Rest a while

Like many who have the responsibility of reflecting on the Liturgy of the Word, my immediate instinct was to offer a reflection on these “Blessings” from Matthew’s Beatitudes.

This instinct almost ‘forbids’ me from looking at the other readings included in the Sunday liturgy!

Well, this Sunday, I took the time to look, and the reading set down as the First reading, which comes from the prophet Zephaniah.

Zephaniah was a 7th-century BC Hebrew prophet who ministered in the southern kingdom of Judah during the reign of King Josiah (approx. 640–609 BC).

Today’s first reading is from chapters 2 and 3 (2:3, 3:12 – 13), and includes the line:

“But they will be able to graze and rest with no one to disturb them.”

I live in Aotearoa/New Zealand where approximately half of the total land area of the country is dedicated to agricultural activity; “grazing” is a very real and active presence.

Herbivores are apt to graze; they have their heads down and munch seemingly continually and forever. Our countryside is littered with sheep, dairy cows, and beef cattle – all with their heads down and chewing.

I just learned the other day that “grazing” is not limited to herbivores.

In a human context, the habit of snacking on small amounts of food throughout the day is also known as “grazing”. What if we applied this approach to the Gospel? Might “grazing” be a way for us to approach the Gospel and the message of Jesus, ‘snack on small amounts throughout the day’?

“Blessed are the poor in spirit” – goodness, there is enough to “graze” on for a lifetime!

I am sure I have told this story before; however, it is helpful for me to remember.

As the Dutch diarist Etty Hillesum began her diary: “All right, here we go.”

The island I lived on in the Lomaiviti group of Fijian islands was called Ovalau. Only half the island had electric lighting.

When night arrives in the tropics, darkness is absolute. Anyone who has visited knows this truth: the night is black.

On one occasion I had been to a village on the non-electrified side of the island. I had set out in daylight, and after Mass and singing and eating and more singing, I was to set off home.

But—and it was a significant challenge—how would I find my way back to the road and my vehicle? It was pitch black with lush tropical undergrowth in front of me and all around.

At that moment a young boy, seven or eight, took hold of my hand and said very calmly, “Saka, follow me.” (Saka means “father” or “priest” in Fijian.)

With the boy leading and me holding on for dear life, he led me along a path through the foliage. If you knew where the path was, the journey to the road was simple. If you did not, you might well be still walking.

This experience came flooding back when I read today’s Gospel (Mt 4:12-23), which includes the passage: “The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light” (v. 16). It is a quote from the prophet Isaiah which we read as part of today’s First Reading (Is. 9:2).

Light, for me, immediately conjures images of daylight or an electric light being turned on, or perhaps a candle being lit. To imagine light as a person takes some effort.

The young boy leading me through the lush tropical undergrowth was as big a searchlight as I have ever experienced. A light might well be a person rather than a switch.

Take a moment to reflect: Who has taken me by the hand and led me through the darkness?

If you have ever been associated with farm life, you know that lambs wander.

One of history’s most famous “wandering lambs” is the Ghent Altarpiece, also known as the Adoration of the Mystic Lamb. A massive and complex 15th-century masterpiece, the altarpiece was created for St. Bavo’s Cathedral in Ghent, Belgium. Begun in the mid-1420s and completed by 1432, the work is attributed to the brothers Hubert and Jan van Eyck.

However, the painting has had a remarkably eventful—and perilous—history. During its nearly 600-year existence, the Ghent Altarpiece has been:

• Nearly incinerated by rioting Calvinists.
• Seized by Napoleon and taken to the Louvre in Paris.
• Sawn in half after falling into the possession of the King of Prussia.
• Coveted by Hermann Göring and eventually stolen by Adolf Hitler.
• Rescued from an Austrian salt mine, where it was rigged with dynamite and destined for destruction.

The altarpiece is a monumental polyptych with hinged wing panels. Traditionally, it remained closed, displaying only the Annunciation to the public. It was opened only on holy days to reveal the vibrant interior. Through this design, the artists skillfully remind us where our story begins: the Word made flesh because a young woman dared to say “yes.”

Today, a question remains: Do I allow the Lamb to wander, or have I penned the Lamb for my own use?