The Last Word on the Law
“After this, no one dared to ask Jesus any more questions.”
This is calligraphy of the Shema prayer in Hebrew: “Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One,” which we read in Deut 6, and Jesus quotes in this week’s Gospel lesson. The Shema functions halfway between a creed and a mantra in Judaism. The modestly pious Jew will recite it at least three times a day, sometimes much more often. As such – unsurprisingly – it is also the focus of calligraphic projects like this one – although the usual shape of the words is more of a circle / medallion, or as a flame. In this case, the words are arranged in the shape of the Trinitarian knot, giving the profession of God’s Oneness a distinctively Christian twist.
Hebrew is for Jews is a lot like Arabic is for Muslims: an intrinsically holy language, for being the medium of revelation. This kind of imagination – combined with a strict aniconism (or even iconoclasm) which refuses any depiction of the divine (and often any depiction of anything!) yields an attention to the text itself as a potential object of beauty and vehicle of beautification. Thanks to the force of these ideas operating in tradition, you’ll find a lot of this kind of calligraphic prayers and Scripture settings in Semitic cultures.
Christians have a different understanding, of course. It is not the language itself which is holy, but the God who reveals himself through language; not the Word of God as the Bible, but the Word of God Incarnate who is the ultimate revelation of God’s self, the very image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. Christianity, ultimately, is not a textual religion, but an incarnational and iconic one. The God who is beyond all image and imagining created us in his image; and further impressed his image into our humanity through his work in us and among us through the Incarnation and the work that this enabled him to achieve in and through the Cross.
Thus our confession of faith does not end up degenerating into a mere “thought terminating cliche” that we mutter over and over again – this is a danger when we reduce it to a mere dogma that we need to check the box on, or a mantra we repeat over and over. Rather, “the Word becomes flesh,” and we encounter him in the flesh, continually broken open and breaking us open to the dynamic eternity of the God who is not some static Creator, but an unending dance beyond time.
The word of the oath, which came later than the law, appoints a Son who has been made perfect forever.
- Hebrews 7:28
Twenty-Fourth Sunday after Pentecost
Texts for This Week
Prayer
Grant us, Lord, not to be anxious about earthly things, but to love things heavenly; and even now, as we live among things that are passing away, to hold fast to those that shall endure; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
Scriptures
Deuteronomy 6:1–9
Psalm 119:1–16
Hebrews 7:23–28
Mark 12:28–34
Blessed Are Those Whose Way Is Blameless
*Beati Quorum Via,* composed by Charles Villiers Stanford, is a rare gem of English choral music—a gentle yet powerful meditation on blessedness, drawn from Psalm 119:1: "Blessed are those whose way is blameless, who walk in the law of the Lord." Written for six-part choir, this motet lifts us into an ethereal landscape where sound, time, and meaning seem to dissolve into sheer reverence. Stanford’s setting is far from an austere prescription of righteousness; rather, it is a musical pilgrimage, a slow revelation of beauty that invites the listener into the blessedness of surrender.
Stanford, an Irish-born composer of the English Romantic era, brings a distinctly English restraint to *Beati Quorum Via,* holding the tension between grandeur and humility. Each line builds almost imperceptibly, layering voices upon voices in close harmony until the music envelops us. Here, harmony itself becomes an act of worship, an embodiment of unity in diversity, as if we are overhearing the psalmist’s meditation rising in concentric rings from still waters. The six voices, rich and resonant, seem to ascend and expand beyond their earthly bounds, suggesting that to “walk in the law of the Lord” is not merely to obey but to dwell within a reality more beautiful and vast than we can comprehend.
There is an intriguing lack of tension or conflict in Stanford’s harmonic progressions; he does not disrupt the peace but rather leans into it, crafting a contemplative soundscape that feels somehow inevitable, as though the music is not being composed but uncovered. Here, the concept of “blamelessness” is less a moral striving than a state of grace—a rest in divine intention. And so, *Beati Quorum Via* resonates almost sacramentally, with each note a small act of yielding, echoing St. Augustine’s vision of the “restless heart” finding repose in God.
This motet, therefore, isn’t a rousing declaration but a gentle invocation of a kingdom not of this world. In Stanford’s hands, blessedness is not a reward for moral rigor but an invitation to walk a path of quiet devotion, a pathway gently winding between heaven and earth. It’s a reminder that the way of the blameless is not a mere observance of rules but a way of seeing and hearing—the senses attuned to a deeper harmony, even within the limitations and fractures of our humanity. As the music fades, we are left with the echo of a profound truth: blessedness is less about perfection than about surrender, a blessedness found not in striving, but in simple, reverent presence before the Creator.
