To Them It Has Not Been Granted


Today’s readings:

Because knowledge of the mysteries of the Kingdom of heaven has been granted to you, but to them it has not been granted.
Matthew 13:11

I am coming to you in a dense cloud, 

so that when the people hear me speaking with you, 

they may always have faith in you also.

Exodus 19:9

One of the things that gripes me most is when someone who rejects the scriptures wholeheartedly tries to tell me what they mean.
I don’t care if that’s your average person-on-the-street who says “let me tell you what you’re doing wrong”, or the historian who makes shibboleths of science, the textual critic who wants the scriptures to have no content; or the liberal who wants to turn it all into useless poetry and left wing politics, the fundie who wants to lick the text looking for the macrodot of right-wing acid, and instead is just left with a sour taste in their mouth because ink is not salvific.
As God did to Moses, so he did to the Church: imparting the meaning of the text: it’s the Church’s job to teach us. And our job to learn from her. Nowhere does any part of the scripture, read in the context of the rest of the text, say “You (singular, second person) can tell what this means.” For God imparts the wisdom to “Y’all (plural, second person) by the Holy Spirit will be lead into all Truth.” And it is in his Church, the pillar and ground of the truth, that “y’all” are. 

 And the minute someone says “but wait… my Bible says…” you’re in the wrong classroom.

If you want the truth: go to the source – which isn’t the text, at all, but the Spirit of God living in his Church, and the Logos of God, spoken only once for all time in Jesus.

Author: Huw Richardson

I'm no Benedictine, but I'm too old for the Franciscans. I'm in the process of moving servers... so trying to keep both of my "linked sites" in sync until there's only one. There can be only one. Huw Richardson was born in Atlanta under a different name about 55 years ago. I never knew my father nor any of his kin. I’ve lived all over: I was never in the same house for 3 Christmases until I was over 40. I’ve not yet made it to 4. Rootlessness seems to be a way of life and every time I think I’m about to root, it ends up not happening. Yet I’ve made some amazing friends online. I’ve met some awesome people all over the world. I’ve met religious leaders and heads of state and famous movie stars. I’ve also managed to be debt-free. I’ve stood on the Hill of Tara and touched the Lia Fail. It did not cry out. I’ve kissed the Blarney Stone as well, if you can’t guess. I have illicitly touched ancient, holy statues to see if anything would happen and I have never used flash photography when I should not have. I’ve been a bookseller, a call center drone, a trainer, a convert, a preacher, a monk, a planter, a secretary, a writer, and an activist. My patron is Blessed Stanley Rother. When I’m in trouble, he’s got my back. He prays for me, along with St Rose of Lima, St. Catherine of Siena, St John Henry Newman, Bl Fulton J Sheen, and Bl. William Richardson. I’m a Dominican Tertiary and a member of Courage International. This is home: I’ve found my roots by using my wings. What’s next? I don’t know. Part of me wants to just pick out a camper and gig my way around the world. Part of me wants to own a pub in Ireland and feed my soul with good music until forever. Part of me has always taught. Some part of me dances whenever the moon is full. Another part of me kneels in awe in the darkness as all the stars spin but the cross stands still.