The fact is that the Fathers of the Church were practically unanimous in understanding the fourth pet.i.tion of the Our Father as a eucharistic pet.i.tion; in this sense the Our Father figures in the Ma.s.s liturgy as a eucharistic table-prayer (i.e., "grace"). This does not remove the straightforward earthly sense of the disciples' pet.i.tion that we have just shown to be the text's immediate meaning. The Fathers consider different dimensions of the saying that begins as a pet.i.tion for today's bread for the poor, but insofar as it directs our gaze to the Father in heaven who feeds us, it recalls the wandering People of G.o.d, who were fed by G.o.d himself. Read in the light of Jesus' great discourse on the bread of life, the miracle of the manna naturally points beyond itself to the new world in which the Logos-the eternal Word of G.o.d-will be our bread, the food of the eternal wedding banquet.

Is it legitimate to think in such dimensions, or is that a false "theologizing" of a word intended only in a straightforwardly earthly sense? There is a fear of such theologizing today, which is not totally unfounded, but neither should it be overstated. I think that in interpreting the pet.i.tion for bread, it is necessary to keep in mind the larger context of Jesus' words and deeds, a context in which essential elements of human life play a major role: water, bread, and, as a sign of the festive character and beauty of the world, the vine and wine. The theme of bread has an important place in Jesus' message-from the temptation in the desert and the multiplication of the loaves right up to the Last Supper.

The great discourse on the bread of life in John 6 discloses the full spectrum of meaning of this theme. It begins with the hunger of the people who have been listening to Jesus and whom he does not send away without food, that is to say, the "necessary bread" that we require in order to live. But Jesus does not allow us to stop there and reduce man's needs to bread, to biological and material necessities. "Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of G.o.d" (Mt 4:4; Deut 8:3). The miraculously multiplied bread harks back to the miracle of manna in the desert and at the same time points beyond itself: to the fact that man's real food is the Logos, the eternal Word, the eternal meaning, from which we come and toward which our life is directed. If this initial transcendence of the physical realm prima facie tells us no more than what philosophy has found and is still capable of discovering, there is nevertheless a further transcendence to consider: The eternal Logos does not concretely become bread for man until he has "taken flesh" and speaks to us in human words.

This is followed by the third, absolutely essential, transcendence, which nevertheless proves scandalous to the people of Capernaum: The incarnate Lord gives himself to us in the Sacrament, and in that way the eternal Word for the first time becomes fully manna, the gift of the bread of the future given to us already today. Then, however, the Lord brings everything together once more: This extreme "becoming-corporeal" is actually the real "becoming-spiritual": "It is the spirit that gives life, the flesh is of no avail" (Jn 6:63). Are we to suppose that Jesus excluded from the pet.i.tion for bread everything that he tells us about bread and everything that he wants to give us as bread? When we consider Jesus' message in its entirety, then it is impossible to expunge the eucharistic dimension from the fourth pet.i.tion of the Our Father. True, the earthly nitty-gritty of the pet.i.tion for daily bread for everyone is essential. But this pet.i.tion also helps us to transcend the purely material and to request already now what is to come "tomorrow," the new bread. And when we pray for "tomorrow's" bread today, we are reminded to live already today from tomorrow, from the love of G.o.d, which calls us all to be responsible for one another.

At this point I would like to quote Cyprian once again. He emphasizes both dimensions. But he also specifically relates the word our, our, which we spoke of earlier, to the Eucharist, which in a special sense is "our" bread, the bread of Jesus' disciples. He says: We who are privileged to receive the Eucharist as our bread must nevertheless always pray that none of us be permanently cut off and severed from the body of Christ. "On this account we pray that 'our' bread, Christ, be given to us every day, that we, who remain and live in Christ, may not depart from his healing power and from his body" ( which we spoke of earlier, to the Eucharist, which in a special sense is "our" bread, the bread of Jesus' disciples. He says: We who are privileged to receive the Eucharist as our bread must nevertheless always pray that none of us be permanently cut off and severed from the body of Christ. "On this account we pray that 'our' bread, Christ, be given to us every day, that we, who remain and live in Christ, may not depart from his healing power and from his body" (De dominica oratione 18; 18; CSEL CSEL III, 1, pp. 280f.). III, 1, pp. 280f.).

AND F FORGIVE U US O OUR T TRESPa.s.sES, AS W WE F FORGIVE T THOSE W WHO T TRESPa.s.s A AGAINST U US.

The fifth pet.i.tion of the Our Father presupposes a world in which there is trespa.s.s-trespa.s.s of men in relation to other men, trespa.s.s in relation to G.o.d. Every instance of trespa.s.s among men involves some kind of injury to truth and to love and is thus opposed to G.o.d, who is truth and love. How to overcome guilt is a central question for every human life; the history of religions revolves around this question. Guilt calls forth retaliation. The result is a chain of trespa.s.ses in which the evil of guilt grows ceaselessly and becomes more and more inescapable. With this pet.i.tion, the Lord is telling us that guilt can be overcome only by forgiveness, not by retaliation. G.o.d is a G.o.d who forgives, because he loves his creatures; but forgiveness can only penetrate and become effective in one who is himself forgiving.

"Forgiveness" is a theme that pervades the entire Gospel. We meet it at the very beginning of the Sermon on the Mount in the new interpretation of the fifth commandment, when the Lord says to us: "So if you are offering your gift at the altar, and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift" (Mt 5:23f.). You cannot come into G.o.d's presence unreconciled with your brother; antic.i.p.ating him in the gesture of reconciliation, going out to meet him, is the prerequisite for true worship of G.o.d. In so doing, we should keep in mind that G.o.d himself-knowing that we human beings stood against him, unreconciled-stepped out of his divinity in order to come toward us, to reconcile us. We should recall that, before giving us the Eucharist, he knelt down before his disciples and washed their dirty feet, cleansing them with his humble love. In the middle of Matthew's Gospel we find the parable of the unforgiving servant (cf. Mt 18:2335). He, a highly placed satrap of the king, has just been released from an unimaginably large debt of ten thousand talents. Yet he himself is unwilling to cancel a debt of a hundred denarii-in comparison a laughable sum. Whatever we have to forgive one another is trivial in comparison with the goodness of G.o.d, who forgives us. And ultimately we hear Jesus' pet.i.tion from the Cross: "Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do" (Lk 23:34).

If we want to understand the pet.i.tion fully and make it our own, we must go one step further and ask: What is forgiveness, really? What happens when forgiveness takes place? Guilt is a reality, an objective force; it has caused destruction that must be repaired. For this reason, forgiveness must be more than a matter of ignoring, of merely trying to forget. Guilt must be worked through, healed, and thus overcome. Forgiveness exacts a price-first of all from the person who forgives. He must overcome within himself the evil done to him; he must, as it were, burn it interiorly and in so doing renew himself. As a result, he also involves the other, the trespa.s.ser, in this process of transformation, of inner purification, and both parties, suffering all the way through and overcoming evil, are made new. At this point, we encounter the mystery of Christ's Cross. But the very first thing we encounter is the limit of our power to heal and to overcome evil. We encounter the superior power of evil, which we cannot master with our unaided powers. Reinhold Schneider says apropos of this that "evil lives in a thousand forms; it occupies the pinnacles of power...it bubbles up from the abyss. Love has just one form-your Son" (Das Vaterunser, p. 68).

The idea that G.o.d allowed the forgiveness of guilt, the healing of man from within, to cost him the death of his Son has come to seem quite alien to us today. That the Lord "has borne our diseases and taken upon himself sorrows," that "he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities," and that "with his wounds we are healed" (Is 53:46) no longer seems plausible to us today. Militating against this, on one side, is the trivialization of evil in which we take refuge, despite the fact that at the very same time we treat the horrors of human history, especially of the most recent human history, as an irrefutable pretext for denying the existence of a good G.o.d and slandering his creature man. But the understanding of the great mystery of expiation is also blocked by our individualistic image of man. We can no longer grasp subst.i.tution because we think that every man is ensconced in himself alone. The fact that all individual beings are deeply interwoven and that all are encompa.s.sed in turn by the being of the One, the Incarnate Son, is something we are no longer capable of seeing. When we come to speak of Christ's Crucifixion, we will have to take up these issues again.

In the meantime, an idea of Cardinal John Henry Newman may suffice. Newman once said that while G.o.d could create the whole world out of nothing with just one word, he could overcome men's guilt and suffering only by bringing himself into play, by becoming in his Son a sufferer who carried this burden and overcame it through his self-surrender. The overcoming of guilt has a price: We must put our heart-or, better, our whole existence-on the line. And even this act is insufficient; it can become effective only through communion with the One who bore the burdens of us all.

The pet.i.tion for forgiveness is more than a moral exhortation-though it is that as well, and as such it challenges us anew every day. But, at its deepest core, it is-like the other pet.i.tions-a Christological prayer. It reminds us of he who allowed forgiveness to cost him descent into the hardship of human existence and death on the Cross. It calls us first and foremost to thankfulness for that, and then, with him, to work through and suffer through evil by means of love. And while we must acknowledge day by day how little our capacities suffice for that task, and how often we ourselves keep falling into guilt, this pet.i.tion gives us the great consolation that our prayer is held safe within the power of his love-with which, through which, and in which it can still become a power of healing.

AND L LEAD U US N NOT INTO T TEMPTATION.

The way this pet.i.tion is phrased is shocking for many people: G.o.d certainly does not lead us into temptation. In fact, as Saint James tells us: "Let no one say when he is tempted, 'I am tempted by G.o.d'; for G.o.d cannot be tempted with evil and he himself tempts no one" (Jas 1:13).

We are helped a further step along when we recall the words of the Gospel: "Then Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil" (Mt 4:1). Temptation comes from the devil, but part of Jesus' messianic task is to withstand the great temptations that have led man away from G.o.d and continue to do so. As we have seen, Jesus must suffer through these temptations to the point of dying on the Cross, which is how he opens the way of redemption for us. Thus, it is not only after his death, but already by his death and during his whole life, that Jesus "descends into h.e.l.l," as it were, into the domain of our temptations and defeats, in order to take us by the hand and carry us upward. The Letter to the Hebrews places special emphasis on this aspect, which it presents as an essential component of Jesus' path: "For because he himself has suffered and been tempted, he is able to help those who are tempted" (Heb 2:18). "For we have not a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin" (Heb 4:15).

A brief look at the Book of Job, which in so many respects prefigures the mystery of Christ, can help us clarify things further. Satan derides man in order to deride G.o.d: G.o.d's creature, whom he has formed in his own image, is a pitiful creature. Everything that seems good about him is actually just a facade. The reality is that the only thing man-each man-ever cares about is his own well-being. This is the judgment of Satan, whom the Book of Revelation calls "the accuser of our brethren...who accuses them day and night before our G.o.d" (Rev 12:10). The calumniation of man and creation is in the final instance a calumniation of G.o.d, an excuse for renouncing him.

Satan wants to prove his case through the righteous man Job: Just let everything be taken away from him, Satan says, and he will quickly drop his piety, too. G.o.d gives Satan the freedom to test Job, though within precisely defined boundaries: G.o.d does not abandon man, but he does allow him to be tried. This is a very subtle, still implicit, yet real glimpse of the mystery of subst.i.tution that takes on a major profile in Isaiah 53: Job's sufferings serve to justify man. By his faith, proved through suffering, he restores man's honor. Job's sufferings are thus by antic.i.p.ation sufferings in communion with Christ, who restores the honor of us all before G.o.d and shows us the way never to lose faith in G.o.d even amid the deepest darkness.

The Book of Job can also help us to understand the difference between trial and temptation. In order to mature, in order to make real progress on the path leading from a superficial piety into profound oneness with G.o.d's will, man needs to be tried. Just as the juice of the grape has to ferment in order to become a fine wine, so too man needs purifications and transformations; they are dangerous for him, because they present an opportunity for him to fall, and yet they are indispensable as paths on which he comes to himself and to G.o.d. Love is always a process involving purifications, renunciations, and painful transformations of ourselves-and that is how it is a journey to maturity. If Francis Xavier was able to pray to G.o.d, saying, "I love you, not because you have the power to give heaven or h.e.l.l, but simply because you are you-my king and my G.o.d," then surely he had needed a long path of inner purifications to reach such ultimate freedom-a path through stages of maturity, a path beset with temptation and the danger of falling, but a necessary path nonetheless.

Now we are in a position to interpret the sixth pet.i.tion of the Our Father in a more practical way. When we pray it, we are saying to G.o.d: "I know that I need trials so that my nature can be purified. When you decide to send me these trials, when you give evil some room to maneuver, as you did with Job, then please remember that my strength goes only so far. Don't overestimate my capacity. Don't set too wide the boundaries within which I may be tempted, and be close to me with your protecting hand when it becomes too much for me." It was in this sense that Saint Cyprian interpreted the sixth pet.i.tion. He says that when we pray, "And lead us not into temptation," we are expressing our awareness "that the enemy can do nothing against us unless G.o.d has allowed it beforehand, so that our fear, our devotion and our worship may be directed to G.o.d-because the Evil One is not permitted to do anything unless he is given authorization" (De dominica oratione 25; 25; CSEL CSEL III, 25, p. 285f.). III, 25, p. 285f.).

And then, pondering the psychological pattern of temptation, he explains that there can be two different reasons why G.o.d grants the Evil One a limited power. It can be as a penance for us, in order to dampen our pride, so that we may reexperience the paltriness of our faith, hope, and love and avoid forming too high an opinion of ourselves. Let us think of the Pharisee who recounts his own works to G.o.d and imagines that he is not in need of grace. Cyprian unfortunately does not go on to explain in more detail what the other sort of trial is about-the temptation that G.o.d lays upon us ad gloriam, ad gloriam, for his glory. But should it not put us in mind of the fact that G.o.d has placed a particularly heavy burden of temptation on the shoulders of those individuals who were especially close to him, the great saints, from Anthony in his desert to Therese of Lisieux in the pious world of her Carmelite monastery? They follow in the footsteps of Job, so to speak; they offer an apologia for man that is at the same time a defense of G.o.d. Even more, they enjoy a very special communion with Jesus Christ, who suffered our temptations to the bitter end. They are called to withstand the temptations of a particular time in their own skin, as it were, in their own souls. They are called to bear them through to the end for us ordinary souls and to help us persist on our way to the One who took upon himself the burden of us all. for his glory. But should it not put us in mind of the fact that G.o.d has placed a particularly heavy burden of temptation on the shoulders of those individuals who were especially close to him, the great saints, from Anthony in his desert to Therese of Lisieux in the pious world of her Carmelite monastery? They follow in the footsteps of Job, so to speak; they offer an apologia for man that is at the same time a defense of G.o.d. Even more, they enjoy a very special communion with Jesus Christ, who suffered our temptations to the bitter end. They are called to withstand the temptations of a particular time in their own skin, as it were, in their own souls. They are called to bear them through to the end for us ordinary souls and to help us persist on our way to the One who took upon himself the burden of us all.

When we pray the sixth pet.i.tion of the Our Father, we must therefore, on one hand, be ready to take upon ourselves the burden of trials that is meted out to us. On the other hand, the object of the pet.i.tion is to ask G.o.d not to mete out more than we can bear, not to let us slip from his hands. We make this prayer in the trustful certainty that Saint Paul has articulated for us: "G.o.d is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your strength, but with the temptation will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it" (1 Cor 10:13).

BUT D DELIVER U US FROM E EVIL.

The last pet.i.tion of the Our Father takes up the previous one again and gives it a positive twist. The two pet.i.tions are therefore closely connected. In the next-to-last pet.i.tion the not not set the dominant note (do not give the Evil One more room to maneuver than we can bear). In the last pet.i.tion we come before the Father with the hope that is at the center of our faith: "Rescue, redeem, free us!" In the final a.n.a.lysis, it is a plea for redemption. What do we want to be redeemed from? The new German translation of the Our Father says " set the dominant note (do not give the Evil One more room to maneuver than we can bear). In the last pet.i.tion we come before the Father with the hope that is at the center of our faith: "Rescue, redeem, free us!" In the final a.n.a.lysis, it is a plea for redemption. What do we want to be redeemed from? The new German translation of the Our Father says "vom Bosen," thus leaving it open whether "evil" or "the Evil One" is meant. The two are ultimately inseparable. Indeed, we see before us the dragon of which the Book of Revelation speaks (cf. chapters 12 and 13). John portrays the "beast rising out of the sea," out of the dark depths of evil, with the symbols of Roman imperial power, and he thus puts a very concrete face on the threat facing the Christians of his day: the total claim placed upon man by the emperor cult and the resulting elevation of political-military-economic might to the peak of absolute power-to the personification of the evil that threatens to devour us. This is coupled with the erosion of ethical principles by a cynical form of skepticism and enlightenment. Thus imperiled, the Christian in time of persecution calls upon the Lord as the only power that can save him: "Deliver us, free us from evil."

Notwithstanding the dissolution of the Roman Empire and its ideologies, this remains very contemporary! Today there are on one hand the forces of the market, of traffic in weapons, in drugs, and in human beings, all forces that weigh upon the world and ensnare humanity irresistibly. Today, on the other hand, there is also the ideology of success, of well-being, that tells us, "G.o.d is just a fiction, he only robs us of our time and our enjoyment of life. Don't bother with him! Just try to squeeze as much out of life as you can." These temptations seem irresistible as well. The Our Father in general and this pet.i.tion in particular are trying to tell us that it is only when you have lost G.o.d that you have lost yourself; then you are nothing more than a random product of evolution. Then the "dragon" really has won. So long as the dragon cannot wrest G.o.d from you, your deepest being remains unharmed, even in the midst of all the evils that threaten you. Our translation is thus correct to say: "Deliver us from evil," with evil evil in the singular. Evils (plural) can be necessary for our purification, but evil (singular) destroys. This, then, is why we pray from the depths of our soul not to be robbed of our faith, which enables us to see G.o.d, which binds us with Christ. This is why we pray that, in our concern for goods, we may not lose the Good itself; that even faced with the loss of goods, we may not also lose the Good, which is G.o.d; that we ourselves may not be lost: Deliver us from evil! in the singular. Evils (plural) can be necessary for our purification, but evil (singular) destroys. This, then, is why we pray from the depths of our soul not to be robbed of our faith, which enables us to see G.o.d, which binds us with Christ. This is why we pray that, in our concern for goods, we may not lose the Good itself; that even faced with the loss of goods, we may not also lose the Good, which is G.o.d; that we ourselves may not be lost: Deliver us from evil!

Cyprian, the martyr bishop who personally had to endure the situation described in the Book of Revelation, once again finds a marvelous way of putting all of this: "When we say 'deliver us from evil,' then there is nothing further left for us to ask for. Once we have asked for and obtained protection against evil, we are safely sheltered against everything the devil and the world can contrive. What could the world make you fear if you are protected in the world by G.o.d himself?" (De dominica oratione 19; 19; CSEL CSEL III, 27, p. 287). This certainty sustained the martyrs, it made them joyful and confident in a world full of affliction, and it "delivered" them at the core of their being, freeing them for true freedom. III, 27, p. 287). This certainty sustained the martyrs, it made them joyful and confident in a world full of affliction, and it "delivered" them at the core of their being, freeing them for true freedom.

This same confidence was wonderfully put into words by Saint Paul: "If G.o.d is for us, who is against us?...Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?...No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor princ.i.p.alities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of G.o.d in Christ Jesus our Lord" (Rom 8:3139).

In this sense, the last pet.i.tion brings us back to the first three: In asking to be liberated from the power of evil, we are ultimately asking for G.o.d's Kingdom, for union with his will, and for the sanctification of his name. Throughout the ages, though, men and women of prayer have interpreted this pet.i.tion in a broader sense. In the midst of the world's tribulations, they have also begged G.o.d to set a limit to the evils that ravage the world and our lives.

This very human way of interpreting the pet.i.tion has entered into the liturgy: In every liturgy, with the sole exception of the Byzantine, the final pet.i.tion of the Our Father is extended into a separate prayer. In the old Roman liturgy it ran thus: "Free us, Lord, from all evils, past, present, and future. By the intercession...of all the saints, give peace in our day. Come to our aid with your mercy that we may be ever free from sins and protected from confusion." We sense the hardships of times of war, we hear the cry for total redemption. This "embolism," with which the liturgy enhances the last pet.i.tion of the Our Father, shows the humanity of the Church. Yes, we may and we should ask the Lord also to free the world, ourselves, and the many individuals and peoples who suffer from the tribulations that make life almost unbearable.

We may and we should understand this extension of the final pet.i.tion of the Our Father also as an examination of conscience directed at ourselves-as an appeal to collaborate in breaking the predominance of "evils." But for all that, we must not lose sight of the proper order of goods and of the connection of evils with "evil." Our pet.i.tion must not sink into superficiality; even on this interpretation of the Our Father pet.i.tion, the central point is still "that we be freed from sins," that we recognize "evil" as the quintessence of "evils," and that our gaze may never be diverted from the living G.o.d.

CHAPTER SIX.

The Disciples In all the stages of Jesus' activity that we have considered so far, it has become evident that Jesus is closely connected with the "we" of the new family that he gathers by his proclamation and his action. It has become evident that this "we" is in principle intended to be universal: It no longer rests on birth, but on communion with Jesus, who is himself G.o.d's living Torah. This "we" of the new family is not amorphous. Jesus calls an inner core of people specially chosen by him, who are to carry on his mission and give this family order and shape. That was why Jesus formed the group of the Twelve. The t.i.tle "apostle" originally extended beyond this group, but was later restricted more and more to the Twelve. In Luke, for example, who always speaks of the twelve Apostles, this word is practically synonymous with the Twelve. There is no need here to inquire into the widely discussed issues concerning the development of the use of the word apostle; apostle; let us simply listen to the most important texts that show the formation of the community of Jesus' closest disciples. let us simply listen to the most important texts that show the formation of the community of Jesus' closest disciples.

The central text for this is Mark 3:1319. It begins by saying that Jesus "went up on the mountain, and called to him those whom he desired; and they came to him" (Mk 3:13). The events leading up to this had taken place by the lake, and now Jesus ascends "the mountain," which signifies the place of his communion with G.o.d-the place on the heights, above the works and deeds of everyday life. Luke underscores this point even more vigorously in his parallel account: "In these days he went out to the mountain to pray; and all night he continued in prayer to G.o.d. And when it was day, he called his disciples, and chose from them twelve, whom he named apostles"(Lk 6:12f.).

The calling of the disciples is a prayer event; it is as if they were begotten in prayer, in intimacy with the Father. The calling of the Twelve, far from being purely functional, takes on a deeply theological meaning: Their calling emerges from the Son's dialogue with the Father and is anch.o.r.ed there. This is also the necessary starting point for understanding Jesus' words, "Pray therefore the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest" (Mt 9:38): We cannot simply pick the laborers in G.o.d's harvest in the same way that an employer seeks his employees. G.o.d must always be asked for them and he himself must choose them for this service. This theological character is reinforced in Mark's phrase: "Jesus called to him those whom he desired." You cannot make yourself a disciple-it is an event of election, a free decision of the Lord's will, which in its turn is anch.o.r.ed in his communion of will with the Father.

The text then continues: "And he appointed [literally: "made"] twelve, whom he also called apostles, to be with him, and to be sent out to preach" (Mk 3:14). The first thing to ponder is the expression "he made twelve," which sounds strange to us. In reality, these words of the Evangelist take up the Old Testament terminology for appointment to the priesthood (cf. 1 Kings 12:31; 13:33) and thus characterize the apostolic office as a priestly ministry. Moreover, the fact that the ones chosen are then individually named links them with the Prophets of Israel, whom G.o.d calls by name. Mark thus presents the apostolic ministry as a fusion of the priestly and prophetic missions (Feuillet, etudes etudes, p. 178). "He made twelve": Twelve was the symbolic number of Israel-the number of the sons of Jacob. From them the twelve tribes of Israel were descended, though of these practically only the tribe of Judah remained after the Exile. In this sense, the number twelve is a return to the origins of Israel, and yet at the same time it is a symbol of hope: The whole of Israel is restored and the twelve tribes are newly a.s.sembled.

Twelve-the number of the tribes-is at the same time a cosmic number that expresses the comprehensiveness of the newly reborn People of G.o.d. The Twelve stand as the patriarchs of this universal people founded on the Apostles. In the vision of the New Jerusalem found in the Apocalypse, the symbolism of the Twelve is elaborated into an image of splendor (cf. Rev 21:914) that helps the pilgrim People of G.o.d understand its present in the light of its future and illumines it with the spirit of hope: Past, present, and future intermingle when viewed in terms of the Twelve.

This is also the right context for the prophecy in which Jesus gives Nathanael a glimpse of his true nature: "You will see heaven opened, and the angels of G.o.d ascending and descending upon the Son of Man" (Jn 1:51). Jesus reveals himself here as the new Jacob. The patriarch dreamed that he saw a ladder set up beside his head, which reached up to heaven and on which G.o.d's angels were ascending and descending. This dream has become a reality with Jesus. He himself is the "gate of heaven" (Gen 28:1022); he is the true Jacob, the "Son of Man," the patriarch of the definitive Israel.

Let us return to our text from Mark. Jesus appoints the Twelve with a double a.s.signment: "to be with him, and to be sent out to preach." They must be with him in order to get to know him; in order to attain that intimate acquaintance with him that could not be given to the "people"-who saw him only from the outside and took him for a prophet, a great figure in the history of religions, but were unable to perceive his uniqueness (cf. Mt 16:13ff.). The Twelve must be with him so as to be able to recognize his oneness with the Father and thus become witnesses to his mystery. As Peter will say before the election of Matthias, they had to be present during the time that "the Lord Jesus went in and out among us" (cf. Acts 1:8, 21). One might say that they have to pa.s.s from outward to inward communion with Jesus. At the same time, however, they are there in order to become Jesus' envoys-"apostles," no less-who bring his message to the world, first to the lost sheep of the House of Israel, but then "to the ends of the earth." Being with Jesus and being sent by him seem at first sight mutually exclusive, but they clearly belong together. The Apostles have to learn to be with him in a way that enables them, even when they go to the ends of the earth, to be with him still. Being with him includes the missionary dynamic by its very nature, since Jesus' whole being is mission.

What does the text say they are sent to do? "To preach and have authority to cast out demons" (Mk 3:14f.). Matthew gives a somewhat more detailed description of the content of this mission: "And he gave them authority over unclean spirits, to cast them out, and to heal every disease and every infirmity" (Mt 10:1). The first task is preaching: to give people the light of the word, the message of Jesus. The Apostles are first and foremost Evangelists-like Jesus, they preach the Kingdom of G.o.d and thereby gather people into G.o.d's new family. But the preaching of G.o.d's Kingdom is never just words, never just instruction. It is an event, just as Jesus himself is an event, G.o.d's Word in person. By announcing him, the Apostles lead their listeners to encounter him.

Because the world is ruled by the powers of evil, this preaching is at the same time a struggle with those powers. "In following Jesus, his herald has to exorcise the world, to establish a new form of life in the Holy Spirit that brings release to those who are possessed" (Pesch, Markusevangelium Markusevangelium, I, p. 205). And, as Henri de Lubac in particular has shown, the ancient world did in fact experience the birth of Christianity as a liberation from the fear of demons that, in spite of skepticism and enlightenment, was all-pervasive at the time. The same thing also happens today wherever Christianity replaces old tribal religions, transforming and integrating their positive elements into itself. We feel the full impact of this leap forward when Paul says: "'There is no G.o.d but one.' For although there may be so-called G.o.ds in heaven or on earth-as indeed there are many 'G.o.ds' and many 'lords'-yet for us there is one G.o.d, the Father, from whom are all things and for whom we exist, and one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom are all things and through whom we exist" (1 Cor 8:4f.). These words imply a great liberating power-the great exorcism that purifies the world. No matter how many G.o.ds may have been at large in the world, G.o.d is only one, and only one is Lord. If we belong to him, everything else loses its power; it loses the allure of divinity.

The world is now seen as something rational: It emerges from eternal reason, and this creative reason is the only true power over the world and in the world. Faith in the one G.o.d is the only thing that truly liberates the world and makes it "rational." When faith is absent, the world only appears appears to be more rational. In reality the indeterminable powers of chance now claim their due; "chaos theory" takes its place alongside insight into the rational structure of the universe, confronting man with obscurities that he cannot resolve and that set limits to the world's rationality. To "exorcise" the world-to establish it in the light of the to be more rational. In reality the indeterminable powers of chance now claim their due; "chaos theory" takes its place alongside insight into the rational structure of the universe, confronting man with obscurities that he cannot resolve and that set limits to the world's rationality. To "exorcise" the world-to establish it in the light of the ratio ratio (reason) that comes from eternal creative reason and its saving goodness and refers back to it-that is a permanent, central task of the messengers of Jesus Christ. (reason) that comes from eternal creative reason and its saving goodness and refers back to it-that is a permanent, central task of the messengers of Jesus Christ.

In the Letter to the Ephesians, Saint Paul once described this "exorcistic" character of Christianity from another perspective: "Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his might. Put on the whole armor of G.o.d, that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. For we are not contending against flesh and blood, but against the princ.i.p.alities, against the powers, against the world rulers of this present darkness, against the spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places" (Eph 6:1012). This portrayal of the Christian struggle, which we today find surprising, or even disturbing, Heinrich Schlier has explained as follows: "The enemies are not this or that person, not even myself. They are not flesh and blood.... The conflict goes deeper. It is a fight against a host of opponents that never stop coming; they cannot really be pinned down and have no proper name, only collective denominations. They also start out with superior advantage over man, and that is because of their superior position, their position 'in the heavens' of existence. They are also superior because their position is impenetrable and una.s.sailable-their position, after all, is the 'atmosphere' of existence, which they themselves tilt in their favor and propagate around themselves. These enemies are, finally, all full of essential, deadly malice" (Brief an die Epheser, p. 291). p. 291).

Who could fail to see here a description of our world as well, in which the Christian is threatened by an anonymous atmosphere, by "something in the air" that wants to make the faith seem ludicrous and absurd to him? And who could fail to see the poisoning of the spiritual climate all over the world that threatens the dignity of man, indeed his very existence? The individual human being, and even communities of human beings, seem to be hopelessly at the mercy of such powers. The Christian knows that he cannot master this threat by his own resources alone. But in faith, in communion with the only true Lord of the world, he is given the "armor of G.o.d." It enables him-in the communion of the whole body of Christ-to oppose these powers, knowing that Lord's gift of faith restores the pure breath of life: the breath of the Creator, the breath of the Holy Spirit, which alone can give health to the world.

Alongside the commission to exorcise, Matthew adds the mission to heal. The Twelve are sent "to heal every disease and every infirmity" (Mt 10:1). Healing is an essential dimension of the apostolic mission and of Christian faith in general. Eugen Biser even goes so far as to call Christianity a "therapeutic religion"-a religion of healing (Einweisung). When understood at a sufficiently deep level, this expresses the entire content of "redemption." The authority to cast out demons and to free the world from their dark threat, for the sake of the one true G.o.d, is the same authority that rules out any magical understanding of healing through attempts to manipulate these mysterious powers. Magical healing is always tied to the art of turning the evil onto someone else and setting the "demons" against him. G.o.d's dominion, G.o.d's Kingdom, means precisely the disempowerment of these forces by the intervention of the one G.o.d, who is good, who is the Good itself. The healing power of the messengers of Jesus Christ is opposed to the spirits of magic; it exorcises the world in medical terms as well. In the miracles of healing performed by the Lord and by the Twelve, G.o.d displays his gracious power over the world. They are essentially "signs" that point to G.o.d himself and serve to set man in motion toward G.o.d. Only becoming-one with G.o.d can be the true process of man's healing.

For Jesus himself and for his followers, miracles of healing are thus a subordinate element within the overall range of his activity, which is concerned with something deeper, with nothing less than the "Kingdom of G.o.d": his becoming-Lord in us and in the world. Just as exorcism drives out the fear of demons and commits the world-which comes from G.o.d's reason-to our human reason, so, too, healing by G.o.d's power is both a summons to faith in G.o.d and a summons to use the powers of reason in the service of healing. The "reason" meant here, of course, is wide open-it is the kind of reason that perceives G.o.d and therefore also recognizes man as a unity of body and soul. Whoever truly wishes to heal man must see him in his wholeness and must know that his ultimate healing can only be G.o.d's love.

Let us return to our text from Mark's Gospel. After specifying the mission of the Twelve, Mark lists them by name. We have already seen that this is an intimation of the prophetic dimension of their mission. G.o.d knows us by name and he calls us by name. This is not the place to portray the individual figures who form the group of the Twelve in light of the Bible and tradition. The important thing for us is the composition of the whole group, and it is quite heterogeneous.

Two members of the group came from the Zealot party: Simon, who in Luke 6:15 is called "the Zealot" and in Matthew and Mark "the Cananaean"-which according to recent scholarship means the same thing-and Judas. The word Iscariot Iscariot can simply mean "the man from Karioth," but it may also designate him as a Sicarian, a radical variant of the Zealots. The zeal ( can simply mean "the man from Karioth," but it may also designate him as a Sicarian, a radical variant of the Zealots. The zeal (zelos) for the Law that gave this movement its name looked to the great "zealots" of Israel's history for its models: from Phinehas, who killed an idolatrous Israelite before the whole community (Num 25:613), and Elijah, who had the priests of Baal killed on Mount Carmel (1 Kings 18), to Mattathias, the patriarch of the Maccabees, who initiated the uprising against the h.e.l.lenistic king Antiochus' attempt to extinguish Israel's faith by killing a conformist who was about to sacrifice publicly to the G.o.ds in accordance with the king's decree (1 Mac 2:1728). The Zealots regarded this historical chain of great "zealots" as a heritage that committed them to fight against the Roman occupiers in their own day.

At the other extreme within the group of the Twelve we find Levi-Matthew, who, as a tax collector, worked hand in glove with the reigning power and had to be cla.s.sed as a public sinner on account of his social position. The main group within the Twelve is composed of the fishermen from Lake Genesareth. Simon, whom the Lord would name Cephas (Peter), "rock," was apparently the head of a fishing cooperative (cf. Lk 5:10), in which he worked alongside his older brother Andrew and the sons of Zebedee, John and James, whom the Lord nicknamed "Boanerges"-sons of thunder. Some scholars argue that this name, too, indicates an a.s.sociation with the Zealot movement, but this is probably incorrect. It is the Lord's way of referring to their stormy temperament, which also emerges very clearly in the Gospel of John. Finally, there are two men with Greek names, Philip and Andrew, to whom Greek-speaking Jews address themselves on Palm Sunday at the time of the Pa.s.sover festival, in order to make contact with Jesus (cf. Jn 12:21ff.).

We may presume that all of the Twelve were believing and observant Jews who awaited the salvation of Israel. But in terms of their actual opinions, of their thinking about the way Israel was to be saved, they were an extremely varied group. This helps us to understand how difficult it was to initiate them gradually into Jesus' mysterious new way, of the kinds of tension that had to be overcome. For example, how much purification must the zeal of the Zealots have needed before it could be united with Jesus' "zeal," about which John's Gospel tells us (cf. Jn 2:17)? His zeal reaches its completion on the Cross. Precisely in this wide range of backgrounds, temperaments, and approaches, the Twelve personify the Church of all ages and its difficult task of purifying and unifying these men in the zeal of Jesus Christ.

Only Luke tells us that Jesus formed a second group of disciples, which was composed of seventy (or seventy-two) and was sent out with a mission similar to that of the Twelve (cf. Lk 10:112). Like the number twelve, the number seventy (or seventy-two-the ma.n.u.scripts variously report one or the other) is symbolic. Based on a combination of Deuteronomy 32:8 and Exodus 1:5, seventy was considered to be the number of the nations of the world. According to Exodus 1:5, seventy was the number of people who accompanied Jacob into Egypt; "they were all Jacob's offspring." A recent variant of Deuteronomy 32:8, which has become the generally received version, runs as follows: "When the Most High gave to the nations their inheritance, when he separated the sons of men, he fixed the bounds of the peoples according to the number of the sons of Israel"-this is a reference to the seventy members of the house of Jacob at the time of the emigration to Egypt. Alongside the twelve sons, who prefigure Israel, stand the seventy, who represent the whole world and are thus considered also to have some connection with Jacob, with Israel.

This tradition also forms the background of the legend transmitted in the so-called Letter of Aristeas, according to which the Greek translation of the Old Testament made in the third century before Christ was produced by seventy scholars (or seventy-two, with six representing each of the twelve tribes of Israel) under a special inspiration of the Holy Spirit. The legend is a way of interpreting this translation as the opening of Israel's faith to the nations.

And in fact the Septuagint did play a decisive role in directing many searching souls in late antiquity toward the G.o.d of Israel. The earlier myths had lost their credibility; philosophical monotheism was not enough to bring people to a living relationship with G.o.d. Many cultured men thus found a new access to G.o.d in Israel's monotheism, which was not philosophically conceived, but had been given from above within a history of faith. Many cities saw the formation of a circle of the "G.o.d-fearing," of pious "pagans," who neither could nor wanted to become full-fledged Jews, but partic.i.p.ated in the synagogue liturgy and thus in Israel's faith. It was in this circle that the earliest Christian missionary preaching found its first foothold and began to spread. Now at last, these men could belong wholly to the G.o.d of Israel, because this G.o.d-according to Paul's preaching about him-had in Jesus truly become the G.o.d of all men. Now at last, by believing in Jesus as the Son of G.o.d, they could become full members in the People of G.o.d. When Luke speaks of a group of seventy alongside the Twelve, the meaning is clear: They are an intimation of the universal character of the Gospel, which is meant for all the peoples of the earth.

At this point it may be appropriate to mention another item peculiar to Luke. In the opening verses of chapter 8, he recounts to us that Jesus, as he was making his way with the Twelve and preaching, was also accompanied by women. He mentions three names and then adds: "and many others, who provided for them out of their means" (Lk 8:3). The difference between the discipleship of the Twelve and the discipleship of the women is obvious; the tasks a.s.signed to each group are quite different. Yet Luke makes clear-and the other Gospels also show this in all sorts of ways-that "many" women belonged to the more intimate community of believers and that their faith-filled following of Jesus was an essential element of that community, as would be vividly ill.u.s.trated at the foot of the Cross and at the Resurrection.

Perhaps it is a good idea at this point to draw attention to a few other details specific to the Evangelist Luke. Just as he was especially sensitive to the significance of women, he is also the Evangelist of the poor, and his "preferential option for the poor" is unmistakable.

Again, he shows a particular understanding for the Jews; the pa.s.sions that were stirred up by the incipient separation between the Synagogue and the nascent Church-which left their traces in both Matthew and John-are nowhere to be found in him. I find particularly significant the way he concludes the story of the new wine and the old or new wineskins. In Mark we find, "And no one puts new wine into old wineskins; if he does, the wine will burst the skins, and the wine is lost, and so are the skins; but new wine is for fresh skins" (Mk 2:22). The text reads similarly in Matthew 9:17. Luke transmits to us the same saying, but at the end he adds: "And no one after drinking old wine desires new; for he says, 'The old is good'" (Lk 5:39). There do seem to be good grounds for interpreting this as a word of understanding for those who wished to remain with the "old wine."

Finally-on the subject of specifically Lukan features-we have already seen several times that this Evangelist devotes special attention to Jesus' prayer as the source of his preaching and action. He shows us that all of Jesus' words and deeds issue from his inner oneness with the Father, from the dialogue between Father and Son. If we have good reason to be convinced that the Holy Scriptures are "inspired," that they matured in a special sense under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, then we also have good reason to be convinced that precisely these specific aspects of the Lukan tradition preserve essential features of the original figure of Jesus for us.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

The Message of the Parables THE N NATURE AND P PURPOSE OF THE P PARABLES.

There is no doubt that the parables const.i.tute the heart of Jesus' preaching. While civilizations have come and gone, these stories continue to touch us anew with their freshness and their humanity. Joachim Jeremias, who wrote a fundamental book about Jesus' parables, has rightly pointed out that comparison of Jesus' parables with Pauline similitudes or rabbinical parables reveals "a definite personal character, a unique clarity and simplicity, a matchless mastery of construction" (The Parables of Jesus, p. 12). Here we have a very immediate sense-partly because of the originality of the language, in which the Aramaic text shines through-of closeness to Jesus as he lived and taught. At the same time, though, we find ourselves in the same situation as Jesus' contemporaries and even his disciples: We need to ask him again and again what he wants to say to us in each of the parables (cf. Mk 4:10). The struggle to understand the parables correctly is ever present throughout the history of the Church. Even historical-critical exegesis has repeatedly had to correct itself and cannot give us any definitive information. p. 12). Here we have a very immediate sense-partly because of the originality of the language, in which the Aramaic text shines through-of closeness to Jesus as he lived and taught. At the same time, though, we find ourselves in the same situation as Jesus' contemporaries and even his disciples: We need to ask him again and again what he wants to say to us in each of the parables (cf. Mk 4:10). The struggle to understand the parables correctly is ever present throughout the history of the Church. Even historical-critical exegesis has repeatedly had to correct itself and cannot give us any definitive information.

One of the great masters of critical exegesis, Adolf Julicher, published a two-volume work on Jesus' parables (Die Gleichnisreden Jesu, 1899; 2nd ed. 1910) that inaugurated a new phase in their interpretation, in which it seemed as if the definitive formula had been found for explaining them. Julicher begins by emphasizing the radical difference between allegory and parable: Allegory had evolved in h.e.l.lenistic culture as a method for interpreting ancient authoritative religious texts that were no longer acceptable as they stood. Their statements were now explained as figures intended to veil a mysterious content hidden behind the literal meaning. This made it possible to understand the language of the texts as metaphorical discourse; when explained pa.s.sage by pa.s.sage and step by step, they were meant to be seen as figurative representations of the philosophical opinion that now emerged as the real content of the text. In Jesus' environment, allegory was the most common way of using textual images; it therefore seemed obvious to interpret the parables as allegories on this pattern. The Gospels themselves repeatedly place allegorical interpretations of parables on Jesus' lips, for example, concerning the parable of the sower, whose seed falls by the wayside, on rocky ground, among the thorns, or else on fruitful soil (Mk 4:120). Julicher, for his part, sharply distinguished Jesus' parables from allegory; rather than allegory, he said, they are a piece of real life intended to communicate one one idea, understood in the broadest possible sense-a single "salient point." The allegorical interpretations placed on Jesus' lips are regarded as later additions that already reflect a degree of misunderstanding. idea, understood in the broadest possible sense-a single "salient point." The allegorical interpretations placed on Jesus' lips are regarded as later additions that already reflect a degree of misunderstanding.

In itself, Julicher's basic idea of the distinction between parable and allegory is correct, and it was immediately adopted by scholars everywhere. Yet gradually the limitations of his theories began to emerge. Although the contrast between the parables and allegory is legitimate as such, the radical separation of them cannot be justified on either historical or textual grounds. Judaism, too, made use of allegorical discourse, especially in apocalyptic literature; it is perfectly possible for parable and allegory to blend into each other. Jeremias has shown that the Hebrew word mashal mashal (parable, riddle) comprises a wide variety of genres: parable, similitude, allegory, fable, proverb, apocalyptic revelation, riddle, symbol, pseudonym, fict.i.tious person, example (model), theme, argument, apology, refutation, jest (p. 20). Form criticism had already tried to make progress by dividing the parables into categories: "A distinction was drawn between metaphor, simile, parable, similitude, allegory, ill.u.s.tration" (ibid.). (parable, riddle) comprises a wide variety of genres: parable, similitude, allegory, fable, proverb, apocalyptic revelation, riddle, symbol, pseudonym, fict.i.tious person, example (model), theme, argument, apology, refutation, jest (p. 20). Form criticism had already tried to make progress by dividing the parables into categories: "A distinction was drawn between metaphor, simile, parable, similitude, allegory, ill.u.s.tration" (ibid.).

If it was already a mistake to try to pin down the genre of the parable to a single literary type, the method by which Julicher thought to define the "salient point"-supposedly the parable's sole concern-is even more dated. Two examples should suffice. According to Julicher, the parable of the rich fool (Lk 12:1621) is intended to convey the message that "even the richest of men is at every moment wholly dependent upon the power and mercy of G.o.d." The salient point in the parable of the unjust householder (Lk 16:18) is said to be this: "wise use of the present as the condition of a happy future." Jeremias rightly comments as follows: "We are told that the parables announce a genuine religious humanity; they are stripped of their eschatological import. Imperceptibly Jesus is transformed into an 'apostle of progress' [Julicher, II 483], a teacher of wisdom who inculcates moral precepts and a simplified theology by means of striking metaphors and stories. But nothing could be less like him" (p. 19). C. W. F. Smith expresses himself even more bluntly: "No one would crucify a teacher who told pleasant stories to enforce prudential morality" (The Jesus of the Parables, p. 17; cited in Jeremias, p. 21). p. 17; cited in Jeremias, p. 21).

I recount this in such detail here because it enables us to glimpse the limits of liberal exegesis, which in its day was viewed as the ne plus ultra ne plus ultra of scientific rigor and reliable historiography and was regarded even by Catholic exegetes with envy and admiration. We have already seen in connection with the Sermon on the Mount that the type of interpretation that makes Jesus a moralist, a teacher of an enlightened and individualistic morality, for all of its significant historical insights, remains theologically impoverished, and does not even come close to the real figure of Jesus. of scientific rigor and reliable historiography and was regarded even by Catholic exegetes with envy and admiration. We have already seen in connection with the Sermon on the Mount that the type of interpretation that makes Jesus a moralist, a teacher of an enlightened and individualistic morality, for all of its significant historical insights, remains theologically impoverished, and does not even come close to the real figure of Jesus.

While Julicher had in effect conceived the "salient point" in completely humanistic terms in keeping with the spirit of his time, it was later identified with imminent eschatology: The parables all ultimately amounted to a proclamation of the proximity of the inbreaking eschaton eschaton-of the "Kingdom of G.o.d." But that, too, does violence to the variety of the texts; with many of the parables, an interpretation in terms of imminent eschatology can only be imposed artificially. By contrast, Jeremias has rightly underlined the fact that each parable has its own context and thus its own specific message. With this in mind, he divides the parables into nine thematic groups, while continuing nevertheless to seek a common thread, the heart of Jesus' message. Jeremias acknowledges his debt here to the English exegete C. H. Dodd, while at the same time distancing himself from Dodd on one crucial point.

Dodd made the thematic orientation of the parables toward the Kingdom or dominion of G.o.d the core of his exegesis, but he rejected the German exegetes' imminent eschatological approach and linked eschatology with Christology: The Kingdom arrives in the person of Christ. In pointing to the Kingdom, the parables thus point to him as the Kingdom's true form. Jeremias felt that he could not accept this thesis of a "realized eschatology," as Dodd called it, and he spoke instead of an "eschatology that is in process of realization" (p. 230). He thus does end up retaining, though in a somewhat attenuated form, the fundamental idea of German exegesis, namely, that Jesus preached the (temporal) proximity of the coming of G.o.d's Kingdom and that he presented it to his hearers in a variety of ways through the parables. The link between Christology and eschatology is thereby further weakened. The question remains as to what the listener two thousand years later is supposed to think of all this. At any rate, he has to regard the horizon of imminent eschatology then current as a mistake, since the Kingdom of G.o.d in the sense of a radical transformation of the world by G.o.d did not come; nor can he appropriate this idea for today. All of our reflections up to this point have led us to acknowledge that the immediate expectation of the end of the world was an aspect of the early reception of Jesus' message. At the same time, it has become evident that this idea cannot simply be superimposed onto all Jesus' words, and that to treat it as the central theme of Jesus' message would be blowing it out of proportion. In that respect, Dodd was much more on the right track in terms of the real dynamic of the texts.

From our study of the Sermon on the Mount, but also from our interpretation of the Our Father, we have seen that the deepest theme of Jesus' preaching was his own mystery, the mystery of the Son in whom G.o.d is among us and keeps his word; he announces the Kingdom of G.o.d as coming and as having come in his person. In this sense, we have to grant that Dodd was basically right. Yes, Jesus' Sermon on the Mount is "eschatological," if you will, but eschatological in the sense that the Kingdom of G.o.d is "realized" in his coming. It is thus perfectly possible to speak of an "eschatology in process of realization": Jesus, as the One who has come, is nonetheless the One who comes throughout the whole of history, and ultimately he speaks to us of this "coming." In this sense, we can thoroughly agree with the final words of Jeremias' book: "G.o.d's acceptable year has come. For he has been manifested whose veiled kingliness shines through every word and through every parable: the Savior" (p. 230).

We have, then, good grounds for interpreting all the parables as hidden and multilayered invitations to faith in Jesus as the "Kingdom of G.o.d in person." But there is one vexed saying of Jesus concerning the parables that stands in the way. All three Synoptics relate to us that Jesus first responded to the disciples' question about the meaning of the parable of the sower with a general answer about the reason for preaching in parables. At the heart of Jesus' answer is a citation from Isaiah 6:9f., which the Synoptics transmit in different versions. Mark's text reads as follows in Jeremias' painstakingly argued translation: "To you [that is, to the circle of disciples] has G.o.d given the secret of the Kingdom of G.o.d: but to those who are without, everything is obscure, in order that they (as it is written) may 'see and yet not see, may hear and yet not understand, unless they turn and G.o.d will forgive them' (Mk 4:12; Jeremias, p. 17). What does this mean? Is the point of the Lord's parables to make his message inaccessible and to reserve it only for a small circle of elect souls for whom he interprets them himself? Is it that the parables are intended not to open doors, but to lock them? Is G.o.d partisan-does he want only an elite few, and not everyone?

If we want to understand the Lord's mysterious words, we must read them in light of Isaiah, whom he cites, and we must read them in light of his own path, the outcome of which he already knows. In saying these words, Jesus places himself in the line of the Prophets-his destiny is a prophet's destiny. Isaiah's words taken overall are much more severe and terrifying than the extract that Jesus cites. In the Book of Isaiah it says: "Make the heart of this people fat, and their ears heavy, and shut their eyes; lest they see with their eyes, and hear with their ears, and understand with their hearts, and turn and be healed"(Is 6:10). Prophets fail: Their message goes too much against general opinion and the comfortable habits of life. It is only through failure that their word becomes efficacious. This failure of the Prophets is an obscure question mark hanging over the whole history of Israel, and in a certain way it constantly recurs in the history of humanity. Above all, it is also again and again the destiny of Jesus Christ: He ends up on the Cross. But that very Cross is the source of great fruitfulness.

And here, unexpectedly, we see a connection with the parable of the sower, which is the context where the Synoptics report these words of Jesus. It is striking what a significant role the image of the seed plays in the whole of Jesus' message. The time of Jesus, the time of the disciples, is the time of sowing and of the seed. The "Kingdom of G.o.d" is present in seed form. Observed from the outside, the seed is something minuscule. It is easy to overlook. The mustard seed-an image of the Kingdom of G.o.d-is the smallest of seeds, yet it bears a whole tree within it. The seed is the presence of what is to come in the future. In the seed, that which is to come is already here in a hidden way. It is the presence of a promise. On Palm Sunday, the Lord summarized the manifold seed parables and unveiled their full meaning: "Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit" (Jn 12:24). He himself is the grain of wheat. His "failure" on the Cross is exactly the way leading from the few to the many, to all: "And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all men to myself" (Jn 12:32).

The failure of the Prophets, his failure, appears now in another light. It is precisely the way to reach the point where "they turn and