Christology in the Parables

I find Pope Benedict’s book Jesus of Nazareth such an insightful work. Particularly, His Holiness helped enriched the way I see Christ’s parables.

Echoing the sentiment of Reynor’s earlier post, a study of the parables as Jesus’ unique way of teaching is often a worthy exercise, specially as they are just beautiful and reveals to us in simple terms the deep and mysterious. They are never outdated, as the Word of God never would be, and speaks of matters relevant to this day. The parables are deeply personal too; two people can read the same parable and come up with two different interpretations that could very well be both correct.

Benedict argues that the parables’ message is more than the obvious or the commonly held interpretation. Rather, they are usually a hidden illustration of who God is, with an insight of the Paschal Mystery embedded within it. There is always a lesson on Christology within the parables.

He takes as an example The Parable of the Good Samaritan. While most will concede that this parable talks about non-discriminate charity, i.e. stopping to help someone in need regardless of whether they are foreigner to our race, Benedict gives us another explanation—not invalidating the first, but enriching it. He said that the parable can be a representation of man’s relationship with God, an interpretation that the Early Church Fathers favored.)

As “Jesus of Nazareth” puts it:

“Is not the man who lies half dead and stripped on the roadside an image of “adam,” of man in general, who trully “fell among robbers”? Is it not true that, this creature man, has been alienated, battered and misused through the entire history?”

Benedict points us to the state of the man in the parable: that he was “stripped” and “beaten half dead.” He considers this as a representation of the human race’s two dimensions of alienation: that he was bereft of the splendor of natural grace (stripped) and wounded in his nature (beaten).

He continues:

“And if the assault victim is the image of Everyman, the Samaritan can only be the image of Jesus Christ. God himself, who for us is foreign and distant, has set out to take care of his wounded creature. God though so remote from us, has made himself seen in Jesus Christ. He pours oil and wine into our wounds, a gesture seen as an image of the healing gift of sacraments, and he brings us to the inn, the Church, in which he arranges for our care and pays a deposit for that care.”

Isn’t this a wonderful interpretation? The Paschal Mystery of the Incarnation is deeply embedded in a simple allegory.

Now, critics of the book argue that Benedict is reading into the text something that is not there. After all, how can one scientifically prove that Jesus has a Christological intention when he taught the parable? I actually agree with the critics. There is really no way of proving Benedicts claims; in fact, I don’t think a Christian scholar exists who can satisfactorily prove that Christ is Divine. In the realm of religion, logic can only take you so far. Sooner or later you’d have to take that leapt of faith and look at the Bible with the eyes of a believer. Benedict himself said in the book: “The arrogance that would make God an object and impose our laboratory conditions upon him is incapable of finding him.”

Do I agree with Benedict that the parables contain a hidden Christology? I do, but the debate on Christ’s real intention is really academic and besides the point. Even if Christ did not intend a theological interpretation of His words, which is doubtful, it is always profitable to listen to messages that resonate with sound theology, in however form we find them.

This challeneged me to look at the other parables and try to discover their hidden Cristology. At random I found The Parable of the Yeast. Could the yeast be Christ Himself, the only alive thing mixed in a race of dead and useless flour, us? God combined His Son to mankind so that we can partake of His divinity and rise into something above ourselves, i.e. we can be dough that rises.

It’s certainly wonderful to think so.