Lectionary: 242
What can I do with you, Ephraim? What can I do with you, Judah? Your piety is like a morning cloud, Like the dew that early passes away. For this reason I smote them through the prophets, I slew them by the words of my mouth; For it is love that I desire, not sacrifice; Knowledge of God rather than holocausts.
Pretenses of piety stink, and there are few words more fetid than fake apologies. The Prophet Hosea complains about the penitential practices of his country; they seem to believe God is like the weather. “He’ll come around and forgive us just like the change of the seasons from winter to spring and summer to fall. Don’t worry about God; he’ll be okay. Aren’t we his people? Does he have any choice but to forgive us?”
Not that they would say these remarks out loud. They’re silent, like the winks and nods of the congregation when the preacher fumes and his harangue descends into rant. Didn’t our parents do the same? And their parents before that? It’ll be okay.
Their piety reeks like corrupted meat.
If the ancients supposed God is as predictable as the climate with its stately procession from season to season, our contemporaries suppose God is like a gumball machine. Say the right words, make the right gestures, and he’ll give you what you want. It’s like turning the ignition or flipping a light switch. Isn’t the universe one vast machine? Isn’t the Earth with its tides, weather, and continental drift predictable? Aren’t we getting better and better at predicting its moods?
We don’ really need to believe in a creator God who’s got the whole world in his hands; we’re pretty adept at making it work for ourselves! As the physicist said when Napoleon asked him, “Where does God fit into your theories?”
“I have no need of that hypothesis.” Laplace replied.
And in truth, many who piously nod their heads when God is mentioned conduct their lives as if he’s is no where to be found.
I once heard a group of senior high school students planning a weekend jaunt into Chicago. I asked, “Won’t your parents have something to say about this?” And one of them replied, “They don’t care.”
What a dreadful expression, I thought. Does it mean the children are free to plan as they like and their parents implicitly trust them? Or perhaps they just don’t give a damned? I’ve known teens who were given twenty bucks and told to get out of the house tonight. “My boyfriend is coming over.” Perhaps they really didn't care.
Is God like that? Does he not care what we do or how we live?
“I smote them through the prophets!” Hosea say as he speaks for God. In other words, they’ll have no word of comfort, encouragement, or direction from the Lord. If they want to act as if God doesn’t exist, he’ll withdraw and let them think so.
For most of my adult life, churches Catholic and Protestant have been locked. How many times have I stopped like the gentlemen in today’s parable, to pay a visit to our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament and found I couldn’t get in?
That surely is God’s judgment upon us. The grieving, the confused, the weary, the grateful, the devout: they cannot spend time in God’s presence. The church is locked and disappearing from public life, and no one misses it. But still they want peace and prosperity.
Dear God, have pity upon us.
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I love to write. This blog helps me to meditate on the Word of God, and I hope to make some contribution to our contemplations of God's Mighty Works.
Ordinarily, I write these reflections two or three weeks in advance of their publication. I do not intend to comment on current events.
I understand many people prefer gender-neutral references to "God." I don't disagree with them but find that language impersonal, unappealing and tasteless. When I refer to "God" I think of the One whom Jesus called "Abba" and "Father", and I would not attempt to improve on Jesus' language.
You're welcome to add a thought or raise a question.