Daniel 3:29-31; Amos 6:1-7; Luke 16:19-31
Omnia quae fecisti nobis Domine, in vero iudicio fecisti – All that you have done to us, O Lord, you have done with righteous judgement…
As usual we entered Mass today with words from the Old Testament. The text for this week’s Introit Chant is taken from the Prophet Daniel, according to its Greek version, somewhat freely adapted.
To put this in context: Jerusalem and its Temple have been destroyed, and the people are in captivity in Babylon. Now King Nebuchadnezzar has decided that everyone must worship a Golden Statue he has made. Anyone failing to do so will be cast into a huge furnace. Three devout young Hebrew men, companions of Daniel, are duly found guilty, and condemned to burn. Flung into the furnace, now stoked seven times hotter even than usual (3:19), they walk about amidst the flames, praising God with the famous Canticle of Creation that we sing at Lauds each Sunday and Feast Day. But before this Canticle starts, Azariah has a solo song of his own. A verse from this song of Azariah is said quietly by the Priest at the Offertory at every Mass (In spiritu humilitatis…). Now, as quoted in our Introit, Azariah addresses his prayer to God. It’s a prayer of adoration, confession, and self-surrender: but also of humble petition and of hope, made in pure faith. Clearly such words and sentiments are highly appropriate for us, as we approach the sacred mysteries. They are words in the first place of worship, then of sorrow for sin, and then of request, which we dare to make through our confidence in God’s loving mercy.
The ancient Gregorian composer set his text in the Third mode. This is the Tonus mysticus, whose reciting note is on the seventh note of the scale: on the inherently unstable semi-tone. So there is always something unresolved about the Third mode. It easily conveys a certain restless energy, or ardent longing for something not yet given; or it can express strong, barely controlled emotion. Sometimes then it’s referred to as Tonus iratus – the “angry mode”. It can be rather difficult to sing. As a matter of fact, already by the end of the 10th century, many pieces of the Third mode were undergoing a slight melodic alteration. The seventh note of the scale came to be replaced by the much stronger, more stable octave note. And thereby the characteristic tension, the urgency or anguish of the mode is softened, or diluted. What we sang today is an example of that. Of course the modern musicologists prefer to restore the more ancient version, which certainly has a most striking power and beauty of its own.
Standing in the midst of a burning furnace, and nevertheless praising God: this is faith under extreme pressure, rising to heroic heights. It’s the faith of the martyrs. But many people can find themselves called to such a faith. We might think of a person who has just lost his job, or someone who has terminal cancer, or a mother whose child has died, or a nation overrun by a brutal foreign army. Of course such people are tempted to cry out: Where is God now? With our Gregorian composer they certainly are permitted, or encouraged, to express their anguish, even their anger to God. But with Azariah, with Job, they refuse to curse God. Instead they bless him, and entrust themselves to him, and pray to him.
According to the book of Daniel, Nebuchadnezzar was astonished to see not only that the three young Hebrews by miracle had survived the fire, but that a fourth figure appeared with them in the flames (3:25 [92]). We take him as symbolic of Jesus who is always with us, but especially in every trial and affliction: all the way to our death and beyond. So, especially when in trouble, we Christians look to Jesus in his Passion, to Jesus on the Cross, to Jesus dead in the arms of his Mother. Jesus alone was truly innocent, yet he suffered to the end in loving obedience: and his suffering resulted in resurrection. So for us there is always hope. If we are united with Jesus in his Passion, we are promised to be united with him also in his resurrection (cf. Rm 6:5).
Today’s Gospel and first reading focus on people who don’t care. They are rich, powerful, apparently secure. So they give themselves up to a life of self-indulgence. Seizing as much pleasure as they can get, they have no time for God, and no time either for the poor. Earlier in the Gospel Jesus had warned such people. Alas for you who are rich! You are having your consolation now… Alas for you who you who have plenty to eat now. You shall go hungry (6:24-25).
Not that all rich people are necessarily condemned. So also: it’s not necessarily immoral to stretch out on a couch, or to eat lamb, or sing to the harp, according to the picture painted by Amos in today’s first reading. Nevertheless: this life is all we’ve got. It’s our chance to turn away from our sin, and to grow in goodness. Our task is to conform our hearts to the Heart of Jesus; that Heart which is full of compassion, especially for the poor and all who suffer.
Our world is so full of misery: of injustice, oppression and wickedness; of hunger, pain and disease; of an abiding gulf between those who have and those who have not. We feel helpless in face of all that. When Jesus comes again in glory, all will be put right, definitively, in the New Creation. In the meantime, we do what we can; whatever lies within our capability, or confronts our immediate gaze.
Above all, we make sure we remain close to Jesus. We come to him now, in this holy Eucharist, singing of his goodness, and if necessary also of our distress. Gathered together at his Altar we find ourselves in a position of radical equality. We are all sinners, and we all depend on Christ’s outpoured blood for our hope of mercy: rich or poor, healthy or sick, learned or unlearned, native born or immigrant. Even more deeply: in our faith, and in his Body, we are all One. So now, as we look forward to sharing the eternal joy of Lazarus, we may well think of words of St. Paul: I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us (Rm 8:18).