For once I managed to bring all three of the readings from today's Mass into my homily. The Ten Commandments tell us of the plan our loving Father has for us. They are not suggestions but commandments, not just someone else's opinion, but the manufacturer's intructions, his vision for the good working of his creation and of ourselves, the pinnacle of that creation. And yet... and yet, somehow, despite the psalms and the language of Isaiah and others, we feel that the God of the Old Testament is somewhat distant, dwelling on the mountain-top...
For Jesus, the doing of this Father's will is the greatest priority, and so to find the Temple, the centre of the religion and the very House of God, being abused unleashes a righteous anger in him, as he overturns the tables - and the equilibrium of the onlookers with them.
And yet... and yet... something has happened by the time of St Paul's passage from 1 Corinthians. With its talk of wisdom and foolishness, strength and weakness, we are brought to a new place, we breath a new atmosphere. Jesus who whipped the people in the Temple, does not touch those who crucify him.
At this middle part of Lent the Church starts to lead us to the mysteries of Holy Week. The man on the cross is utter weakness and complete foolishness - unless. Unless it was done out of love, such great love not just for the onlookers but the whole human race. A love so great that divine strength is poured into human weakness, divine wisdom transfigures human foolishness. The weakness and foolishness of Jesus are those of love.
So we can bring our weakness and stupidity and foolishness to our Father too, asking Him to flood us with his wisdonm and power and strength.