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As of Nov 2017, this was Daniel Bourguet’s latest book, and there is a sense in which, theologically, it his weightiest, since it is concerned with one issue, the deity/divinity of Jesus. It is also the first volume we have published with The People’s Seminary Press.

At one or two places in his books, Daniel says approvingly that an idea is ‘Trinitarian’; this is an emphasis in thought that says not so much that we are personally working out our identity in relationship to God, but that we find our identity in Christ as we look no longer at ourselves but at the Trinity. (That at least is something of my understanding.) So, this book is a prolonged meditation in the Trinity through the lens of Jesus’ baptism, and I must say that reading through the work and translating it had a profound impact on me.

There are 5 chapters. The first is concerned with Jesus’ encounter with Thomas, when Thomas calls him “My Lord and my God”. The profundity and impact of this statement is explored, leading into the second chapter which looks at what Paul, Peter, John and Jesus himself have to say about Jesus’ divinity. (If Jesus is not divine, then there is no Trinity.) At the end of these and the other three chapters, there is an imaginative “Prayer of Andrew”, as he is seen seated under an olive tree shortly after the resurrection and Thomas’ statement, as he reflects on events and prays. Then the final chapters look in turn at the different accounts of the theophany that took place at Jesus’ baptism. In each gospel, the details are slightly different, presenting the Trinity in slightly varying ways, and this is the food for much thought. Who spoke, when, to whom? How was the Spirit “like a dove”? How are the Old Testament scriptures used? Daniel covers some ground familiar to his readers, perhaps particularly with regard to Jesus’ act of repentance in being baptized (see Repentance — Good News!), but, bound together by the theme of the Trinity, it comes across in a fresh and strong way. As with the other books, it will repay constant re-reading.

Note: in The final discourse before the cross, Daniel says the following: Contemplation has the extraordinary effect of healing distress, and the disciples had plenty of cause for distress awaiting them. Yes, contemplation heals, comforts and brings peace, the very peace of which the disciples had such need, the peace which Jesus alone can give since the world cannot (14:27). This must be at least as true of On the banks as any contemplative work you could encounter.

Amazon link here

It may be a little tiresome to read again that ‘this is a wonderful book’, however the statement is perhaps doubly so here. In his excellent study, The Divine Conspiracy, Dallas Willard suggests how poverty stricken a group must be that fails to understand its most seminal texts, saying, I suppose correctly, that this is true of the Beatitudes. It follows that Daniel’s book should be prescribed reading in every church! The following is an attempt to combine a number of quotations from the book with comments so as take us through some of the essential points. (Note: I have been in a considerable quandary over whether to begin each beatitude with “blessed” or “happy”: I seem finally to have opted for “blessed” in the publication.)

Happy are the poor – Jesus welcomes and salutes the afflicted, the hungry, the persecuted . . . The whole world is welcomed with open arms by the man on the mountain, his gaze fixed on those to whom no one had ever spoken in like manner. Nobody could believe their ears to feel themselves thus welcomed, recognized, taken into account. Jesus speaks to all of blessing; he gives entrance, admittance, into the Kingdom of God, and that’s it!

These words of welcome are not burdening anyone with a new law, with commandments we cannot fulfil; on the contrary they usher us into the Kingdom. Daniel emphasizes strongly that the beatitudes do not constitute some kind of new law to obey; that while there are parallels with Moses going up into a mountain to receive the law, the contrasts are greater. Jesus sits down – to teach. “Teacher” – this is wisdom literature – the search for the good life. The beatitudes are sign posts along the way to the good life (poor now – blessed later). I would make a point here that is pertinent with regard to the opening chapter that  to call them ‘beautiful attitudes’ is not initially appropriate – there is nothing attitudinal here at all – these are facts – being poor – and behaviours, being meek; however, this is not the direction Daniel pursues later. He goes on to say that the Beatitudes correspond so closely to Christ’s experience, they recount so closely Jesus’ inner life and its extreme outcome, that in the end they are a description of Christ. Certainly — the Beatitudes describe Christ! The beatitudes are the sage, the teacher, following his own prescription – as proven by events, and this is a reason they can be trusted as more than merely ideals. Again, though, Jesus is welcoming all – while describing Christ too, the description is plural – ‘the poor’ is multiple. We will never be alone on the journey of the poor and meek  – and if there is only one fellow traveller, it will be Jesus.

The Beatitudes become in this way a program for life, which has nothing to do with law. Law is imposed on us from outside, whereas a life project is an interior desire, a thirst which has been created within us. (!) As Daniel later goes on to examine how each beatitude works, he shows the way Jesus was able to see the sort of people he is talking about in the crowd. The beatitudes are addressed to the world, not to a limited group. It is how to see the world from the high and lofty place, how to see people. It is truly a transformation of our outlook when we see the crowds as bearers of the hope of the Kingdom … A gaze that is fixed on the crowds to draw to the surface all that is hidden, but without violating anyone’s heart, this is the gaze of Christ — and how blind am I! Living in the light of the Beatitudes is indeed to behave towards the people in the crowd as we would behave towards those who will be termed sons of God.

The first chapter concludes by saying that the disciples’ initial experience was of seeing Jesus as a healer – so they would have seen the beatitudes as a description of the science of healing! But then they find that wisdom and healing go together. And in the end they learn to see Jesus as more than a sage and healer – God!

The second chapter discusses the literary structure of the beatitudes – that there are always 2 propositions, one present tense, the second future – with the blessing in the present rooted in the future. This is an important basis for the ensuing discussion of each beatitude, each of which is seen as 1. As describing Jesus 2. As describing the disciples 3. As describing the crowds 4. As a prescription for wisdom and healing. As noted above a different direction is now taken, towards attitude. In the discussion of the poor in spirit, for example, the malady of avarice is in view, in contrast to Jesus not being attached to things.

The main discussion of this first beatitude concerns renunciation of both physical and spiritual wealth in favour of God – He is our one goal.  ‘…the task is also to reach the wealthy affected by the same avarice, not in order to deprive them of their assets but to teach them to deprive themselves through renunciation. How are we to teach both groups to be thankful for the good things they have received? How are we to teach them to share the things that come to them from another? And how are we to lead them to discover that this other is God . . . ?’

We seek to be meek NOT in order to inherit the earth! No, the goal is to be with the one who is meek and lowly of heart. The meek resist anger because they are exempt from it, or healed of it. Anger is the malady this Beatitude reveals, anger, the fever of which produces violence.

A common theme in Daniel is the efficacy of tears, and here he says that tears quench anger. This theme continues with the discussion of mourning. Jesus mourns with true grief at Lazarus’ tomb. The sickness here is false grief, shallow grief. Do we truly grieve over Christ’s death? Did the disciples? We are on the path of healing when we weep over his death. Tears and meditation purify our grief. We will be healed when we weep as Christ wept over Lazarus’ death; our tears will then be steeped in divine love, in the Father’s love at the foot of the cross.What is our attitude towards the crowds in the light of this Beatitude? Jesus saw in the crowd those who were true mourners. His insight is such that he sees in the crowd those who are truly wounded by death; and they are perhaps more numerous than we think. We too must learn how to discern them and give them time and space for their grief, time to vent their pain, without making a show of our resurrection preaching too quickly. We can begin by pointing, not necessarily to the risen Christ, but to him as, along with them, truly grieved, in silence alongside them, also weeping at the tomb of a friend. We can begin by pointing to the one who, in silence at the foot of the cross, is at the heart of grief, at the heart of every act of mourning. If we preach to the mourning that Christ mourns with them and the Father mourns with them, then we will come, in due course, to the preaching of the Resurrection. The true mourner (Jesus) is also the true comforter.

In French the term we translate as righteousness is typically justice. … if, unhappily, we have the slightest suspicion that injustice might come from God, or, at least, if we have trouble seeing his justice, then our thirst becomes unbearable. Daniel points out that Jesus hungered and thirsted for justice – and didn’t receive it, but behaved always in accordance with it. With us however our sickness is that we are so easily satisfied with a substitute for justice, and cheat the hunger of others with our distorted righteousness. They (so many people) cry out to the whole world without knowing who will satisfy them truly; at times they receive some scrap of justice and are satisfied for a day or two, briefly cheating their hunger, but there are always those who are seeking afresh true justice, that of men woven in with God’s. It is upon those who are hungry and thirsty in this way that Jesus fixes his eyes, and towards whom he points his disciples. If only we could make them at least understand how close Christ is to them, so close as to call them his brothers, the ‘least of these my brethren . . .‘

Among the crowd there are [also] the pure in heart. What an amazing insight this is of Christ, Christ who fixes his eyes not on the exterior but on the heart! The inside look links up with the inner lives of others; the pure heart sees the pure in heart. Only a pure heart can see a pure heart, and this is why we fail to see what Christ sees.This is the remedy (to impurity)-  ‘Give alms of what you have, and behold, all things will be pure to you‘ (Luke 11:41)

A difficulty here is if, rather than purity of heart,  your only desire is to see God, you will fall into the first pitfall laid by the tempter, who is a past master of the art of illusion. You will mistake as a vision of God, as an ecstasy or a spiritual experience, something which in fact is no more than illusion. Therefore do not thirst for visions or wonders (Jer 45:5) . . . We must begin humbly with the management of our own cell! When it comes to seeing God, the Fathers remind us that God is already present in our heart, that this is his temple, his dwelling-place, the seat of his Kingdom.

With the quality of mercy the malaise is being merciful in expectation of receiving something back in returen. This is the only beatitude with no imbalance in the promise – those who are merciful will receive – mercy. If our mercy is disinterested, only then is there likely to be a disinterested, abundant return as in the case of the sheep, those who give a glass of water and receive a kingdom.

The French for peacemakers is rather nice – literally it would translate as artisans of peace. Daniel stresses that peace is a gift of God. ‘My peace I give to you.’ In our spiritual warfare against the passions, our whole being is mobilized for a battle in which no quarter is given, but when we emerge victorious we discover to our wonderment that the victory is altogether God’s. 

Persecution is aimed at bringing about a betrayal, and may be heavy or slight – just not standing up for Jesus as we should. In persecution we can be stripped of everything and yet have everything – as was Jesus. Being persecuted for righteousness sake is about giving peace, but we cannot give what we don’t have, so attention must be paid to our own hearts. It is the fruit of a struggle – of Jesus’ agony against anything that rises up against the will of God; but the objective is not merely personal: David fought his personal battle with Goliath, but it was on behalf of the nation…

In the end we see that it is Christ who does it all and who fulfills all the beatitudes, and so, in a closing brief chapter, Daniel has the disciples going back up the mountain and there praising Jesus as they ascribe the beatitudes to him as the only one worthy to be thus described.

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Finally, there is one very striking passage I would like to quote at length, one that is very pertinent to evangelism:

Wisdom, a way of seeing the world

The Beatitudes describe Christ, and us too when we set out to follow him. But this is not all; we must not forget the crowds at the foot of the mountain. It is with the crowds in view that Christ teaches the disciples: “Blessed are they,” Jesus says; not, “Blessed are you, you disciples . . .”; and not, “Blessed are you, you and me . . .” but, “Blessed are they . . .” It atrophies the Beatitudes to limit them to Christ and ourselves; their scope is much greater than the church, taking in the whole world.

Jesus teaches the disciples, but he is looking at the crowds and speaking about them. This is both of prime importance and, in itself, salutary. It erases any tendency in us to see the world in black and white, any idea which really comes to saying, “Blessed are the disciples, unblessed are the crowds!” No, Jesus is speaking here about blessing for all, the disciples and crowds alike. It changes our outlook to think that blessing is for the crowds as well as for the disciples; among the crowds are those who are blessed!

The Beatitudes are not prayer; not that praying them is disallowed, but it is not their primary import; they are not spoken with God in view but the crowds of people. They are a lesson in how to see the world, the world as seen from high on a mountain, through the eyes of Christ. It is not we who speak the Beatitudes but Christ, and we hear him speaking about the masses of people. When we repeat the Beatitudes, in reality we are listening to Christ pronounce them and telling us through them how he sees the world. We learn that, as he sees the crowds, he sees the poor in spirit, those who hunger for righteousness, the pure in heart, and our gaze is borne towards those he is describing; we seek them in the crowd. As we do so, the Beatitudes transform our hearts as well as the way we see. It is a great privilege for us to be able to go over the Beatitudes in the middle of each day, as we walk down the street, as we look at the crowds of people, searching among them for those to whom Christ has promised the Kingdom. It is truly a transformation of our outlook when we see the crowds as bearers of the hope of the Kingdom; a transformation to discover, with wonderment, sons of God in the crowds; a transformation of outlook to consider the world with the tenderness of the one who bends over the afflicted to dry their tears.

But how many are there in these crowds who correspond to the description of the Beatitudes? Not everyone is like this! How are we to pick out those who Christ’s eyes are upon? How many are there? Some would say that those with pure hearts, those who are hungry for righteousness rather than superficial well-being, that these people are very rare; as rare as nuggets of gold in the sand of a river. Others, contrastingly, would say they are as numerous as the stars in the sky and the grains of sand on the seashore. Frankly, my insight is not acute enough to decide one way or the other; it is so difficult to tell! Hidden within this rich man, who I would discount in favor of the poor, there might be a meek heart; behind the anger of this person who I overlook as I search for the meek, perhaps there is a poor person, or someone who thirsts for justice. So many of the meek are hidden, for sure; so many of the poor, so many afflicted too! How many among the crowd there are who are reconciled to burying their tears, hiding their meekness, concealing the purity of their hearts because the world has taught them that these attributes have no currency. A gaze that is fixed on the crowds to draw to the surface all that is hidden, but without violating anyone’s heart, this is the gaze of Christ — and how blind am I!

The Beatitudes renew and transform our outlook on the world, but without imparting a religious outlook which would look for those who pray or perform some kind of religious rite — the ones we would declare blessed! Neither do they impart the outlook of a judge who is looking for whether people do or do not observe God’s law. No, they impart a quite different outlook, the outlook of a wisdom of which the world knows nothing, that look of tenderness which is Christ’s.

If that is the way the world is, then we will suddenly be overtaken by a desire to come down from the mountain, to leave it behind and rejoin the crowds, there to wonder at the blessed ones we find among them. Surely the disciples must have seen the crowds in a new light after they came back down the mountain.

As we too gather ourselves and start our way back down, we take a good look at the disciples around us as well as ourselves, looking further, in light of the Beatitudes, into what Christ sees.

We go back down the mountain, but perhaps we will say nothing; after all, Jesus addressed the Beatitudes to the disciples, not to the crowds. There is no doubt that passing on such things to the crowd is not easy! Perhaps we will say nothing, but we will certainly behave differently. Living in the light of the Beatitudes is indeed to behave towards the people in the crowd as we would behave towards those who will be termed sons of God, towards those who will be comforted, set right, inheritors of the earth . . . We will behave towards the crowds as towards ground that has been tilled and is ready to be sown for blessing.

We will regard the crowd with all the more love and wonderment because in the midst of them is the one who is poor par excellence, the meek, the crucified . . . The Beatitudes describe Christ as eternally present among the crowds, the one who is truly called the Son of God. Blessed crowd, amongst whom stands the one who is, who was and who is to come, the one the sandals of whose feet I am unworthy to untie!

In his introduction, Daniel says this: In the sense of modesty there is an element of holding back, of reserve, of discretion as a sort of veil which love imposes on itself in order not to hand itself over too quickly. Timidity dares not, doesn’t know how, or cannot, love as it longs to. In contrast, modesty does not wish to give all of its love, not out of meanness and not because the other person is unworthy to be loved, but to allow love to grow into intimacy. ‘The modesty of God’ is intended as a series of Lenten meditations, therefore leading up to Jesus’ Passion, so, like ‘Gethsemane’ it is a lead in to ‘The Silence of God during the Passion’. As an element of the gospel account it is important to establish that it is legitimate to speak of God’s modesty. Daniel does this firstly by looking at Jesus.

Amazingly, perhaps, the love of Jesus is mentioned just once in the synoptic gospels (he looked on the rich young ruler and loved him – but the love went unnoticed!) It is only in  John that he speaks of his love in his closing address, his adieu! Love one another. As I have loved you, you also must love one another.  We see that the love of Jesus comes first and is the starting point, certainly, but as a foundation for something that has more value in his eyes, communal love. (The ‘you’ is plural). Clearly, this is Jesus’ modesty.

How then does Jesus speak about God’s love?  Typically using the divine passive and parables in which God is hidden; the mourning are comforted, discreetly, modestly, and as in the case of the prodigal son  – God’s tears are hidden. When Jesus does talk about his love for the disciples he says, ‘I have loved you’ – not I love you; and again, in the Song of Songs, while the beloved freely expresses her love for the King, he never speaks openly in this way

Just once, David, another friend of God, allows a word of his intimacy with God to escape his lips in a psalm: “I love you, Lord my strength . . .” (Ps 18:2).

Through this verse of the psalm we learn joyfully that in our intimacy with God we can tell him quite freely of our love for him, in the strongest words, not in any way compromising modesty, but at the heart of a shared modesty, because that is what modesty is, a shared modesty.

The verse also teaches us another essential fact, that the place of intimacy with God is prayer.

Prayer, this is where God awaits us, in the most intimate place of our being, bringing us the knowledge of this intimacy in which God hides himself and in which he hides us with him, in the depths of his modesty in which he guards every bond of fellowship with others.

In chapter 3, Daniel suggest that we efface ourselves a little, stepping aside so that we can consider the love of Jesus for God and God’s love for Jesus.

Jesus and God! We do well to stand back! Indeed we should be taking off our shoes and prostrating ourselves; a face to face encounter between Christ and God is quite simply the Father face to face with the Son. Their reciprocal love is the love of God within himself, Trinitarian love, love in absolute incandescence, in its infinite purity.

The modesty of the Father, the modesty of the Son, the modesty of the Holy Spirit; the modest Trinity, wrapped in discreet reserve. (Speaking about Jesus’ baptism) Heaven was open (Ezek 1:1; Rev 4:1), but no angel appears; no angel and no archangel; the heavenly army is silent, discreet, just as one is silent before the modesty of infinite love.

We clearly see the modesty of Christ’s love in his dealing with the woman brought before who was to be stoned, John 8, and here we see his modesty as a balm to her wound.

From this extremely rich passage, we will pause only over those details which show the degree to which is Jesus is discreet and reserved with regard to the suffering of others

In order not to look at her, Jesus is bent over. He makes himself still smaller than this less than nothing woman! It is for her to look at him. Right in front of her she has a humble man, whose modesty can only bring relief to her suffering. We see this humble and modest love, which is not to be found in any other person in the crowd.

It is Christ’s modesty that has brought her here, and right here, her inner suffering assuaged, she is now able to hear what one does hear in God’s heart: “Neither do I; I do not condemn you; go and sin no more

Again, at Lazarus’ tomb we find that Jesus weeps, it is not with the normal verb of demonstrative mourning but modestly.

The movement of the book is towards the modesty of God the Father, particularly, as noted above, in the Passion, but first Daniel looks at some incidents in the OT. The Bible is very discreet about the suffering of God, but it says enough to allow us to see that God does suffer, and, since he is nothing but love, his pain is always the pain of his love.  Firstly, we look at the conversation between God and his friend Moses at the time of the golden calf; God actually asks Moses to leave him alone in his grief, but, Moses, friend as he is, declines to do so but seeks to comfort the Lord. We also see God’s tenderness and modesty in Moses’ death. However God’s grief and modesty reaches its climax of intensity in the Passion. In a familiar theme,  Daniel turns to Mark 12 and the story of the vineyard, where again the father is a hidden figure Typically, Daniel concludes that the unique thing about Christ’s death is that it takes place in the very heart of the Trinity. As he dies, the Son remits the Spirit to the Father. This is death not just passively suffered by Christ; he makes it an act of infinite love. As he dies, the Son sends the Comforter Spirit (John 14:16) to the grieving Father. It is hidden in the heart of the Trinity that we find our salvation, in a modest, hidden, but secretly revealed love.

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In going over Daniel’s lovely book God at the heart of our lives, which I hope to get published soon, I came to a beautiful chapter (letter actually) titled The modesty of God. It’s so good that I have decided to add it here. The letter was written from Dombes Abbey, where Daniel spent some months after leaving his pastorate, to the community of the Fraternité des Veilluers.

Daniel’s books are very consistent, and certain themes recur; the two books which are perhaps the most typical are this and Becoming a Disciple, so these are the two I might recommend first. They would make good text books.

Repentance —Good News!  is of course intensely biblical but also draws on some patristic texts. The starting point is to show the centrality of repentance, “Repent!” being the first word in the preaching of both Jesus and John the Baptist. This leads into a discussion of what was meant by these two men, including a look at the etymology of the word and contrasts with the Old Testament. In summary, the huge difference is that John was preaching repentance in light of judgment, ‘repent because of the wrath to come,’ while Jesus was saying ‘God loves you, so repent.’ The difference between the two men is pursued to a wonderful climax. First, we see what repentance means individually, then the way it relates to corporate sin, but then finally  what it means to repent for ‘the sin of the whole world’. This is what Jesus did at his baptism, and Daniel shows us the radical change in attitude from John as he comes to understand that Jesus is the ‘Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world’, a change he refers to as John’s conversion.

Along the way we also look closely at the difference between repentance, as exemplified in Peter, and remorse, which is the experience of Judas. Peter’s repentance leads on to his preaching; although all the disciples were charged with preaching repentance and undoubtedly did so, it is only Peter with his unique experience that we see doing so close up. Judas’ tragedy is that he set out on the way of repentance but was betrayed by the Sanhedrin; God and man work together to bring repentance to fruition.

In a sense the best, the most remarkable is left to last — the repentance of God. Although there are two Old Testament passages that say God does not repent, there are numerous places where he plainly does, notably with Noah, Moses and Jeremiah. Nowhere in the OT is man required to repent, but God does, opening his heart to his people, as Daniel traces in some detail; as he concludes, ‘How could one not be reconciled to such a God?’

Excerpts

To repent, as we have seen, means changing the way we look at ourselves following some word which touches us and reveals our sin; this is what we hear in the mouth of John the Baptist. With Jesus things are altogether different; the word which impels us towards repentance is not the revelation of our sin but the revelation of God’s love and his thirst for intimacy. The word of Christ doesn’t so much invite us to change our view of ourselves as to change the way we see God. Jesus shows us God’s heart, and it is faced with this revelation that we are drawn to repentance. God’s love is so great that we are shaken to the depths of our beings; so great that tears of compunction start from our eyes. Our great pain is to discover ourselves incapable of loving such a God back . . . There is inexpressible suffering in God, wounded and abandoned by man . . . There is no ritual foreseen in the Law of the Old Testament for the expiation of the sin of the world because no ritual could heal God’s wound! . . . Only the Son made man could ask forgiveness of the Father since he alone is in the bosom of the Father (John 1:18) and so alone knows his pain. He alone can ask pardon, with tears of compassion and compunction . . . It would have been easy for God to justify himself before his people . . . to demonstrate that it was in love he had punished them. Is it not the case that “he who loves well, chastises well”? Instead . . . he neither argues nor justifies himself; he pursues a way which reveals his extraordinary humility: “I repent of the evil which I have inflicted upon you. .” The humility of God is to be measured by his love; it is without limit! . . . How could one not be reconciled to such a God?

Amazon link here.

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Going through Daniel’s book God at the heart of our lives, I keep coming across passages (in fact letters) which illustrate other books very well. Here is another excerpt, with the title The way of repentance. These letters were circulars sent to fellow members of Les Veilleurs. This one embraces the theme of God’s repentance, as found in Jeremiah chapter 42 and then transferred over to Jesus’ baptism.

Why another book on the Lord’s Prayer? The title of the book in French is Approaches to Our Father; Daniel discusses the setting and overarching themes of the prayer, rather than the details. This is not to say that there is nothing said about individual phrases, but that these elements emerge incidentally; thus there is, for example, particularly powerful insight into forgiveness. There are two settings for the Lord’s Prayer. The first is Luke, where it is given as a response to a question from a disciple on how to pray, and here Daniel stresses our great need to be taught — our great need, our poverty. The second is in Matthew, where Jesus gives the background to private prayer, in our chamber with the door shut — and, wonder of wonders, God is there! So the focus is on this humble generosity of God. A third chapter points to the overall scheme of the prayer, starting with heaven and ending with evil or the evil one, and so points to the incarnation of Jesus, coming down from heaven to engage with our troubled world and the reality of our sin. In typical fashion, the book closes with the observation that there is no ‘Amen’ stated in the text — in his engagement with sin, it is Jesus and he alone who is and can give the true Amen. This is one of the shorter of Daniel’s books, and packed with good things.

Here is a short, typical, extract, from a passage titled “Your room is the Holy of Holies”:

All that Jesus tells us about our room has this further remarkable feature, that he compares it to the most prestigious of places. Biblically, in fact, the only place on earth where God was present each day to listen in secret to prayers was the Holy of Holies in the Jerusalem Temple. Only there was it possible to be one on one with God, far from the crowds of hypocrites who occupied the synagogues and street corners! Only there, and, even then, only the high priest could enter the Holy of Holies, and that only once a year! That was all! Jesus overturned it all, revealing God’s secret: that your chamber too is the Holy of Holies, and that you are its high priest since it is you who crosses its threshold to address your prayer to the one who is there in secret. You are therefore a high priest when you close that door; be so without fear and do not wait a year before you pray again! He awaits you every day, and you alone! Wonder of wonders, the Lord’s Prayer is prayer within the Holy of Holies, making a feast day of every day!

As the prior of the Fraternité des Veilleurs, Daniel has written numbers of circular letters, many of which are reproduced here, spanning a period from 1991 to 2001. The letters are first of all charming and are pleasant to read from a purely literary point of view; at some points there is even a certain amount of jocularity which finds its way out in some inventive language as Daniel imagines himself visiting the home of his reader. A particular highlight is a meditation under an apple tree which speaks and imparts to Daniel a wonderful marriage sermon.  Each short letter is refreshing spiritually as well, with a number of new angles and hints which are deepened in other books. We learn something of the author’s experience in pastoral ministry, particularly pastoral visitation, before, surprisingly, in the middle of the book we find ourselves involved in something of a narrative of how Daniel left ministry in a local parish, firstly for a monastic interlude with hopes of forming a new community, and then to his life of comparative solitude more in the style of a hermit, one who, however, receives numerous visitors. As he describes this process we witness Daniel’s biblical understanding ripen into true contemplation, and it is the evident expansion of his sympathies as he settles into the more secluded life that lends the book a strong fascination.

Note: Sept. 2022 I think this book is unlikely to be published soon and am thinking how nice it would be to make the whole of it available here. Watch this space.

Three further beautiful excerpts have been added: The way of repentance, The modesty of God (a letter), Prayer, an art.

Encounters with Jesus

Should Rencontres avec Jésus be translated as “Encounters with Jesus” or “Meeting Jesus”?  Both are good, but “Encounters” is closer to the French; the book examines 4 encounters of individuals with Jesus, but one of them is not really a meeting at all, and another is an encounter with Jesus as a baby, so it seems a stretch to call it a meeting!

The first encounter is with Zacchaeus, and this really is a meeting. Jesus came to seek and to save the lost; Zacchaeus thought he would go and seek Jesus, but didn’t know that Jesus had come looking for him. As we would expect with Daniel, he takes us a long way inside the events, close to Zacchaeus, but Zacchaeus is also ‘everyman’. Translation is an interesting challenge: in French what looks like a present tense is often clearly past, so it is not always easy to know which tense to use in translation. The writing also alternates between being very immediate about Zacchaeus,  which warrants the present tense, and being more simply description of the past. We therefore shift in and out between looking at Zacchaeus and being challenged ourselves, firstly about our motivation in seeking Jesus, then the discovery that it is he who is seeking us, and then, as we look at Zacchaeus’ self justifying response to people complaining, to how to deal with the negative thoughts that assail us — we don’t; we let Jesus deal with them; we listen to what he says.

The second encounter/meeting is of Jesus with the ‘deaf-mute’ of Mark 7. There is another moving and in the Bourguet way, exemplary, meditation on the story, taking the reader deep inside the events; here though the emphasis is more on Jesus as healer than on the man as a type of humanity. “Looking up to heaven, he groaned.” How does Jesus pray, and how do we join him in praying? Does God hear our groaning?

Daniel briefly touches on the issue of social justice in his discussion of the poor widow and her two ‘mites’, but the focus is almost entirely on her faith, her intimacy with the unseen but all seeing God who is perceived clearly by Jesus but not by most others, and providence or provision. Daniel always has insights into the historical background that are helpful. That’s good, but  the important thing is that it helps see into Jesus’ heart. (Jesus is happy here merely to observe and comment; there is no meeting!) In the end the heart of Jesus is the heart of a supplicant, standing at the door seeking entrance to communion like that of the widow with the Father.

The fourth encounter is that of Symeon with Jesus as a baby in the Temple. Perhaps there are three facets to this. The first is a consideration of Symeon himself; how marvellous is this man who waited all his life to see one promise fulfilled, and the God who was faithful to the promise. The fact of him holding the Christ, Jesus, in his arms leads to a consideration of what it is to be a spiritual father, to contemplate what God is doing in another person’s life, to have a part in bringing it forth, and to bless. How does Symeon relate directly to us? In the same way that he held Jesus in his arms, welcomed him, we receive him too in the Eucharist, and it is on a moving account of what it means to participate in taking the bread and wine that the book concludes.