we dedicate our own hearts to the true God worshipped in the Temple.
By God’s grace, let us do this with the simplicity and humility of Simeon and Anna, the final prophetic figures of the Old Testament. Let us brace our spirits for the coming penitential season.
Monday, February 3
Genesis 34: The other inhabitants of Shechem are called Hivites in the Hebrew text, Hurrians or Horites in the Greek text. Non-Semites, they did not practice circumcision, and their introduction to the practice will be something less than felicitous.
Jacob’s daughter went a gadding about (verses 1-4) and came to the attention of a local young man who was evidently accustomed to getting what he wanted. His name was Shechem too. In spite of the New American Bible’s indication of violence (“he lay with her by force”), the Hebrew wai‘anneha is perhaps better translated as “he humbled her” or “he seduced her.” Subsequent events suggest that this was not an act of violence. As it turns out, in fact, Dinah is already living at the young man’s home.
We noted that this young Shechem was accustomed to getting what he wanted. Now he is about to be introduced to Dinah’s big brothers, who have some ideas of their own and also knew what they wanted. This will be Israel’s first recorded armed conflict. As in the case of the Greeks assembled before the walls of Troy, they will be fighting over a woman.
Down through the centuries this biblical story has been told chiefly for its moral message. For instance, in the twelfth century St. Bernard of Clairvaux used Dinah as an example of a gad-about, exemplifying the vice of curiosity, which Bernard called “the first step” on the inversed ladder of pride.
Jacob and Hamor, the fathers of the two young people, are remarkably patient, but not Dinah’s brothers (verses 5-7). As we shall see in the cases of Reuben and Judah in the next few chapters, Jacob’s sons are not all models of chastity, but they were genuinely concerned for their sister’s wellbeing and their family’s honor.
To describe what has happened Dinah, they employ the word nebelah or “folly,” which term rather often indicates a sexual offense. For instance, this word appears four times in Judges 19-20, where it refers to a woman’s being raped to death. It also refers to Amnon’s rape of Tamar in 2 Samuel 13:12, to adultery in Jeremiah 29:23, and to the infidelity of an engaged girl in Deuteronomy 22:21. The word is perhaps better translated as “outrage.”
A meeting takes place, as though by accident (verses 8-12). Hamor and Shechem offer a deal. After all, Dinah is living at Shechem’s house. Why not simply legitimize the situation? Any solution but marriage would make things worse. Besides, the Shechemites reason, if they were all going to be neighbors anyway, why not a general miscegenation of the two peoples.
Here we touch upon an important point of theology, because the very concept of intermarriage might mean that the line of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob would cease to be distinct; the very notion of a chosen people might be lost. Intermarriage with these Shechemites would have led to quite another result than that envisioned in the Bible (cf. 2 Corinthians 6:14-18).
Jacob’s sons make a reasonable proposal, but not sincerely (verses 13-17). They speak “with guile,” bemirmah. This is the identical expression we saw in 27:35 to describe what Jacob had done: “Your brother came bemirmah and stole away your blessing.” Guile seems to run in this family.
Shechem’s family, anyway, agree to submit to circumcision (verses 18-24). Do they realize that they would thereby be accepting the covenant in Genesis 17? Probably not, but the question is moot anyway. Circumcision is simply part of a deceitful plan in this instance.
The sin of Simeon and Levi (verses 25-29), in addition to its cruelty, has about it a touch of deep irreverence. God gave Abraham’s sons the rite of circumcision as the sign of a special covenant. That is to say, circumcision was God’s chosen sign for blessing. By their actions in this chapter, Simeon and Levi distort that sign, turning it into an occasion of violence against their enemies. They take something sacred and transform it into the instrument of their own vengeance. Their action in this case points to the danger of using the blessings of God against our fellow man.
Tuesday, February 4
Matthew 12:38-45: Both examples given here, the Ninevites and the queen from southern Arabia, are Gentiles, those of whom Matthew has just been speaking in 12:18-21. The figures of Jonah and Solomon should also be understood here as representing the prophetic and sapiential traditions of Holy Scripture.
Jesus is the “greater than Jonah,” whose earlier ministry foreshadowed the Lord’s death and Resurrection and also the conversion of the Gentiles. The Lord’s appeal to Jonah in this text speaks also of Jonah as a type or symbol of the Resurrection. The men of Nineveh, who repented and believed, are contrasted with the unrepentant Jewish leaders who refuse to believe in the Resurrection (cf. 28:13-15). Matthew will return to the sign of Jonah in 16:2. Jesus is also the “greater than Solomon,” who was founder of Israel’s wisdom literature and the builder of the Temple.
The Queen of the South, that Gentile woman who came seeking Solomon’s wisdom, likewise foreshadowed the calling of the Gentiles. She was related to Solomon as the Ninevites were related to Jonah—as Gentiles who met the God of Israel through His manifestation in the personal lives of particular Israelites.
It is a point of consolation to observe that in neither case—whether Solomon or Jonah—were these Israelites free from personal faults!
Psalms 87 (Greek & Latin 86): This is another psalm of the Lord’s suffering and death. As such it contains His prayer to the Father for deliverance, especially from that “last enemy” which is death (cf. 1 Cor. 15:26). Thus Jesus pleads: “Incline Your ear, O Lord, and hear me, for I am poor and needy. Guard my soul, for I am holy. O God, save Your servant, who sets His hope on You. Have mercy on me, O Lord, for I cry to You all the day long. Gladden the soul of Your servant, for to You, O Lord, have I lifted up my soul. . . . O God, transgressors are risen against me, and the assembly of the strong has sought out my soul, nor have they set You before them.”
Among the important themes in these lines, one will observe our Lord’s deliberate identification with the poor and needy. As a poor man, without wealth and the power that wealth can afford, Jesus is unjustly condemned by those who, for their own reasons, have decided that He must die. Sold and purchased for a price, found guilty by a fixed jury on the testimony of perjured witnesses, condemned by an intimidated judge, our Lord makes Himself one with all those myriad human beings who suffer persecution, even death, by those willing and powerful enough to inflict it.
However, even when He says of Himself that “the Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head” (Matt. 8:20), it is important to remember that the poverty of Christ is more than a mere social and economic condition. Rather, it is integral to His being God’s servant: “O God, save Your servant, who sets His hope on You. . . . Gladden the soul of Your servant.” In various places in the Gospels Jesus refers to Himself as the servant, most especially in the setting of His sufferings: “For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give His life a ransom for many” (Mark 10:45). It is well known, of course, that in such statements our Lord was showing Himself to be “the servant of the Lord” spoken of repeatedly in the second part of Isaiah
Wednesday, February 5
Hebrews 12.12-28: The author of Hebrews outlines a contrast between two mountains: Sinai and Zion—the mountain of the Law and the mountain of the Temple, or the covenant with Moses and the covenant with David.
A similar contrast between these two mountains—Sinai and Zion—was made by St. Paul, much to the same effect: “For these are two covenants: the one from Mount Sinai which gives birth to bondage, which is Hagar—for this Hagar is Mount Sinai in Arabia, and corresponds to Jerusalem which now is, and is in bondage with her children—but the Jerusalem above is free, which is the mother of us all” (Galatians 4:24-26).
In both texts—Galatians and Hebrews—there is a contrast between the bondage of the Law and the boldness of the Christian. With respect to this contrast, St. Paul writes, “you are no longer a slave but a son, and if a son, then an heir through God” (Galatians 4:7). In both cases, we observe, Mount Zion is called the heavenly Jerusalem: According to Galatians, “the Jerusalem above is free, which is the mother of us all.” According to Hebrews, “you have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem.”
One suspects that this contrast between Mount Sinai and Mount Zion may have been a rhetorical trope in early Christian preaching. This suggestion would explain why we find it in both Galatians and Hebrews, in spite of the great differences between these two works. This contrast is used in both places and adapted to the theme of each work.
Here in Hebrews, the two mountains are contrasted with respect to what we may call “comfort”: Mount Sinai provokes fear and trembling, whereas Mount Zion inspires boldness, or <i>parresia</i>. In Hebrews, this word describes the spirit in which believers have access to God.
Thus, we read earlier of Christ as “as a Son over His own house, whose house we are if we hold fast the <i>parresia</i> and the rejoicing of a firm hope” (3:6). Or again, “Let us therefore come with <i>parresia</i> to the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need” (4:16). There is an irony in this verse: We might imagine that the way to obtain mercy is not to demonstrate too much boldness. On the contrary, says Hebrews, boldness is the path to mercy!
Mount Sinai inspired a sense of awe and fear, even to the point of cringing. The author of Hebrews will have no cringing Christians. They are to approach God’s presence in a bold and confident spirit. He wrote earlier, “Therefore, brethren, having <i>parresia</i> to enter the Holy of Holies by the blood of Jesus . . . let us draw near with a true heart in the full certainty of faith” (10:19,22). In this text we observe that Christian boldness comes from Christian “certainty”—<i>plerophoria</i>.
Indeed, for the author of Hebrew, this Christian boldness is a thing to be protected. We must labor not to lose it: “Therefore do not cast away your confidence, which has great reward” (10:35).
Thursday, February 6
Genesis 37: Any reader of Genesis with even a little feel for structure and style will recognize that he has arrived at something new when he starts through the long Joseph narrative. Although all of the stories in Genesis are tied together by unifying historico-theological themes and a panoramic epic construction, there are two very clear points of style in which this long story of Joseph stands out unique with respect to the narratives that precede it.
The first stylistic point has to do with structure. The various accounts of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob have what we may call a more episodic quality. Even though they are integrally tied together by theological motifs and theme-threads indispensable to their full meaning, often they can also be read as individual stories, each with a satisfying dramatic anatomy of its own. For example, while the more ample significance of Abraham’s trial in Genesis 22 doubtless requires its integration into the larger motif of the Promised Son and Heir, that chapter is so constructed that it may also be read as a single story with its own inherent drama. That is to say, it is an episode. Part of its literary quality consists in its being intelligible and interesting within itself and on its own merits.
Similar assessments are likewise true for numerous other patriarchal stories, including the rivalry between Sarah and Hagar, the courting of Rebekah, Jacob’s theft of Esau’s blessing, and so forth. While parts of a larger whole, each of these narratives nonetheless forms a good, satisfactory dramatic tale by itself.
There is nothing similar in the Joseph narrative. Hardly any scene of the Joseph narrative could stand alone and still make sense. It is one and only one story. No one of the parts is of interest without the rest. The Joseph epic forms one long dramatic unity, characterized by the careful planning of particulars, sustained irony, a very tight integration of component scenes within a tension mounting to a dramatic denouement, followed by a more quiet sequence that calmly closes Genesis and systematically prepares for the Book of Exodus.
The second stylistic point that distinguishes the Joseph story from the earlier Genesis stories is the quality of its interest in the dominant character. The sensitive reader of Genesis will note right away that Joseph appears to have no failings nor faults, in sharp contrast to the earlier patriarchal figures. Both Abraham and Isaac, for example, acting from fear of possible rivals, go to some lengths to suggest that they are not married to their wives (12:11-19; 20:2-13; 26:7-11), a precaution that seems, at the very least, to fall somewhat short of the ideals of chivalry. Similarly, Jacob’s intentional deception of his father in Genesis 27 is scarcely edifying, while the cunning brutality of Simeon and Levi in Genesis 34 is lamented by Jacob himself. The Bible is obviously making no attempt to glorify those men; it simply portrays them as mixtures of good and evil, very much as we should expect from any accurate biography.
There is a perceptible change of attitude, however, when we come to Joseph. Genesis offers, I think, no parallel example of such a sustained interest in describing the moral shape of a specific character. Joseph is pictured as a flawless or nearly flawless man. He seems almost a type of perfection, a veritable saint right from the start. The Fathers of the Church could thus hold Joseph up as an example of humility, chastity, and inner discipline of thought. He was “that very man of God, full of the spirit of discretion,” wrote Gregory Dialogos (In Ezechielem 2.9.19).
Likewise, Joseph’s ability to discern the future makes him the Bible’s earliest clear example of a prophet. In his patient suffering, moreover, his endurance of betrayal, his confidence in God’s guidance and his forgiveness of those who wronged him, Joseph seemed to the Church Fathers to embody the highest ideals of the Gospel itself.
This “hagiographical” approach is rare in scriptural narrative, the other few examples that come readily to mind being only Jonathan, Nehemiah, Daniel, Tobit, and perhaps Stephen. Most of the biblical personalities, after all, are composites of good and bad, mixtures of strength and weakness, with which most of us more easily identify our own experience: Abraham, Jacob, David, Jeremiah, Jonah, Peter and the other apostles, and so forth. It is understandable we find ourselves more in sympathy with these latter figures, and their use throughout the history of Christian ascetical literature amply justifies our doing so.
Nonetheless, it seems important to observe that the more idealized picture of the “saint” also has biblical roots. For example, the “cloud of witnesses” in Hebrews 11 is sufficiently cloudy to leave out all mention of the weaknesses and failings of it numerous characters, instead concentrating entirely on their faith. Such a hagiographical disposition is already at work in the Genesis narrative of Joseph.
Friday, February 7
Matthew 14:13-21: The great significance of the multiplication of the loaves among the early Christians may be discerned from the fact that: (1) outside of the events of Holy Week, it is one of the very few scenes recorded in all four gospels; (2) aspects of it are depicted numerous times in the earliest Christian iconography; (3) normally recorded in language identical to, or at least reminiscent of, that of the Last Supper, it is clearly one of the events of Jesus’ life perceived to be weighted with the greatest theological significance. This is clearest in John, where it is accompanied by the lengthy and elaborate Bread of Life discourse.
This miraculous event brought to the minds of those present the expectation that the coming Messiah would renew the events of the Exodus, including the feeding of the people with miraculous bread in the wilderness. This sense of expectation and fulfillment accounts for the considerable emphasis on Messianic themes in early Eucharistic texts of the Christian Church.
Even as Matthew begins this story, we observe a significant way in which he alters the narrative in Mark. Whereas Mark (6:34), describes Jesus as “teaching” the people in the wilderness, Matthew says that Jesus “healed” them (verse 14). This change of perspective is consonant with Matthew’s other indications that Jesus had begun to withdraw from teaching the Jews in public and to concentrate, instead, on the immediate band of His disciples. Nonetheless, Jesus still expresses His messianic compassion through healing and feeding them.
Psalms 93 (Greek & Latin 92): Three psalms (93, 97, 99) begin with the line, “The Lord is King.” In each case the expression is actually a verb in both the Greek (ebasilevsen) and Hebrew (malak), but it is translated here as a noun in order to give clearer attention to the image of “king” (basilevs, melek) suggested in the underlying verbs. Proper English usage has no verb “to king,” and the usual substitution, “to reign,” fails to convey that image adequately.
The present psalm is a brief but rich composition, resonating large biblical themes in its every line: “The Lord is King; He is clothed with splendor. In might has the Lord adorned and girded Himself. The world He made firm, that it be not shaken. Your throne is prepared from everlasting; You are from all eternity. The rivers rise in flood, O Lord, the rivers lift their voices, with the voices of many waters. Marvelous these swellings of the sea; marvelous the Lord on high. Your testimonies have proved exceedingly faithful. Holiness befits Your house, O Lord, unto length of days.”
The waters that lift up their doxological voices are the baptismal waters of our rebirth. It is in these waters that God’s people are washed and made holy. The Holy Trinity, revealed in the Baptism of Jesus, is the mystery of our incorporation into the Church, for we are baptized in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. In these waters we become God’s very house, and holiness befits His house unto length of days.