Praying the Psalms

“I” have so many questions about prayer! “I” am prepared to scour the earth in search of a teacher and a school of prayer, but sensing beforehand it would surely be fruitless . . .

Who will teach us to pray? To this question the Bible proposes an answer that is amazing, unprecedented and wonderful:

The one who will teach us to pray is none other than God himself . . .

How does God go about teaching us to pray? What is his method; how does he teach? It’s not by coming to conduct a course on prayer, though he might and we would be happy about it; no, he does much better; he demonstrates his own prayer, he gives it to us; not just one prayer, but a hundred and fifty! What he gives us is the Book of Psalms, and the Book of Psalms is in fact 150 prayers of God, offered to us . . . In the kingdom of prayer, there are 150 entranceways; we may go in by any one of them, and each time we will discover God in a different aspect . . . Were you looking for the words to pray? They are here! All the words for prayer are in this Book of Psalms, words of trust, of thanksgiving, of repentance, of praise, of pain, of compassion, of intercession, every facet of prayer, both private and communal . . .

Such is the Book of Psalms . . . a studio of prayer where God stands to behold his work, a school of prayer with 150 entrances . . . What place has our poor prayer beside these 150 treasures? . . . It is this, our personal prayer, before which God guards the deepest silence, to which he listens with infinite attention. Our personal prayer is Psalm 151! In this prayer, God contemplates the splendor which is ours; in it he recognizes the fruit of his grace.

Daniel opens this book with a consideration of prayer in general, of prayer as the highest activity of which we are capable, as our splendour, but also as attended by difficulties. We therefore need help, and here we turn to the Psalms as God given prayer, the Father teaching us to pray (ch 2). We also know that Jesus prayed the Psalms, and it is as we understand the psalms on the lips of Jesus, not just those he actually quoted, that we enter fully into their meaning. In the fourth chapter, we look for and find the Holy Spirit in the Psalms, before a brief final chapter on what Daniel calls Psalm 151, our personal prayer which emerges out of the silence of meditation.

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Becoming a disciple

. . . when he called his disciples, Jesus invited them to follow him, to march behind him. Later he invited them to come a little nearer, to come alongside him, to take up the same yoke. Finally, on the evening before his passion, believing that his disciples were ready to hear something still greater, Jesus began to speak to them of a bond of unsurpassable depth, not simply “behind” him, not “alongside” him, but “in” him! . . . We in him and he in us; what is this saying?

This excerpt from the third chapter of Becoming a Disciple summarizes the book, which has three chapters: Come follow me, ie behind; Come unto me — alongside; and Abide in me. Daniel presents these as three successive stages. In the first, he comments particularly on Jesus’ drawing power; where we might marvel at the would be disciples for their willingness to leave everything to follow Jesus, Daniel notes the attraction of the character of Jesus, which is his usual focus anyway. Come unto me speaks at length about taking on the yoke of Jesus, learning to work together with him, in tandem, not pulling and chaffing, but learning to harmonize with he who is gentle and lowly. The final chapter, with other issues, focuses on Christ as the vine, the sap of the vine flowing into our lives.

. . . Allowing ourselves to be loved by Christ means opening up to him, committing ourselves to him, abandoning ourselves to him in full confidence, knowing that his love is for every day and not occasional, that it is continuing, like the sap in the branch, but also hidden, unseen and even imperceptible, beyond our awareness . . . Nevertheless, even if it is more often than not unperceived, Jesus tells us there is no greater love than his . . . . . we have so many reticences, brakes, blockages and at times even refusals . . . How long it takes to become truly a disciple, fully a disciple, much longer than for a branch to be a branch! . . . [but] happy are they who know themselves loved unceasingly, day and night, infinitely! Happy are they who know that the love of Christ is fully sufficient for life, and who live by this!

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The Silence of God during the Passion

This volume is a great example of biblical meditation as Daniel looks behind the words on the pages of the different gospel accounts of Jesus’ passion, examining them through the lens of a particular concern — At first sight [the Father’s silence]during the Passion has something troubling or even shocking about it since it seems the silence of absence. It may seem troubling, but we need to pass over this first impression; when we consider it a little more closely, approaching it in prayer, the silence is revealed as extremely rich, of surprising beauty, of such depth of humble love as to turn our ideas upside down, and we become immersed in the silence of contemplation and adoration.

The theme is explored in 9 passages or under 9 headings. 1. The way Jesus talks about his coming death, avoiding mentioning his Father as having a role. 2. The parable of the vinedressers, as found in all three synoptic gospels – ‘perhaps,’ the father says, ‘they will respect my son.’ 3. Gethsemane, where, though Jesus addresses the Father, the Father does not openly reply. 4. Before the Sanhedrin, where, in a subtlety of the text referring back to Leviticus 24, we find a door open, provided by the Father, for the Sanhedrin to reconsider. 5. Before Pilate, where scarcely noticeably, God again intervenes to offer a way at as he visits Pilate’s wife in a dream. 6. The person of Simon of Cyrene, a fatherly figure, helping Jesus bear his cross. 7. On the cross itself, where Jesus is granted the comfort of the ‘penitent thief.’ 8. In the actions of another individual, Joseph of Arimathea, caring for Jesus’ broken body. 9. In Psalm 22.

I would say this book is a profound theological statement about the Cross. Perhaps I shouldn’t pick out particular passages in a very consistent, strong work, and in fact, when I think about it, I can’t really, although I have found parts 6 and 7 notably excellent! This is probably along with 3 or 4 others, the most strongly recommended of Daniel’s books.

God’s silence during the Passion is his silence before men, to be sure, and particularly before Christ in his perfect and total humanity, but it is not this alone; there is much more; it is also the Father’s silence before the Son, which is to say, it is a silence instinct within the inexpressible mystery of the Trinity . . . It is here that the silence is transfigured; it comes before us as infinitely more profound than the silences of earth. It is a silence beyond words and beyond all silence, a silence of unfathomable depth, that of Trinitarian intimacy. Who am I to speak of this? What could I say? Nothing, except that, since in God everything is love, including his silence, it cannot be other than a silence of love, the silence of the Father’s ineffable love for the Son . . .

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The tenderness of God

This is a good place to start with Daniel’s books and is likely to touch themes one might not have considered before. It’s a book that points the way into many of the themes that Daniel explores in his writings. In particular, there is the theme which in French is pudeur, the pudeur of God, a word which, perhaps typically of the forthright nature of English language, we can’t readily translate. It implies a sense of modesty, of reserve, delicacy, almost of shame; and applied to God, it is a sense of reluctance to talk about self, and one’s strong feelings, particularly of tenderness.

In his introductory chapter, Daniel sees God’s tenderness exemplified in Jesus’ response to the widow of Nain (Luke 7:13), “he was moved with compassion.”  He proceeds to explore the tenderness evinced by Jesus under 3 headings: Compassionate Tenderness, Merciful Tenderness, and Infinite Tenderness. The first of these 3 chapters looks at Ezekiel 16, the birth of Jerusalem — where the tenderness of God is focused in compassion on the innocent. The second chapter is from Jeremiah 31:18–20, where God extends merciful tenderness to guilty Ephraim. Then the final chapter has to do with Isaiah 25:6–9, where God wipes away the tears from every eye. The focus is always on God’s tenderness. The following are a few excerpts.

The tenderness of God . . . these simple words are so great, so far beyond understanding, so holy, that there is little to do but prostrate oneself on the ground in silence! Such a subject certainly cannot be approached as simply a theme for reflection to satisfy our intellectual curiosity; it is a mystery, an unfathomable mystery, which plunges us into the depths of the heart of God . . . The tenderness of God; the subject is enough to cause one’s lips to be sealed forever in humble silence . . . I would never have dared to speak of such a great mystery had I not been invited to do so by my spiritual father, Father Etienne, who one day said to me simply, “You know, Daniel, it would be good if you spoke to us about the tenderness of God.” I accepted this word in profound silence and I prayed . . . Another factor which impels me to write is the thirst for tenderness among the people around us; there are so many, young and old, who are ready to undertake almost anything, do anything, no matter what, because of this longing; and for so many of them, young and old, it becomes a hopeless search; they never suspect, far less know, that the most extraordinary tenderness is God’s, that the very source of all tenderness is in him.

“I am moved inwardly.” Here God reveals to us that he is deeply moved, inwardly. It is God himself who, on one hand, unveils his tenderness . . .  he who hides from one and unveils to other, as it seems best to him. We need simply to take this in and be silent, as was Jeremiah before such a great mystery. Jeremiah is silent before something God had never previously revealed in such terms. God veils and unveils at one and the same time in a great mystery, a mystery which we see incarnated in Jesus Christ, the mystery which was hidden since before the foundation of the world and unveiled in the fullness of time, [Jesus] the tenderness of God incarnated . . . To watch the Father wiping tears away from every face could not but birth in us an immense tenderness towards him. We will then be overwhelmed with this tenderness and in an instant our hearts, until then so hard and insensitive to the tenderness of God, will become soft and tender. We will be transformed in our hearts by this act alone, and our innermost beings moved with tenderness . . .

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The world: sanctuary and battlefield

The title is translated literally from the French. Initially this seemed rather cumbersome, so I tended to use for myself the simple title John 17, which says a great deal — there could hardly be a more interesting chapter in the Bible, and to hear from Daniel on this must be worthwhile! The French title does, however, convey a lot, so, for publication, we opted to keep the original and add a subtitle Reflections on Jesus’ prayer in John 17.

The subject is sanctification, and Jesus’ prayer that his disciples be sanctified. Only God can sanctify because only God is holy. Jesus is God and he alone can say, “I have sanctified myself”, but now with his last prayer, the last words he speaks before his disciples and to his Father, he asks that his disciples be sanctified. Why?

Well, it goes in two directions. Firstly, the world and indeed the cosmos is holy, a “sanctuary”, and to live within this holy place, as “priests unto God” offering praise and worship requires of us that we be holy. In referring to “the foundation of the world”, Jesus likens the creation to a temple, and in this temple God has placed humanity as his living image; our place — to proclaim the glory of God. Hence the need for us to be sanctified.

Secondly, though, the world is a battlefield; God has a holy war and we need to be sanctified as warriors to engage in this war, the war of love. The war also goes in two directions, outwardly towards the world, and inwardly too, in the heart, which leads to what is with Daniel a familiar theme, the monk and inner discipline; however, the key point here is Jesus’ prayer and statement, “sanctify them through the truth; thy word is truth.”

Blessed are the pure in heart

Another wonderful book. The themes will be familiar to readers of Daniel’s other books, but with their own particular slant here. Broadly, the theme is repentance and cleansing; of particular value is the distinction between forgiveness and cleansing, with its outworkings.

The book opens with a look at the 10 lepers of whom one, the Samaritan, returned for further cleansing. Leprosy is the very picture of the unclean or impure; it meant not just physical and social but also spiritual exclusion; lepers had no access to the Temple and therefore no access to God; how then could they pray? They couldn’t! The impossibility of the impure approaching the pure sets the theme for the book, and, of course, wonderfully, the purity of Jesus overcomes, here by no more than a look. But how can this be? We need detail!

Some detail is provided in the account of Leviticus 14. There was a 3 stage cleansing; firstly to return to society, then to the family, then later, on a day outside normal time, the 8th day, to God. In the first two stages the man had a part to play himself, but stage 3 was entirely an act of God. This leads us into chapter 2, a look at Psalm 51 – “create in me a clean heart, O God.” David had no ground for hope in himself of cleansing – nothing but rottenness and impurity and yet he dared cry out to God for intimate healing – “open thou my lips.” This result would follow not forgiveness but cleansing, a distinction which is carefully brought out.

How in fact can an impure heart cry out to God? The theme Daniel develops is that God hides himself in the secret place, in the hidden places of darkness, that is precisely in the human heart, and it is from here that He operates to cleanse.

In the final chapter, Daniel turns to the early Fathers, John Climacus and Macarius, both of whom discuss tears, the tears of penitence as cleansing – but again, how can an impure heart produce pure, cleansing tears? Can it be possible that the tears of God as told by Jeremiah and seen in Jesus – can it be that His tears mingle with ours to cleanse and heal, the tears of God that flow from the hidden place of our heart? Can we say this for sure? Perhaps not. Can we think about it? We can indeed.

On the Banks of Jordan

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.

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The Beatitudes

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.


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!

The Modesty of God

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.


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.

Repentance – Good News!

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?

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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.