Ezekiel's terrifying vision of slaughter in the sanctuary and Christ's quiet instruction about confronting a brother seem to inhabit different worlds — until one reads both as descriptions of an interior process of discrimination. These reflections draw on the esoteric interpretive tradition that Nicoll articulated but move into territory he did not explicitly map: the question of which parts of ourselves can be saved and which cannot, and what it means to "bind" or "loose" at the level where psychology and spirit converge. This is offered not as theology but as an experiment in self-observation.
First reading
From the Book of Ezekiel — Ezekiel 9:1-7,10:18-22
He cried also in mine ears with a loud voice, saying, Cause them that have charge over the city to draw near, even every man with his destroying weapon in his hand.
And, behold, six men came from the way of the higher gate, which lies toward the north, and every man a slaughter weapon in his hand; and one man among them was clothed with linen, with a writer’s inkhorn by his side: and they went in, and stood beside the brasen altar.
And the glory of the God of Israel was gone up from the cherub, whereupon he was, to the threshold of the house. And he called to the man clothed with linen, which had the writer’s inkhorn by his side;
And the LORD said unto him, Go through the midst of the city, through the midst of Jerusalem, and set a mark upon the foreheads of the men that sigh and that cry for all the abominations that be done in the midst thereof.
And to the others he said in mine hearing, Go you after him through the city, and smite: let not your eye spare, neither have you pity:
Slay utterly old and young, both maids, and little children, and women: but come not near any man upon whom is the mark; and begin at my sanctuary. Then they began at the ancient men which were before the house.
And he said unto them, Defile the house, and fill the courts with the slain: go you forth. And they went forth, and slew in the city.
Then the glory of the LORD departed from off the threshold of the house, and stood over the cherubims.
And the cherubims lifted up their wings, and mounted up from the earth in my sight: when they went out, the wheels also were beside them, and every one stood at the door of the east gate of the LORD’S house; and the glory of the God of Israel was over them above.
This is the living creature that I saw under the God of Israel by the river of Chebar; and I knew that they were the cherubims.
Every one had four faces apiece, and every one four wings; and the likeness of the hands of a man was under their wings.
And the likeness of their faces was the same faces which I saw by the river of Chebar, their appearances and themselves: they went every one straight forward.
Gospel
From the Gospel of Matthew — Matthew 18:15-20
Moreover if your brother shall trespass against you, go and tell him his fault between you and him alone: if he shall hear you, you have gained your brother.
But if he will not hear you, then take with you one or two more, that in the mouth of two or three witnesses every word may be established.
And if he shall neglect to hear them, tell it unto the church: but if he neglect to hear the church, let him be unto you as an heathen man and a publican.
Verily I say unto you, Whatsoever you shall bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatsoever you shall loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.
Again I say unto you, That if two of you shall agree on earth as touching any thing that they shall ask, it shall be done for them of my Father which is in heaven.
For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.
— Interpretation —
Let us begin with the most disturbing image in today’s readings, because it is precisely the disturbing images that esoteric teaching most often uses to arrest our mechanical attention and force us to think in a new way.
Six men enter the city with slaughter weapons. One man among them is different — he is clothed in linen, and he carries not a weapon but a writer’s inkhorn. He is instructed to go through the city and mark the foreheads of those who “sigh and cry for all the abominations.” Then the six are told to destroy everything unmarked — old and young, without pity — beginning at the sanctuary itself.
If one takes this literally, one arrives at a monstrous God. And this is exactly where literal-mindedness always arrives when it encounters the language of transformation: at monstrosity, at absurdity, at despair. The literalist reads and is either repelled or forced into apologetics. Both responses miss the point entirely.
Now consider that this is a vision — Ezekiel’s vision — and that the city is not a geographical location but the whole inner life of a man or woman. Jerusalem, in the language of parable, always has this double meaning: the holy city, the place where God dwells, the organized totality of one’s inner world. And within this inner city there are many inhabitants. There are thoughts, attitudes, habits of feeling, long-established identifications, ancient assumptions. Some of these are in the sanctuary itself — that is, they occupy the most central and protected place in our sense of who we are.
The mark on the forehead — notice it is on the forehead, the place of consciousness, of awareness — is given only to those who “sigh and cry” for the abominations. What does this mean psychologically? It means that within us there exist certain finer perceptions, certain moments of genuine conscience, that actually suffer when they see what we have become. They are not comfortable. They do not rationalize. They grieve. These inner movements are marked, set apart, preserved.
Everything else — everything mechanical, everything self-satisfied, everything that has installed itself in the sanctuary and pretends to be sacred — must go. The destruction begins at the sanctuary. This is the most remarkable detail. It does not begin at the periphery. It begins at the very center of our false worship, our deepest self-deceptions, the lies we have elevated to the status of the holy.
And then the Glory departs. It lifts from the threshold and stands over the cherubim, and the cherubim rise on their wings and move to the east gate. The Glory does not remain in a defiled house. It withdraws — not in punishment, but because higher meaning cannot inhabit a structure that has been given over entirely to mechanical life. It moves eastward, which in the symbolic language always means toward the place of new light, new beginning.
Now turn to the Gospel, and see how Christ speaks of something remarkably parallel but in a quieter register. “If your brother shall trespass against you, go and tell him his fault between you and him alone.” This is not social etiquette. This is instruction about the inner work of discrimination. When something in us goes wrong — when one part of us offends against what we know to be true — the first movement is private, interior, a quiet confrontation within oneself. Can this part hear? Can it respond?
If not, “take with you one or two more.” Bring more awareness to bear. Let the observation deepen. Let two or three inner witnesses establish the truth of what is happening.
And if the offending element still refuses — if a deeply mechanical habit simply will not yield to awareness, to conscience, to repeated inner effort — then “let him be unto you as a heathen man and a publican.” That is, recognize it as something that does not belong to the inner city. Do not go on pretending it is part of your real self.
“Whatsoever you shall bind on earth shall be bound in heaven.” What you identify with below, you are bound to above. What you release below, you are released from above. This is not a grant of ecclesiastical power. It is a statement of psychological law.
And then, that extraordinary final line: “Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.” When even a small number of these marked, awake, grieving-for-truth parts of yourself come together in genuine alignment — not in the name of self-will but in the name of something higher — then something appears in their midst that was not there before. A presence. A new quality of being.
The man with the inkhorn is still walking through your city. The question is whether anything in you sighs.
Photo by Renee Kiffin on Unsplash
Scripture: Unified English Version — an original rendering synthesized from the King James and New American Bible translations
