So a special short-term BIble study, not an add-on, but as the main event, seems a little odd. But I’ve gotten used to it. Mostly.

Still, there are parts of the Bible that are harder to get through than others. Like many people whose hope springs up annually in spite of prior experience, I’ve embarked on reading the Bible through this year, using My daily Catholic Bible. I’ve only tried this particular enterprise a few times since becoming Catholic. I especially like the way this version rearranges the New Testamanet readings so that the Gospels are not read successively.

There’s one pitfall they didn’t av0id, though. And that’s the Leviticus hurdle. When the days are short, when your enthusiasm for new projects is starting to wane in the grey light of February, one runs smack into the tabernacle plans in Exodus, Leviticus and the opening chapters of Numbers.

It’s not my place to question the wisdom of God in ensuring these detailed “technical specs” in the Scriptures. But I do question reading plans that lead us right into the quagmire at the dark of the year.

McKnight says his book fills a missing place in Protestant theology: “… to my knowledge, no one has written a book about the life and character of Mary helping us develop a positive, Protestant view of Mary. Allow me to say this more forcibly: We are Protestants, we believe in the Bible; Mary is in the Bible; we need to believe what the Bible says about Mary. ” He argues that “the mother of Jesus ought to matter to each of us,” and “… Mary represents each of us — both you and me — in our call to follow Jesus.”

Now, it may or may not surprise McKnight to know that, as a Catholic, I am with him all the way so far. And it is perhaps unfair to criticize the book for being so very much what it says it is: a Protestant view of Mary. And so focused is he on presenting that, that he seems to be standing right at the threshold of accepting Catholic truth about Mary, gazing on her, and not seeing. Even worse, he doesn’t see what he doesn’t see: the weight and limitation of his own unexamined assumptions.

McKnight lucidly and respectfully presents many of the major Catholic teachings about Mary, even going so far as to admit that even the doctrines defined later in Church history are attested to in the Church fathers as early as the second century. And yet, so bound is he to the necessity of relating everything to an explicit scriptural statement, that he can’t see the implications of that.

Then there is the missing piece: In the two concluding chapters that describe Catholic Marian beliefs, he never mentions the Rosary. This is, I must say, like writing about pizza without mentioning pepperoni.

Dr. McKnight, I admire your determination to stick to Scripture. Did you not notice that the first part of the Hail Mary is nearly verbatim from the gospel of Luke? That 18 of the 20 mysteries on which we meditate are Scriptural events? (And the remaining two are attested to in Scripture, if one accepts OT/NT parallels?)

I noticed Scott Hahn’s book, Hail, Holy Queen:the Mother of God in the Word of God in your bibliography. You refer to Dr. Hahn as “a Roman Catholic theologian,” and rightly so. Did you know that Dr. Hahn once guarded the supremacy of Scripture much as you do now?

Pray for me, Dr. McKnight, that I may never give Mary other than her proper place. And I will pray the same for you. And keep reading the works of Dr. Hahn.

As she is trying to decide what course to take, her uncle Mordecai comes to her with this warning:*

For if you keep silence at such a time as this, relief and deliverance will rise for the Jews from another quarter; but you and your father’s house will perish. And who knows whether you have not come to the kingdom for such a time as this?

From the time that I first heard this story I I have known my time to speak has come. At the time in my career when I most need to keep my nose to the grindstone and make no enemies, to please the powerful (or at least not aggravate them), here is a great evil coming to my adopted hometown, to my workplace.

Now the most cursory investigation will blow my psuedonymity right up, cause you can guess there aren’t many Catholic librarians in scooters tootling around UF. But who knows whether I have not come to Gainesville for such a time as this? So I tell you now — I’m GOING to be at the place where Kevorkian is speaking. I’m GOING to fight this evil.

And I’ll post my plans here. Come and join me.

Additional links:
Keep Dr. Death Away from our Campuses — Blogs for Terri
Schiavo brother heads effort to stop Kevorkian event at University of Florida — Catholic News Agency
Dr. Death — Inn at the End of the World
Dr. Death and the U of Florida — Annunciations
Blogs for Terri has Petition to stop Dr. Death from spreading his lies — Causa Nostrae Laetitiae
University of Florida: Yes to Death! — Thrown Back

*Scripture: Esther 4:14, Revised Standard Version, Second Catholic Edition (Ignatius Press, 2002)

Congressman Evan Baxter has won office on a platform to change the world; but when God (played by Morgan Freeman) appears and tells him to build an ark, it’s clear that wasn’t the kind of change Baxter had in mind. God may respect Baxter’s free will, but only up to a point; the patriarchal beard Evan grows overnight (and can’t shave off) and the sudden appearance of dozens of pairs of animals everywhere he goes are hardly gentle persuasion. But then, this IS the God who had Jonah thrown overboard and swallowed by a fish when he wouldn’t report for duty.

It isn’t until Baxter’s wife takes off with his three sons that God appears to her, and shares this very Catholic insight about prayer:

Let me ask you something. If someone prays for patience, you think God gives them patience? Or does he give them the opportunity to be patient? If he prayed for courage, does God give him courage, or does he give him opportunities to be courageous? If someone prayed for the family to be closer, do you think God zaps them with warm fuzzy feelings, or does he give them opportunities to love each other?

And when Evan himself is being grilled by reporters, he shows that he, too, is perhaps not far from the Kingdom of God:

Reporter: What makes you think God chose you?
Evan Baxter: He chose all of us.

I agree somewhat with Steven Greydanus that this is not very deep spiritual truth. Yes, this is not the whole truth, but there’s truth in it. In my opinion,though, it may be a door opener for conversations with friends or relatives who don’t talk much about spiritual things.

IS there a flood, or was this only a test? Does the Baxter family come together, or fall apart? You’ll have to wait and see. But if you wait to borrow a free copy from your local library, the suspense probably won’t kill you.

If your new job is the result of a promotion, you may know Fred quite well, and be alternately flattered, amused, and annoyed at being called “the new Fred.” Fred may have tough shoes to fill, or you may consider that a loving God would never unleash more than one Fred on the universe. But at most places I have worked, the tag sticks for some time. You know you are at last bringing your own style and contributions to the job when you are no longer “the new Fred” but simply yourself.

Poor St. Matthias. All we really know about him is that he was the replacement for Judas Iscariot, the betrayer of Jesus Christ. In today’s first Mass reading, we learn all there is to be known (at least in the Bible) about Matthias. He stood in the difficult position of being “the new Judas.” Let’s hope no one was insensitive enough to call him that, but it must have been on everyone’s mind, somehow.

Did Matthias feel guilty to be given an honored place only available because of another’s death? Was he afraid he might also fall? Did he go out of his way to avoid all comparisons? Was he relieved when mission responsibilities took him away from the early community of believers, to a fresh start?

We won’t know, this side of heaven. But we do know that he took his difficult position and filled it so well that the Church throughout the world celebrates his life on this day.

Jacob works for seven years to get the desire of his heart, Rachel. And he believes he has succeeded. But the morning after the wedding night, he discovers he has married Leah, her sister. He must work another seven years for Rachel. And after all that time, all his efforts only enriched his father-in-law.

Academics, friends, tell me that isn’t tenure!

Now I love it because of a very important detail. Before Peter heals the man, who has been making a living by begging, Scripture tells us Peter stops and looks at him, and asks the man to look back at him.

Before the physical healing, Peter performs the spiritual healing of regarding the man as a person, and requiring of him personal attention as well. (Yes, I am shouting; it’s so very important to me that we all see this and take it in.)

Both sides of this are important. Peter heals the man after (maybe because?) he sees him as a real person, and sees his need. The disabled man is shaken out of his routine of asking for money and watching the hands dropping coins. He sees Peter as a real person who wants do something other than throw money at him.

This was the first healing, and in my opinion, was prerequisite for the physical healing that followed.

But I didn’t get to hear the story of the woman taken in adultery. And I love that story.

I don’t remember where or from whom I first heard these thoughts, but they don’t originate with me, I’m just recording them.

They only bring the woman to Jesus. Somehow, even though she was “caught in the act” as some translations say, the man has disappeared into the mists. Or faded into the crowd. Or picked up a rock.

Maybe that’s what Jesus writes in the sand: “Where is the man?”

Or maybe he’s writing a list of commandments. Or names of sinners. John doesn’t tell us.

Whatever happens, it causes the men to drop their stones, and leave, the oldest first, down to the youngest. And isn’t that an interesting detail? Did they give up sooner because they had lived longer, had better memories, more regrets, deeper compassion?

Although I realize it isn’t remotely accurate, I always picture an ocean wave wiping away the markings, clearing away the record of sins, as the woman walks away, a little dazed, having evaded death and discovered Life.

Ocean waves, salty, like tears. Watering the desert.