Across the river, on a chair

Not too long ago, when the wife and I attended a funeral mass at the cathedral, a chair caught my attention. It sat (chairs also sit — they go with a sitting position) on the left side of the sanctuary, which had other seats on it, which however contrasted with and emphasized the importance of this one chair by reason of its grand, florid style. It did not take me long to conclude that it belonged to the bishop, and that it symbolized his position as shepherd of the diocese. (“Shepherd” might require a simpler, humbler chair — but, to the extent that human art can make this possible, churches ought likewise to display the majesty of God, of whose authority the chair ultimately serves as reminder.)

In fact, according to tradition, St. Peter, the first head of the Catholic Church, officially used only a wooden chair as Bishop of Rome. (In Latin, chair is “cathedra,” from which comes the word “cathedral” — the church of a bishop). In the 17th century, the Italian sculptor, Gian Lorenzo Bernini, enclosed the wooden chair within a gilt bronze casing. It now hangs above the altar of St. Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican.

Historically, privilege dictated the use of the chair, which in Europe became an ordinary item of furniture only beginning with the Renaissance.

Thus, I did not find it surprising when, in the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus spoke of “the chair of Moses” on which the scribes and Pharisees had taken their seat. Jesus might have referred to the chair metaphorically, as symbol of the authority of the Pharisees, who viewed the Jewish scripture, the Torah, through the prism of Moses’ law. (Sources say that the synagogues had such a chair, but this was at a time after Matthew had written his Gospel).

Jesus did not countermand the authority of the Pharisees. He, however, warned the crowds and his disciples about the hypocrisy of the former — “[D]o and observe all things whatsoever they tell you, but do not follow their example. For they preach but they do not practice.” (Incidentally, from this evolved the idiom, the dubious parental advice — “Do as I say and not as I do.”)

Jesus went on to elaborate on the Pharisees’ hypocrisy. “They tie up heavy burdens (hard to carry) and lay them on people’s shoulders, but they will not lift a finger to move them. All their works are performed to be seen. They widen their phylacteries and lengthen their tassels. They love places of honor at banquets, seats of honor in synagogues, greetings in marketplaces, and the salutation ‘Rabbi.’”

By way of summary, Jesus said, “The greatest among you must be your servant. Whoever exalts himself will be humbled; but whoever humbles himself will be exalted.”

Jesus set this as the bottom line for discipleship — humble service.

I remember years ago when time and use caused the bridge that served as our only passage across a river to collapse. Making matters worse, the rains made it difficult for us to wade out to the other side. Enterprising folk found an opportunity in our difficulty and ransacked their living rooms for seats, which they carried two by two, to ferry the people across the river for a fee. A ride on a chaise longue, on which one could recline or lie down if one wished, cost more than on a Windsor chair, as did a kingly wooden chair, ornately embellished and with pads — the same intended for seigneurial use, by a person of authority, such as the male family head (whom I then suspected was the front bearer of the love seat on which the wife and I perched as we moved gingerly across the current).

And so it happened that we told the bearers to do as we said, to set the chair down on the other bank, where we could safely get off. No doubt, we imposed a burden on the bearers, ourselves. But they did not complain, and we did not feel Pharisaical, because we had made our engagement clear.

So, after we had received the service, it would have been unjust and dangerous, if not an utter hypocrisy, for us not to pay. And, which did not happen, absolutely Christian of them to refuse the payment.