4th Week in Ordinary Time Year B

4th Sunday in Ordinary Time 2024

Deuteronomy 18:15-20; 1 Cor 7:32-35; Mark 1:21-28

After going all Greek last week, I am going to even things up today by going Latin. I suspect that I may be repeating myself from a few years ago, but I am working on the assumption that if anyone was listening then, they will have forgotten by now, so I should be in the clear.

I want to draw your attention to the two Latin words for “authority”, which are imperium and auctoritas. Why, you may ask, does Latin have two words where English has only one? The problem lies with the English, which has one word with two different meanings. The English word “authority” can mean “power” as in “the judge has the authority to send you to prison”, or “moral force”: “I have it on good authority that you are all wise and holy people”.

In Latin, the former sense is conveyed by imperium, the latter by auctoritas, and ideally the two should go together, but in practice this is not always the case. Imperium gives us such words as imperial, imperious, empire, emperor; and there have been emperors in history with great power, but no moral force. Sadly, this situation can still be seen today, and is on the increase. Think of dictators, and would be dictators, whose numbers are on the rise: Putin in Russia, Lukashenko in Belarus, Xi Jing Ping in China, Kim in North Korea, potentially Trump in America; much imperium but little or no auctoritas.

The latter word has its roots in the verb augeo-ere meaning “to increase” “to cause to grow”. In this  sense, authority should cause its subjects to grow, to be enhanced. It works for the benefit, not the diminution, of others.

In which sense is the word applied to Jesus in today’s Gospel? Is it fair to say that it is both? Jesus knows what He is talking about, which the people see as a contrast with their scribes. He also has power, making the unclean spirits subject to Him.

“That is all very interesting”, you may say (or you may say the opposite) “but what has it to do with us?” How well do those two words imperium and auctoritas coincide in your life, and in the life of the Church? If you are in a position to tell others what to do, what is your moral basis when you do so? Do you know what you are talking about? Do you practise what you preach? And does your authority help others to grow?

Conversely, do those who have imperium over us also have auctoritas? Looking back to my Grammar School days in the 60s, I cannot say that the often arbitrary and unjust imperium helped us to grow and develop positively. What can we say about life today? I suspect that there are many things wrong with the way we are governed, but we are still in a healthier situation than many countries around the world.

But what about the Church? Do preaching and teaching in the Church demonstrate auctoritas, do they encourage people to grow, or could the phrase “unlike the scribes” be applied to us?

Certainly, there have been many instances in the Church in which imperium has been misused. The abuse crisis comes to mind, as does the scandal of forced adoptions. Probably all of us can recount tales of bullying parish priests, whether with regard to their curates or their parishioners, and of cruel Mothers Superior. Please God, those days are largely behind us, but can each of us say, hand on heart, that we always practise what we preach, or that our “religious talk” in whatever form is always constructive, always likely to build up those who hear us?

Perhaps, first and foremost, this applies to the attitude and behaviour of priests towards our parishioners, but every Christian has the power to influence others by words and behaviour. Maybe each of us is left with a double question today: are there areas in my life in which I have imperium, and do I always bring auctoritas  to bear? And perhaps next week, I shall revert to English.

2nd Sunday Ordinary Time Year B

2nd Sunday in Ordinary Time 2024

1 Sam 3:3-10, 19; 1Cor 6:13-15, 17-20; John 1:35-42

Some friends of mine began their family with a boy named Samuel, and then a girl whom they called Martha. I wondered if they hoped that Martha would minister to them after Samuel had woken them three times in the night.

Samuel is called by the Lord, but doesn’t know the source of the call, and so turns to Eli: “Here I am, since you called me”. (You have to feel sorry for Eli, an old man, trying to get some sleep, and being continually woken up by this pesky brat.) It takes time for Eli to understand, but at length he realises that the call is coming from God.

What has this episode to say to us? Firstly, God calls us, each one of us, perhaps more often than we realise. He nudges us in a certain direction, gives us hints, awakens our conscience, sometimes gives us signs of His love which should arouse our gratitude. Sometimes, we cannot interpret these nudges for ourselves: at such times we may need a friend, an adviser, even a spiritual director, who can help us with that interpretation. We shouldn’t treat them as a guru, hanging on every word they say, but we can often receive helpful advice from someone with an element of experience and wisdom, as Eli had experience and wisdom in recognising the things of God.

Can we, can you, sometimes fulfil that role for others? It is not a matter of being a busybody, poking our nose into other people’s lives, or believing that we have  the answer to other people’s questions: rather, it is having the ability to listen, the patience to ponder, and the gumption to recognise a need and to offer a suggestion, without attempting to foist our own opinion onto anybody.

In order to do that, we need, like Eli, to have a friendship with God developed through times of prayer and reflection. We need too some experience of life, so that we are not delivering airy platitudes. We need, as Pope Francis puts it, to live with the smell of the sheep, and this applies to lay people as well as to priests and religious. All of us, all of you, are both sheep and shepherds. We need the wisdom to let ourselves be guided, but there will also be situations in which we have the wisdom and experience to guide others.

God had a particular vocation in mind for Samuel, as He has a particular vocation for each of us. I would like to mention the specific vocation to priesthood or consecrated life, which God has, I suspect, for more people than are aware of it. From talking to a number of younger people, both men and women, I have the feeling that some are looking for something close to cast iron certainty. It is as if they won’t take the risk unless Jesus appears to them, or sends His Mother, to say “You definitely have a vocation to whatever it may be”.

It doesn’t work like that. We have to go with the balance of probabilities. Benjamin Franklin, one of the Founding Fathers of the United States, is alleged to have said that there is nothing certain in life except death and taxes, and there is some truth in that. Anyone who is waiting for absolute certainty about priesthood or consecrated life will wait for ever, and will wait in vain. You have to follow hints and nudges.

Personally, I recall three things which suggested to me that I ought to take seriously the possibility of a vocation to priesthood; three nudges which came in relatively close succession. Firstly, as I was on the point of leaving school, my headmaster, not a Catholic, asked me if I was thinking of becoming a priest. Secondly, a parishioner of my own parish told me that a priest from another parish whom I knew reasonably well, had asked him the same question about me. Thirdly, after I had left school and was working, prior to going to university, I developed a habit, out of nowhere, of dropping in to the Cathedral on my way back to work during my dinner hour to visit the Blessed Sacrament, where I began to feel strongly that this was something which I ought to consider: no certainty, just the balance of probabilities.

We see something similar in the call of the first disciples. John the Baptist points them in the direction of Jesus. They spend time with Him, as I spent time before the Blessed Sacrament. Subsequently, Andrew brings his brother along, and probably John Barzebedee brought his brother James. Thus, seeds are sown, so that when later Jesus spoke to them at the lakeside, they were ready to follow.

Finally, three prayers from today’s readings which I would commend for your use: “Here I am, since you called me”, “Speak, Lord, your servant is listening”, “Here I am. I come to do your will”.

Christmas Dawn Mass

Christmas Dawn Mass 2023

Isaiah 62:11-12; Titus 3:4-7; Luke 2:15-20

Why shepherds? Why are shepherds the first people to be given news of the Saviour’s birth? The theologians have probably considered this question carefully and delivered deep and convincing answers. I am simply going to put in my own three penn’orth.

My first answer, I suppose, would be “because they were there”. It is clear from the Scriptures that shepherds were very much part of the landscape. They are mentioned frequently, whether as themselves or as metaphors, and they would have featured highly in people’s consciousness. Seemingly, there were a lot of them about.

Secondly, they were there at night. It may seem trivial—indeed, it may be so—but the angel and the angel choir had a ready made audience in people who were already awake, and who were separated from the life of the city. If you were looking for a group of alert people to whom to make an announcement, who were better placed than these characters who were sitting on a hilltop, happy to look into the sky?

Is there more to it than that? Well, in the writings of the prophets, and in the psalms, shepherds were often exalted, even to the extent of being a metaphor for God. How often is God identified as a shepherd? “Oh shepherd of Israel hear us; shine forth from your cherubim throne” prays Psalm 79 (80), while Sunday by Sunday at Sext we recite Psalm 22(23): “The Lord is my shepherd; there is nothing I shall want”.

The prophet Ezekiel, in chapter 34, has a lengthy diatribe against worthless shepherds, concluding with God’s promise to take on Himself the shepherding of His people, a promise fulfilled when, in the New Testament, Jesus identified Himself as the Good Shepherd, and when, in St. Matthew’s Gospel (25:31ff) He used the example of a shepherd’s work in His parable of the Last Judgement. In both Old and New Testaments we find references to God’s loving care for His people, frequently expressed as the concern of a loving shepherd for His flock.

Thus, at one level, shepherds occupied a high place in popular consciousness, as being worthy of comparison with God. It therefore seems appropriate that they should be chosen as the first witnesses of God’s ultimate descent into the world as One who would become the epitome of shepherding for all God’s people.

Yet in spite of their exalted scriptural status, shepherds were nonetheless ordinary working men (and women?) Indeed, they were shift workers, a role which we normally associate with what we might call a working class identity. Although their work was essential, it did not put them among the ranks of those to whom St. Paul refers as “influential people”.

This is, in itself, consistent with Jesus’ insistence that He has come to bring the Good News to the poor. He will thank His Father for hiding the mysteries of the Kingdom from “the learned and the clever and revealing them to mere children”. The shepherds were not children, though there may have been shepherd boys among them, nor were they likely to be ranked among “the learned and the clever”.

Both their scriptural dignity and their everyday ordinariness qualify the shepherds to be the first recipients of the Good News, the first witnesses of the Incarnation. Yet they are more even than that: they are the first proclaimers of the Good News, the first apostles. They astonish everyone, we are told, by passing on the angel’s message: then they go back, “glorifying and praising God for all that they had heard and seen”. Among the crowds thronging Bethlehem that night, they must have made a profound impression, probably triggering a rush to the stable by hoi polloi, the revellers and the gawpers, who would no doubt pass on the Good News in their turn.

Thus we arrive at the perennial question (the Pink question, as I call it)  “What about us?” What have we seen and heard? What impression has it made on us? Can we take away something from Mass this morning which we can share with others? Have you and I encountered the God who was born for us, who took upon Himself everything human except sin (which is, in any case, a distortion of humanity)? Have you allowed Him to enter deeply into you, to become part of you, so that you too can go back “glorifying and praising God” who is always newborn into the world?

Christmas Day Mass 2023

Christmas Day Mass 2023

Isaiah 52:7-10; Hebrews 1:1-6; John 1:1-18

You may remember when that Gospel was read every day at the end of Mass. The priest would dismiss the people—Ite Missa est—but nobody left. Instead, we all stood as the priest and one server made their way to the “Gospel side” of the altar, where the priest would read the Last Gospel, as it was called; this passage from the Gospel of St. John.

Historians of the liturgy could no doubt tell you when and why this was tagged onto the end of Mass, as tagged on it was. I am assuming that it happened at the time of, and in response to, some heresy which denied the divinity of Christ. At any rate, it was thought important enough to be proclaimed to the people, albeit in Latin, every day for centuries.

And today it is read as our Christmas Gospel. Why? I would say that it explains the full meaning, the full significance, of the event. From St. Luke’s Gospel, and to an extent from St. Matthew’s, we hear what happened. That s fine, as far as it goes. From Luke, we learn of the fulfilment of God’s promises to the Jewish people; whilst Matthew, by telling us of the visit of the Wise Men, reveals that this child was not only the Jewish Messiah, but was born for the Gentiles also, the non-Jewish people, you and me.

Yet without John’s account, it might still not be clear who this Messiah, this Redeemer, actually is. The angel told Mary that He would be called Son of God, but St. John takes us further and deeper, revealing that the Bethlehem event is nothing less than the Incarnation, the taking flesh, of God Himself.

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God…..and the Word became flesh and dwelt amongst us.”

This is the final piece of the jigsaw. Luke shows us the Jewish Messiah, Matthew shows us that He was born for Gentiles as well as Jews. John now reveals His full identity. He is the Word made flesh, God from all eternity, sharing God’s work of creation, enlightening all humanity, and now being born as the human being named Jesus. The history is complete: salvation is brought to us by One who is both God and man. He would have to undergo death and resurrection to complete His task, but now salvation is revealed, and it is John, at the beginning of His Gospel, who reveals it.

3rd Sunday of Advent Year B

3rd Sunday of Advent 2023

Isaiah 61: 1-2, 10-11; 1Thess 5: 16-24; John 1:6-8, 19-28

Those of you who are of a certain vintage may remember Adam Faith, singer and heart-throb of the early 1960s, who moved into acting, before dying still young. He is famous for singing some of the shortest songs ever recorded, and his most familiar hit is probably “What do you want (if you don’t want money)?”.

Another, perhaps less well known, had the title “Who am I?”, a question which recurred as a refrain throughout the song. It is a question which many people ask themselves today, sometimes coming up with rather peculiar answers relating to sex and gender; but it is also a question which all of us could usefully ask ourselves from time to time.

How would you define yourself? As a husband or wife, widow or widower, single person, religious sister, priest? Would you think of yourself first in terms of your occupation, as a teacher, engineer, factory worker, secretary, retired person? Or would it be in terms of your political convictions, as a Labour supporter, Lib Dem, Tory, or Green? Then, what about your religious outlook, your membership of the Church? When it comes down to “hey lads hey”, who are you?

One vital answer is provided by the prophet Trito-Isaiah (Third Isaiah) in today’s First Reading. This prophet, writing the final part of the Book of Isaiah, when the returned exiles had settled in Judah and Jerusalem, says on his own behalf, but in words which apply also to you and me:

“The Spirit of the Lord has been given to me, for the Lord has anointed me. He has sent me to bring good news to the poor, to bind up hearts that are broken; to proclaim liberty to captives, freedom to those in prison; to proclaim a year of favour from the Lord.”

Has it occurred to you that those prophetic words apply to you, that they express at least part of who you are? The Spirit of the Lord has been given to you, and you have been anointed, at your baptism and confirmation, when you were anointed with the oil of catechumens and the oil of chrism, an effective sign that the Holy Spirit had indeed descended on you. You, then, are to bring good news to the poor, to bind broken hearts, to proclaim liberty to those who are imprisoned by suffering, poverty, addiction, loneliness, shyness or whatever. You are to proclaim a year of favour from the Lord.

How are you to do this? As I suggested last week, it is a matter of action, not words, of being truly who you are, and who you are called to be. Last week, someone responding to my homily reminded me of the words of Pope St. Paul VI: “The modern world listens to witnesses rather than to teachers, and if they listen to teachers it is because they are also witnesses”.

You are people who are called to live out your baptism by being a presence of Christ in the world. “Authenticity” is a key word. You must actually be that presence: it must be part of who you are, as indeed it is, precisely because of your baptism.

In some sense, you must also be John the Baptist, that great Advent figure, preparing a way for the Lord in the wilderness of today’s world. You will notice that John identifies himself firstly by banishing false impressions. He is not the Christ, nor Elijah, nor the Prophet, though Our Lord would indeed identify him as Elijah.

Perhaps you have to do the same. People may have wrong impressions of you. Again, it will be actions rather than words which will clear away those notions. If you are being true to yourself, if you are genuinely living out your baptismal anointing, if you are seeking to bring healing, support, strength, in small or great ways, in the context of a suffering world, you will indeed be John the Baptist, preparing a way for the Lord. Even more, you will be for people a presence of the Lord Himself, and you will be answering fully the question “Who am I?”.

2nd Sunday Advent Year B

2nd Sunday of Advent 2023

Isaiah 40: 1-5, 9-11; 2 Peter 3:8-14; Mark 1:1-8

Today’s First Reading, from the Book of the prophecies of Isaiah, is gloriously beautiful. It is taken from that part of the Book which we attribute to the prophet known as Deutero-Isaiah, or Second Isaiah, and it is the beginning of his contribution, set in the context of the return of the Jewish people from exile in Babylon, effectively a second Exodus.

It begins with the words “’Console my people, console them’ says your God”. Do you need to be consoled? Perhaps not at this precise moment, but there will have been times in your life when you needed consolation, and there will be again; times of loss or of bereavement, times of bewilderment and confusion, times of loneliness or of deep sorrow, the time when you will be conscious of the closeness of death.

Where will you find consolation? It will come from God, but it may be brought to you by others, since God gives the order to human beings “Console my people”. From the mother who solemnly inspected the wound when you fell and grazed your knee, before hugging you to herself, to the friend who stood beside you, perhaps silently, at your time of greatest loss, God sends you consolers, as well as being close to you Himself in your times of prayer.

And God sends you to console others. Do you respond to that sending? Are you prepared to be a presence of the consoling Christ to those who need consolation? Will you offer a quiet word, a hand on the shoulder, a hug, a brew of tea or coffee, maybe a silent presence? “’Console my people, console them’ says your God.”

“Speak to the heart of Jerusalem.” How important is it to speak to the heart of another, to pass beneath the surface of pious platitudes or superficial heartiness, to realise what makes that person tick, to recognise where the pain lies? And how important is it to come before God in the silence of our prayer, to reveal our true self, which we may call our “heart”, to Him? Cor ad cor loquitur—heart speaks to heart—was the motto of St. John Henry Newman, and it could usefully be our motto too. “Speak to the heart of Jerusalem” and to the hearts of those in need.

“Prepare in the wilderness a way for the Lord.” Where is the wilderness? Forty one years ago last week, I embarked on my first parish mission with the Catholic Missionary Society, knocking on the doors of people supposedly on the parish register of Our Lady of the Rosary, Marylebone, London. Was that a wilderness? Oh yes! The register was years out of date: a high proportion of the people had moved on or died. So many people there were birds of passage, as much of the parish was bedsit land; a number preferred to conduct a conversation from an upstairs window; several were suspicious; a few were friendly and welcoming. Did I prepare a way for the Lord? The Lord alone knows. Are there wildernesses in society today? Not half! Can you or I prepare in them a way for the Lord?

Well, maybe you can. You can smile at people, or give them a nod or a friendly word in passing. Even that basic human contact is missing from many people’s lives. As people get to know you, they will discover that you are Catholics: you do not need to, nor should you, buttonhole them with terrifying approaches such as “Have you heard the good news of the Lord Jesus?” Better to be a presence of the Lord Jesus.

I am positive that neither my mother nor my father ever attempted to proselytise any of their customers during the three decades that they served the good folk, and indeed the bad and the ugly, of our part of Scotforth, at the southern end of Lancaster. Yet everyone knew they were Catholics, and many of them, I am sure, felt better after buying their sweets or ciggies from the shop. Melvin, the local juvenile tearaway, on his release from his latest spell behind bars, announced to his family, “I am going to Mr. Keefe’s tonight for a chat”, where he might well have been in company with Norman Wood, the detective who had locked him up. It is within the power of all of us to prepare a way for the Lord, simply by being the kindest people and the most honest Catholics that we can be.

To a degree, I am uneasy about the filling in of the valleys, the levelling of the mountains. I am always drawn back to my journey, on this Sunday in 1986, from Keswick, where I was then based at the Diocesan Youth Centre, Castlerigg Manor, to Windermere, to stand in for the parish priest, who was ill. It was a glorious winter morning, a golden sun beaming from a cloudless sky, lighting and brightening the fells, making the wavelets dance and glisten in the succession of lakes which I passed; and as I reflected on the Mass readings, I found myself thinking “Oh! Not these mountains and hills, please Lord; they are much too beautiful”.

The prophet here is speaking of easing the journey for the returning exiles. If we imagine the Lakeland fells surviving untouched, we can nonetheless try to smooth out any obstacles which stand in the way of our, and others’, journey to God: bad habits, indifference, lethargy. Indeed, we can take on board all the comfort which this reading offers, and we can strive to share it with others. Thus we, no less than John the Baptist, can prepare in the wilderness a way for the Lord.

Pastoral letter 1st Sunday Advent Year B

APPOINTED TO BE READ AT ALL PUBLIC MASSES IN ALL CHURCHES AND CHAPELS IN THE DIOCESE OF LANCASTER  ON THE WEEKEND OF  3rd December 2023

 My dear people,

Stay awake! What an appropriate way for me to address you as you settle back to listen to this Advent Pastoral Letter! Of course, these words come from the Lord Himself, and are addressed to each of us. How are we to understand this command He makes to His disciples? Let me ask you three more questions. What happens when we stay awake but let our Faith sleep? What consequences can we expect when we let our Charity sleep? What suffers when our Hope in Christ is dormant? See how we can be awake to all the joys and sorrows of this world, but live our lives as if Jesus never came, never spoke, and never taught us. We will live as if He never gave us His peace, joy, forgiveness, love or the gift of Himself or the gift of the Holy Spirit. 

To let Faith, Hope and Charity sleep leaves us with nothing more than what this passing world has to offer. It leaves us with nothing more than ‘chance-charity’, random fortune and hope founded on nothing more than our own efforts. Something deep in every human heart will not accept this and refuses to be satisfied by what will not last. 

When Faith sleeps society will be at liberty to re-design life, including human life. God-given truths will be lost sight of, and truth itself will be redefined in order to serve lesser purposes. The way of the Good Shepherd will not be known, so other ways will have to be created leading to other goals set by other people. Life itself will be measured by arbitrary values that are themselves constantly being changed. 

Stay awake! Our Lord addresses these words to your Faith, your Hope and your Charity. Keep them nourished on the Gospel, the living Word of God. Keep them refreshed by meeting Christ regularly in the Mass where we are joined to the Body of Christ and saved from the dangers of isolation. When Faith, Hope and Charity are awake and alert we can recognise Jesus as our Messiah. We can understand the place of trials, suffering, disappointment and even failure, and still retain Hope because it is not built on our own effort or what is mundane; it is built on the Divine. 

You already know that the purpose of Advent is to prepare us to celebrate the coming of our Saviour, Jesus Christ. You know of His first coming, in the womb of Mary, nine months before His birth in Bethlehem. You know of His Second Coming at the end of time, when He will come to judge the living and the dead. You also know how He comes to each of us in these days, in ways that are personal, profound, and miraculous. A wide-awake Faith tells us that His coming – in whatever way – is always and intervention of the Divine into the temporal, utterly of God, out of love for sinners. It tells us that the Lord has not given up on us but sees something in us we often do not see ourselves. 

Stay awake! These words are for you because you must stay awake for the good of others. You are asked to keep Faith for the good of those who have lost theirs. You must be hopeful for others who can see no reason for hope. You must live charity, particularly where it is not yet known and not welcomed. Thus, those who are awake to the things of this created order may catch their first glimpse of the Creator, who made all things not out of nothing, but out of love. 

There are those in society who must work when others sleep. Perhaps some of you listening to this Pastoral Letter are among them. Such work seems to put you out of step with others. It can be the same for us, we may appear out of step with many around us. But the work is important, the shift must be done, and Christ call us to it. As we begin this new Advent, let us remember with gratitude what Christ has done for love of us. His promise of eternal happiness still holds good, and even begins to spill over into this life. How? By keeping awake your Faith, your Hope, and your Charity. 

With my blessing, 

Rt Rev Paul Swarbrick

Bishop of Lancaster

Christ the King Year A

Christ the King 2023

Ezekiel 34:11-12, 15-17; 1 Corinthians 15:20-26, 28; Matthew 25: 31-46

No matter how hard I try, I cannot see today’s feast as anything other than a sore thumb. Its origins were political, as it was introduced by Pope Pius XI in the inter-war years, as a counterblast to the rival ideologies of communism and fascism: the Pope was anxious to emphasise that Christ alone, and not any political system, can command our complete loyalty.

Some of you will remember when it was very much a triumphalist feast. It was celebrated on the last Sunday in October and often entailed a Blessed Sacrament procession, replete with smells and bells. The reforms of Pope St. Paul VI transferred it to the last Sunday of the Church’s year, and removed the triumphalist element by placing at the centre either the suffering Christ of the Passion (Years B and C) or, as today, the Christ to be encountered in suffering humankind.

It can also be suggested that Christ the King was a feast of its time. Today, kings are few and far between, and those who remain tend to be figureheads, rather than wielders of power. Even in our own country, monarchy appears to have lost some of its lustre since the death of Elizabeth II, who had been, for more than seventy years, an integral part of national life.

So whilst today’s readings are pertinent to the time of year, their focus might be still clearer if the title Christ the King were to be omitted, and we were to see this simply as the 34th Sunday in Ordinary Time.

What are these readings? The passage from the prophet Ezekiel and the Psalm depict God as the shepherd of His flock, caring for them, including the weak and the strays, feeding them with good things. Nevertheless, Ezekiel gives warning of a judgement to come.

This concept of judgement lurks behind the extract from St. Paul, who points us towards the end of time. The resurrection of Jesus the Christ foreshadows and brings about the resurrection of all the dead, but, as Paul points out elsewhere, it will be a resurrection to judgement. Paul speaks of the enemies of Christ being put beneath His feet, and indeed being destroyed.

What will be the basis of that judgement? In the passage from St. Matthew’s Gospel, we are re-introduced to the concept of God as shepherd; yet, at the end of time, this same shepherd will appear as God the King and Supreme Judge. Furthermore, it will be in the person of Christ that God will perform these roles. The basis of judgement will be our love and service, or lack of it, of Christ Himself present in those who suffer.

Some commentators claim that, in speaking of “these brothers and sisters of mine” (adelphoi) Jesus is limiting His self-identification to Christians, as though He is not to be found in those who are not His followers. Personally, I do not find this convincing nor, I believe, does the Church. When He is speaking of those who failed to serve Him, Our Lord refers to “one of the least of these”, omitting the word “adelphoi”.

Furthermore, despite His insistence that He was “sent only to the lost sheep of the House of Israel” Jesus was far from limiting His compassion only to His own followers. Likewise, when He answered the question “Who is my neighbour?” His parable of the Good Samaritan emphasised that the neighbour whom we are commanded to love “as ourselves” is not necessarily the person of our own faith or race.

All people are created in the image and likeness of God: does not this imply that God, in the person of Christ, identifies Himself with every person? My suspicion is that those who wish to see Christ as being served or ignored only in Christians are motivated by an excessive concern to emphasise justification by faith alone and to exclude good works.

Where then will we encounter Christ? Not, in this life, in the role of a king: that will occur only at our judgement. Where then? Do not His own words point to everywhere: everywhere indeed that we come across human beings who in one way or another reproduce the sufferings of Christ?  Every face is the face of Christ, and we must treat every person as Christ if we are to be counted among the sheep who are called to eternal life.

33rd Week Year A

 Attempt at 33rd Sunday 2023

Proverbs 31:10ff; 1 Thessalonians 5:1-6; Matthew 25:14-30

Is that fair? After all, the third servant hasn’t actually done anything wrong. He hasn’t stolen his master’s money, or gambled it away. You might even argue that he has been prudent in keeping it safe, rather than risk losing it by speculating in the financial markets. And yet, he is not merely criticised: he is condemned to be cast out into the darkness. Why? And what are the implications for us?

The issue is that the servants were all given opportunities by the master, and were expected to seize those opportunities. The third servant, whether from timidity or indifference, chose to reject the opportunity he received, to bury his talent, to ignore it, to allow it to go to waste.

A talent, in the ancient world, was a piece of metal representing a large sum of money. To bury it, as the third servant did, was effectively to disdain his master’s generosity, to show contempt for him, to turn his back on him. It was too much trouble to do anything with the talent: better to bury it and forget about it for as long as possible.

Inevitably, I suspect, we view the talents in their modern meaning of abilities. Whether we have few or many of these, we should view them as gifts, and do our best to develop them. To refuse to do so is to insult the giver, who is God.

Does that mean that we are guilty if we do not pursue every talent that we have? That cannot be the case: life is too short and too busy to try to develop every one of our abilities to the full. Take as an example a gifted sportsperson. If s/he is good at one sport, the likelihood is that they will excel at others too. I remember lads at school who shone at football, rugby, cricket, cross country, athletics, everything they turned their hands to. A contemporary of mine told me recently that he was given a hard time by the teacher in charge of cricket, because he opted to play tennis: there simply wasn’t time for both.

Furthermore, as people move into adulthood, other priorities arise, such as earning a living and supporting a family. Not every talent can be developed to the full.

What then does this parable have to say to you and me? It reminds us that all of us have been given gifts by God, some more obvious and some more potentially fruitful than others. There are many people whose greatest talent is to be a loving spouse and, if blessed with children, a good parent. Others may have a great capacity for patience, for bearing with the weaknesses of other people. Every one of us has a duty to work at developing patience, whether it comes easily or not.

For some people, there is a ready discernment of the needs of others, and a capacity to respond. Again, that is something which each and every one of us has a responsibility to develop.

Everyone, unless they are deeply damaged psychologically, has an inbuilt talent for loving. The third servant of the parable is the person who declines to work on that talent, but instead pursues selfishness and a determination to “look after number one”.

You and I have been given the immense gift of knowing God to a greater or lesser degree, of belonging to the Body of Christ which is the Church, of receiving Him in the Eucharist. These are gifts which we must do our best to develop, opening ourselves to God as fully as we are able. It was only a few Sundays ago that we were reminded of the two great commandments of love of God and love of neighbour. If we are truly doing our best to fulfil those commandments, then we shall indeed be making the best use of our talents.

32nd Week Year A

32nd Sunday 2023

Wisdom 6:12-16; 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18; Matthew 25:1-13

Eheu fugaces Postume Postume labuntur anni, as they say in Yealand, and as the Roman poet Horace wrote even earlier: “Alas, my old mate Postumus, the fleeting years slip by”.

This year of 2023 has almost slipped by: we are already deep into the month of remembering—of RE-MEMBERING, of putting together the “membra” or limbs, of the body of Christ—of that month which is sometimes called the kindest month, precisely because it is the month of remembering.

We have already celebrated the interrelated feasts of All Saints and All Souls, which remind us of our belonging to that one body of Christ with all who have gone before us, both those for whom their “perfection”, their “being thoroughly made”, is complete, and those for whom it is still a work in progress. We have remembered the Fifth of November, for what it is worth; and this weekend, we are remembering all who have died in war, and those who are still dying today.

Traditionally, we have devoted Remembrance Sunday to recalling and praying for enlisted people killed in battle, but the nature of modern warfare is such that the vast majority of casualties are now civilians, as we are seeing in Israel/Palestine, and in other parts of the world too numerous to mention, though we mustn’t forget Ukraine, where Putin’s aggression continues to fuel a mounting death toll. There are so many victims to remember, so many conflicts about which to pray for a just and enduring peace.

Here in the northern hemisphere, nature too reminds us of the dying of the year, and hence of our own mortality. Vast quantities of leaves have already fallen, with the remainder to follow; the temperature is dropping and the days are growing shorter. The aches and pains of passing years are exacerbated by cold and damp, and soon footsteps will become more tentative as ice lays traps for the unwary.

Our scripture readings too take on an eschatological or “end of things” tone, which will carry us through the early days of Advent, reminding us that it is a season for preparing not only to recollect the first coming of Christ, but also to ready ourselves for His inevitable second coming; and to be alert to recognise his present coming in every moment and situation of our lives.

Along with remembrance, I would say that alertness is the key word today. It is a word which reminds me of a car sticker which I spotted many years ago—“Be alert: your country needs lerts”—but which carries a vital message: vital in the literal sense of essential for life.

Our first reading, from the Book of Wisdom, gives us the specific instruction “Be on the alert”, while St. Paul’s meditation on death has a similar undertone. Clearly, it is the message of the Gospel parable of the wise and foolish bridesmaids, the later being condemned because they have lacked the gumption to make basic preparations for what is to come. The concluding sentence begins with a word here translated “Stay awake”, which would be better translated “be alert” because both sets of bridesmaids have slept, but the wise have had the sense to make preparations. We are left in no doubt about our own responsibilities, as the sentence ends “because you know neither the day nor the hour”.

Be alert, though, for what? Clearly, for the coming of Christ, but when? At the end of our lives certainly, for which we need to prepare now, as the foolish bridesmaids failed to do, by striving to follow God’s call each day; but that “each day” takes us further and deeper. Christ comes to us in every situation, every moment, every person that we encounter. If we are not alert, we shall fail to recognise Him; we shall fail to respond to His call. And if we are not sufficiently alert to respond to Him now, then the danger is increased that His final coming will find us unprepared.

31st Week Year A

31st Sunday 2023

Malachi 1:14-2:2, 8-10; Psalm 130 (131); 1 Thessalonians 2:7-9,13; Matthew 23:1-12

OUCH! As a priest, that is my response to today’s readings: OUCH! Yes, I know that Malachi is speaking to the priests of the Jewish Temple, and not directly to the priests or the priestly people of the New Covenant; I know that Our Lord is referring to the Scribes and Pharisees; but if the cap fits, you should at least check whether it is truly your size.

In so many ways, there has been so much straying from the way, in terms of sexual abuse by priests, and psychological and physical abuse by religious orders. Of course, this can be, and is, blown out of proportion. The vast majority of abuse cases concern family members, yet there is something outstandingly wicked when the perpetrators are those ordained to love, protect, lead and guide God’s most vulnerable people.

Similarly, when religious orders, who should be witnessing to God’s love, act cruelly, this is particularly egregious, though again it is important to keep a sense of proportion: the great majority of religious have always displayed the compassion of Christ to those in their care; yet as with abusive priests, wrongdoing by institutions, even if not recognised as such by the standards of the time, is especially destructive when carried out in God’s name.

I would add to the mix a particular bugbear of mine, which has been increasing, namely the cowardice of bishops who are so anxious to appear good citizens in worldly terms that they refuse to support innocent priests who are falsely accused. Instead, they tend to suspend priests on mere hearsay, and to encourage both the police and the public to regard such priests as guilty. In terms of Malachi’s strictures, there is still, today, much to repent.

Turning to the Gospel, we priests again have cause to examine our consciences. I am not talking about the silly nonsense put forward by militant anti-Catholics who use Jesus’ words to object to priests being called Father. Our Lord here is clearly pointing to God as the source of all fatherhood, whether spiritual or natural, and as the reference point for all who have the role of teachers.

I am much more concerned about the criticism of the scribes and Pharisees which forms the bulk of Jesus’ complaints. Do we, as priests, practise what we preach? Are we seen as, and are we truly, examples and purveyors of God’s love? The same can be asked of fathers and mothers, which is where Our Lord’s words about fathers are relevant. Does the Church, and do priests, “lay heavy burdens on people’s shoulders” without lifting a finger to move them?

Beware of assuming, as many people are prone to do without serious thought, that the answers to those questions are inevitably to the detriment of priests and of the Church. Jesus Himself tells us to take up His yoke and His burden: not everything that appears to make life more difficult is necessarily bad. As St. Paul told us in a reading during the week, we must share Christ’s sufferings if we are to share His glory.

I am, though, concerned by the rise in many parts of the world, including our own country, of what appear to be manifestations of something which the present Pope has condemned as a sin, namely clericalism. There is a growing tendency to go in for broader phylacteries and longer tassels, to dress up and become the centre of attention, both among younger priests and among the critics of Pope Francis. One of the most prominent of the latter, a disgruntled cardinal, has a tendency to swirl round in a cappa magna, the long train associated with the prince bishops of old.

St. Paul sets the standard for priests, and for all who exercise any form of pastoral care. He compares himself to a mother “feeding and looking after her own children”. That calls to mind Canon David Murphy, a much loved priest of this diocese, who died, relatively young, a little over twenty years ago, and who was nicknamed “Mother Murphy” because of his concern for the welfare of his brother priests. Paul speaks also of his own hard work. This was to earn his living, but it applies also to the work to which a priest should apply himself among his flock.

As an antidote to the self-advertisement which Jesus criticises, we would do well to reflect on today’s psalm. “O Lord, my heart is not proud, nor haughty my eyes….Truly I have set my soul in silence and peace” a sound thought, not only for priests but for all followers of Christ.

30th Week year A

30th Sunday 2023

Exodus 22:20-26; 1 Thessalonians 1:5-10; Matthew 22:34-40

You don’t need me to tell you that all the so-called Synoptic Gospels—Matthew, Mark, and Luke—report an encounter in which Jesus is questioned about the greatest commandment of the Law. In Mark’s Gospel, it is the “good scribe” who questions Him, and who is delighted by His response. In Luke, it is a hostile lawyer, and Our Lord’s answer leads eventually to the parable of the Good Samaritan. Matthew’s account we have just heard; here, His inquisitors are the Pharisees and, like Luke’s lawyer, they are seeking to disconcert Him.

Were these three separate incidents, or different accounts of the same occurrence? That doesn’t matter. What does matter is that all these three evangelists felt that this question and answer were important enough to record, and that, in all of them, Jesus’ answer is the same.

What is this answer? It begins with the First Commandment of the Ten given to Moses on Mount Sinai: “You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and mind”--sometimes the word “strength” is added. Our Lord stresses that “this is the greatest and the first commandment”. Thus far, He is in total agreement with the Law passed on to the people by Moses.

There then comes a rather startling deviation. Instead of continuing with Moses’ list, Jesus takes a different commandment, not from the Book of Exodus, but from the Book of Leviticus: “You must love your neighbour as yourself”. Not only that, but He adds that these two commandments form the whole basis of the Jewish Law and prophets—in other words, what we know as the Old Testament.

A few things strike me. Our Lord hasn’t been asked about the Second Commandment, yet He regards it as essential, and links it inextricably to the First. In Mark’s account, this is enthusiastically endorsed by the scribe who has asked the original question. And Jesus is saying that if you (if we) keep these two commandments, then we shall have encompassed all the rest, and shouldn’t become sidetracked, worrying about the minutiae of graven images, or of coveting your neighbour’s donkey.

“Grand as owt!” I hear you cry. “Lennon and McCartney were right after all. All you need is love, and once I’ve done that, I can do what I like. I quite fancy my neighbour’s wife, even though I’m not too bothered about his donkey.”

Er, no. Jesus doesn’t say that love replaces all the other commandments. It doesn’t nullify them, but completes them. If your love is genuine, then you won’t covet someone else’s wife, or steal, or set up false gods. Love will rule these things out automatically. Our Lord may have simplified things, but He hasn’t made them easier. In fact, He has made them more demanding, because “thou shalt not kill” now encompasses becoming angry, hurling insults, nursing grudges. Love is difficult, and painful, and in one way or another it will bring you to the Cross.

Right then, how do you and I fulfil these commandments? How do we love God in the way that Jesus demands? We don’t achieve it by giving the occasional “nod to God” as a former parish priest of mine used to describe it, turning up reluctantly to Mass, going through the motions, fitting in the odd prayer when we remember, and can be bothered.

We do it by attempting to align our whole lives with God’s will, recognising that He is with us in every moment, that He has a call for us in every situation. Lord, what do you want me to do? What do you want me to do with the rest of my life, with these precious moments, hours, and days that you have given to me? What do you want me to do for others? What do you want me to do for you? What do you want me to do today?

Love takes time and it takes effort. Do you give time to God, or is there always something else which is more important?  I remember being told in the seminary that to say that you haven’t time for something means that it isn’t really important to you. What are your priorities? Where does God feature among them? Do you give God time to operate in your life?

Then, you must love your neighbour as yourself. As I have said before, I don’t think that this means “as much as yourself”. Rather, it implies “as being yourself”. You must see your neighbour—and remember that the parable of the Good Samaritan spreads the concept of neighbour very widely—as part of you. You must have that beautiful quality, compassion—cum passio, suffering with. You must walk in your neighbour’s shoes, live in his/her skin, feel what s/he feels. Then, as the Book of Exodus demands, you will have no desire to “molest the stranger or oppress him” or to be “harsh with the widow or the orphan”, because these people are you.

Your neighbour is all over the world, but s/he is also at home. Somehow, you must love those closest to you, those with whom you have dealings, who may rub up against you—and that may be the most difficult of all. There is no point in being like Mrs. Jellyby in “Bleak House” who is full of philanthropy for people whom she does not know, but who neglects her own family. Lennon and McCartney WERE right. All you need IS love, but by heck, that isn’t an easy option.

29th Week Year A

29th Sunday 2023

Isaiah 45: 1, 4-6; 1 Thessalonians 1:1-5; Matthew 22:15-21

Good old Cyrus: I’m glad he gets a mention. During my first six years as a priest, among other things I taught an A-level Ancient History course, the Greek component of which was entitled “Herodotus and the conflict of Greece and Persia”. Cyrus, as a King of Persia, featured prominently. To the Greeks, he was a baddy, as Greece and Persia were enemies: the Jews, by contrast, revered him because, after conquering Babylon in 538 BC, he allowed the Jewish exiles to return to Israel and Judah, and so was regarded as a hero and a benefactor.

The prophet Deutero-Isaiah (second Isaiah) goes further and describes Cyrus as “the Lord’s anointed”—in Hebrew, His “Messiah: in Greek His “Christ”. This is remarkably high praise for a pagan king who, as the prophet admits, did not know the one true God, yet who was used by God as an instrument for the fulfilling of God’s purpose and the benefit of His chosen people.

This shows s a number of things. It reminds us that history tends to be subjective: in other words, it is written from a particular point of view. I have heard, rightly or wrongly, that, in Northen Ireland, for instance, two different versions of Irish history are taught, depending on whether the school is a Catholic or a state school. In England, a number of Education Secretaries have demanded that the British Empire be depicted as glorious and benign: many people view it as brutal and exploitative. I remember being taught about it in term of battles among European powers for control of various territories, with no consideration being given to its effect, good or bad, on native peoples.

So was Cyrus good or bad? It depended on your point of view. For Greeks he was bad: for Jews good, to the extent of his being seen as especially chosen by God.

All of this has a bearing on the Gospel. Jesus’ opponents, we are told, were attempting to trap Him. If He approved of paying taxes to the Roman occupiers, He could be held up as a collaborator, a traitor to His own people. If, on the other hand, He opposed the paying of the tax, He could be reported to the Roman authorities as a rebel. We see again the two viewpoints of history, a situation which, at the expense of a bad pun, we could describe as two sides of the same coin.

Our Lord’s response is a smart one. The coins used to pay the tax bear the likeness and inscription of the Roman Emperor, and so can legitimately be given back to him. The terminology which Jesus uses has, however, been misinterpreted and abused through the ages.

“Render unto Caesar what belongs to Caesar, and to God what belongs to God” has been used by enemies of the Church, and even by some of its members, to tell the Church to keep its nose out of public affairs. The state has its rights, such people will claim, and the Church has no business to interfere. Thus, if the state wishes to behave in a way which is contrary to Church teaching, that is none of the Church’s business: she should limit herself to purely religious affairs.

A particular example of this arose a few months ago. In the wake of yet another school massacre in the United States, Pope Francis called for tighter gun control in that country. There was an immediate outcry from right wing nationalist Catholics in America, accusing the Holy Father of interfering in their country’s politics. Apparently, “render unto Caesar” meant to them that the head of the Church had neither the duty nor even the right to pronounce on matters of human life.

The flaw in their argument is obvious. They are ignoring the second part of Jesus’ injunction “and to God what belongs to God”. Everything belongs to God, including Caesar, and so God’s Church must always stand up for truth and justice. Even the mighty Cyrus became God’s instrument, so even the most isolationist citizens of a modern day republic cannot claim exemption.

Nevertheless, Our Lord’s words do contain a warning: Church and state should not become too closely intertwined. Present day Islamic states such as Iran, Afghanistan, and Pakistan reveal vividly the dangers of theocracies. Too often, the Church has allied herself with oppressive regimes, whether in mediaeval Europe or twentieth century Latin America. Even Ireland, where an Archbishop of Dublin was known to summon the president of the republic and give him instructions on the conduct of public affairs, showed too cosy a relationship, a situation which, largely as a result of abusive behaviour by institutions and individuals within the Church, has been replaced by a massive political and public backlash.

At best, the Church should be a critical friend of the state: at times, criticism must be firm, even at the risk of persecution by the state. Caesar has his rights, but he is not always God’s chosen instrument, and he must be treated with caution, but not left always to his own devices.

28th Week Year A

28th Sunday 2023

Isaiah 25: 6-10; Psalm 22 (23); Philippians 4:12-14, 19-20;

Matthew 22: 1-14

If vines and vineyards formed the link joining last Sunday’s readings, today it is fairly clear that the linking word is “banquet”. Even the Second Reading, which has no particular link to the others, has a tenuous connection as Paul speaks of being ready for “full stomach or empty stomach”. From that reading, I would commend another sentence to your attention: “There is nothing I cannot master with the help of the One who gives me strength”.

Why is that sentence so important? It reminds us that God is with us in every situation, no matter how hopeless it may appear. A priest who is a fellow depressive quoted it to me as something which helps him during bouts of depression, and I pass it on to you.

Turning to the subject of banquets, we find the prophet Isaiah describing the Messianic banquet when God’s people will sit down with the Messiah, the Christ, at the feast in the Kingdom of Heaven. At his banquet, on the heavenly version of Mount Sion, we shall find freedom from the distress and the death which are our inevitable lot in this life. Our HOPES will be fulfilled—we find the word “hoped” twice in the closing verses. Of the cardinal virtues—faith, hope, and charity—hope tends to be the most neglected. It is not a Micawberish optimism that “something will turn up” but a firm belief rooted in our trust in God, and in His love for us, a confidence that we can and must respond to His love, for our fulfilment to be attained. (Incidentally, I have one personal hope in relation to the Messianic banquet, that the best draught ale will be available in addition to fine wines.)

The idea of the Messianic banquet should be ringing bells for you, whether metaphorical bells or literal bells in the form of sanctuary bells. We will in a few minutes be partaking of the Messianic banquet as Jesus the Christ shares with us the feast of His Body and Blood. In human terms there will not yet be rich food and fine wines, because the glory of the Kingdom is not yet; but the Kingdom is nevertheless present and so in consequence is the Messianic banquet, though its glory is still hidden.

Today’s psalm reminds us of that heavenly banquet, as its author tells us that it has been prepared for us; before we hear of it again in Jesus’ two part parable. The context is a parable about the wedding feast of a king’s son, which Our Lord relates to the Kingdom of Heaven. This concept will later be taken up by the author of the Apocalypse, the Book of Revelation, who declares “Blessed are those who are invited to the marriage supper of the Lamb” as Christ, the Lamb of God, takes the Church as His bride.

We are vividly reminded of this immediately before receiving Communion, as the priest almost, but not quite, repeats those words. What is different? The word “marriage” is omitted, in order to link the Eucharist more obviously with the Last Supper, but the anticipation of the heavenly banquet is still implicit. In Holy Communion, past present and future are united as we share, as a present reality, in the Body of Christ here and now, while making present both the past, in the form of the Last Supper and the sacrifice of Calvary, and the future Messianic banquet. We can never plumb the entire depth of the Eucharistic mystery.

There are other aspects of today’s parable which we must also consider. As in last week’s parable of the murderous tenants of the vineyard, there is a reference to the failure of the Jewish people, and the extension of the Kingdom to the Gentiles. The guests who decline the wedding invitation are those Jews who reject Our Lord: the murderers among them, those who have persecuted and killed the prophets. Once again the Gentiles are brought in, this time from the highways and byways to take their place in the wedding hall of the Kingdom.

As last week, though, it is not all beer and skittles. The Gentiles who are now invited comprise “bad and good alike”. This is reminiscent of the parables of the wheat and the weeds, and of the sprats and mackerel. There will be a final sorting when the bad and harmful are rejected.

In the second part of today’s parable, that rejection involves the guest without a wedding garment. He has accepted the invitation, but has done nothing by way of behaving appropriately. Effectively, he simply can’t be bothered. We too have been invited to the banquet, as we are reminded immediately before receiving Communion. How are we responding day by day to this invitation?

27th Week Year A

27th Sunday 2023

Isaiah 5:17; Psalm 79 (80); Philippians 4:6-9; Matthew 21:33-43

If I was looking for a word to summarise today’s readings, I would settle for “continuity”. There is a thread running from Isaiah through the Psalm, to the Gospel, and continuing to the present day. Vines, fruitful and unfruitful, form the basis of this thread. (Can a thread have a basis? I am not sure, but you know what I mean—I hope.) 

Isaiah the prophet, writing in the latter stages of the eighth century BC, provides this beautiful parable of the hard-working landowner who plants a vineyard, equipped with all mod. cons., and is dismayed to harvest nothing but sour grapes. Isaiah then explains the parable very clearly, with no room left for doubt. The planter of the vineyard is God, the vineyard is Israel, the disappointing vines producing sour grapes are the people of Israel.

“Yes, the vineyard of the Lord of hosts is the House of Israel, and the men of Judah that chosen plant. He expected justice, but found bloodshed; integrity, but only a cry of distress.” 

The prophet is stating explicitly that the people have failed God miserably, but he also warns that they will face consequences. The owner, God, will abandon the vineyard, which will be reduced to a ruin, something which was to happen over and over again in the history of the Chosen People. 

Moving to the Psalm, we find a similar theme. This time the vine, representing the people, has been brought from Egypt to flourish in the Promised Land, an allegory of the Exodus of the Jewish people from their Egyptian slavery, and their re-settlement in what became Israel and Judah. 

For the Psalmist, the destruction of the vineyard has already taken place. At first, he claims not to understand why this has happened. “Then why have you broken down its walls?” he cries.

Soon, though, he is compelled to admit that he is well aware of the reason. It is the one put forward by Isaiah. “We shall never forsake you again” he claims, an admission that the people have indeed forsaken God; the Psalmist then pleads with God for forgiveness and restoration, promising repentance, a change of heart. 

More than seven hundred years after Isaiah, Our Lord borrows elements from his parable. As in the prophetic writing, the landowner, again standing for God, not only plants a vineyard, but adds a winepress and a tower. Once again, the Jewish people are accused of failure: once again, they are threatened with consequences. 

Thus, the essence of Isaiah’s parable is repeated, but there are differences. In Jesus’ version, the people--or more probably, their leaders—are represented not by the vines, but by corrupt tenants, whose faults are set out in greater detail. It is no longer a general abandonment of God, but specifically the killing of God’s prophets at which the finger is pointed, and it is prophesied that they will go on to kill God’s Son. Once again, there will be consequences: “the Kingdom of God will be taken from you, and given to a people who will produce its fruit”.

So far, so good, from our point of view, we may think. The Church, the Christian people, is to inherit the vineyard, is to be given the Kingdom. Everything is cakes and ale: or is it? The people who are given the Kingdom “will produce its fruit”. Can we honestly claim that, as individuals or as the Church we are doing, and have done that? 

The sins and failings of the Church throughout the ages are well known, whether it be corrupt Popes, the Inquisition, support for colonisers, or whatever, and they are by no means all in the past, as the abuse crisis has shown. And what about our own sins? Have we done, are we doing, any better than the Jewish people, when it comes to bearing fruit? Every bit as much as the Psalmist, we need to pray: “God of hosts, bring us back. Let your face shine on us, and we shall be saved”.

26th Week Year A

26th Sunday 2023

Ezekiel 18:25-28; Philippians 2:1-11; Matthew 21:28-32

Just to confuse you, I am not going to talk about the Gospel today. Instead, I want to focus on that Second Reading.

After urging upon us a spirit of humility and of mutual love-do we have that spirit, by the way? Do you have it, do I have it?—it launches into a glorious hymn in praise of Jesus the Christ. It tells of His total self-emptying; His identification with us; His suffering, death, and Resurrection; and finally the honour due to His name.

There is a huge amount of material there for our contemplation. Firstly, let us think about the self-emptying, the “kenosis” as it is called, of the Son of God, the Second Person of the Blessed Trinity, God the Son. Enjoying total union with the Father in the Holy Spirit, total bliss, everything desirable, He shed all of this, and became one of us. Why?

This wasn’t a question of slumming it, of getting down with the plebs out of curiosity. I recently read George Orwell’s “Down and out in Paris and London”, in which Orwell describes how he, the Eton educated Eric Blair (his real name) went to live, first among the poorest paid workers in the Paris catering industry, and then as a tramp in London.

Why did he do this?  It seems partly as if he was looking for himself, trying to discover his own identity and that of people whose lot was very different from his own. What he did was impressive, and yet, in a sense, unreal. His upper class accent always set him apart from those among whom he tried to immerse himself, and he knew that he could abandon this way of life at any time, which indeed he did.

For the Son of God, the situation was very different. In becoming the man Jesus, He became truly, irreversibly, and totally human. He had no escape route. He was entirely one of us, born in a particular family in a particular place and time. Nor was He acting out of curiosity: God’s self-immersion in the human race was purely an act of love, assuming human nature in order to redeem human nature, and to make it divine.

This entailed plumbing the depths of human suffering, undergoing mental anguish, physical pain, humiliation, and a death which effectively put Him into the power of evil; all of this purely out of love for the human race. We could reflect on this for a lifetime, and I do invite you to reflect upon it.

The second half of the hymn praises the name of Jesus. I don’t know about you, but I was brought up to use the Holy Name sparingly, and always with a bow of the head. That approach seems less popular today, which is fair enough, but being an awkward so-and-so, I continue to use it.

Devotion and respect for the name of Jesus provide a bond with Evangelicals, who speak of “lifting up” the name of Jesus. We are also reminded of the power of a name. “What’s in a name?” ask the cynics. “A great deal” we would reply. Moses wanted to know God’s name at the burning bush, but God had no name. “I am who am” was His reply: “I am pure existence”. There was no possibility of the Israelites claiming power over the living God, as the nations around them had power over their false gods through having named them. Incidentally, this makes a nonsense of the now forbidden practice of calling God “Yahweh”, which nullifies the very point which God was making.

To illustrate the power involved in knowing someone’s name, I would sometimes suggest in homilies that, if you could provide a description of a burglar, it might be of some help to the police, but not a great deal. On the other hand, if you knew his name, that would give you power over him, until an occasion when what I had suggested as an illustration became a reality, as I encountered a burglar in my presbytery in Morecambe. As he ran off down the road, I was able to ring the police and tell them “A bloke called such and such has just broken into my house. Would you like his address?”

“No,” came the reply. “We know his address. We will go and sit outside his flat until he comes back.”

In taking human flesh, and giving Himself a name, God has given us power over Him. He has allowed human beings to use that name, even to abuse it. Above all, He has given us the power to call upon Him in that name. “Anything you ask the Father in my name, He will grant you” says Jesus. This is a name of power which gives us power. Let us use it always with awe, respect, and adoration.

25th Week Year A

25th Sunday 2023

Isaiah 55:6-9; Philippians 1:20-24, 27; Matthew 20:1-16

I am tempted to say “Hands up, anyone who sympathises with the shop stewards of today’s parable in their complaint about pay differentials”. They have a point, don’t they—or do they? In fact, they are being paid fairly. A denarius was the usual rate for a day’s work. They would have been entitled to complain about the iniquitous system by which people were expected to wait around in the hope that someone would deign to hire them, but not about their rate of pay.

In one sense, the people who were treated unfairly were the late arrivals, who were paid more than they deserved, but they were unlikely to complain; and it was really no one else’s business how much the vineyard owner chose to pay them. There are exploitative employers today, no less than in biblical times, but the employer in the parable cannot be counted among them.

As a sideline, this parable may remind us of our obligation to be concerned about social justice, especially as we approach a General Election, when politicians on all sides will appeal to our self-interest, and indeed to our selfishness, with little concern for the good of society, and indeed of the world. As Christians, we must be actively interested in matters of justice, and must be prepared to hold candidates’ feet to the proverbial fire. In my previous parish, the local Council of Churches used to organise hustings for the candidates, which made it possible to quiz them on issues which, in the normal course of events, they would have been happy to ignore. Ideally, similar events would occur in every neighbourhood in every constituency.

In the build up to the General Election of 1997, the Bishops’ Conference of England and Wales produced a magnificent document entitled “The Common Good” which raised questions about a whole range of matters relating to justice, including, though by no means limited to, the killing of the unborn. The then editor of “The Times”, himself a Catholic, by the name of William Rees-Mogg, denounced it as “economically illiterate”: I trust that voters in the constituency of his son, Jacob of that ilk, will wish to know whether the son’s views differ from those of his late father.

Important, indeed vital, as social justice issues are, they are not the principal concern of today’s parable. It is essentially a parable of the Kingdom. The workers who have borne the heat and burden of the day represent the Jewish people, who have indeed laboured long and hard in their struggle to be faithful to the covenants. Before we criticise them for their failure, we need to look in the mirror, and ask ourselves how often both individual Christians, and the Church as a whole, have failed over the past two thousand years.

Where, or perhaps, when, do we Gentiles enter the parable? We are the eleventh hour workers, called way down the line of history, yet rewarded as if we had served God as His people from the outset. Far from having justifiable complaints about God’s unfairness, we have cause to rejoice in it because He, like the owner of the vineyard, has chosen to pay the last comer the same as the first.

Indeed, we have been, and are being, paid more. We have been given knowledge of God’s Son, and of His Holy Spirit. We are conscious of having God dwelling within us. We have the sacraments, and especially we have the sacrifice of Calvary made present on our altars. We have the abiding presence of Christ in the Blessed Sacrament. We have the joy of belonging to the Body of Christ, which is the Church, nourished by the Body of Christ, which is the Eucharist.

We are paid far beyond anything that we deserve, but we are also given responsibilities. We need to recognise and give thanks (literally “make Eucharist”) for all that we have been given. We are called to be faithful to the Christ who has given His life for us. And we must recognise our responsibility to work for justice, and not simply to seek our own self-interest, especially when the politicians come knocking.

24th Sunday Year A

24th Sunday 2023

Ecclesiasticus 27:30-28:7; Romans 14:7-9; Matthew 18:21-35

Three words—four in Greek—are, I believe, crucial to today’s Gospel. They are the final words of the Gospel passage and they appear as “from your heart”. Much of the time, forgiveness is easy. Someone upsets us, probably in a fairly minor way; they apologise, and all is right again.

Sometimes, though, the hurt goes much deeper. It may have been intentional, or it may be the result of insensitivity, or even a misunderstanding, but it wounds us in the depths of our being. The other person apologises. We seem to accept the apology, but how genuine, how heartfelt, is that acceptance?

I will mention two examples, similar in origin. Twice I have been approached by victims of sexual abuse. One was a schoolgirl, the other a middle-aged woman. In both cases, the abuser was the person’s father. The adult lady had, over a period of time, come to a degree of forgiveness, but was deeply hurt by her father’s ongoing dishonesty. It was particularly painful to hear him described in glowing terms at his funeral, seemingly a model citizen and a pillar of the parish, his treatment of his daughter hidden under a veneer of respectability.

In the girl’s case, her father was unmasked, and underwent a term of imprisonment. However, although admitting abusing her sister, he continued to deny his offences against the girl herself: this, she subsequently told me, was the worst wound of all, causing her to wish that she had never revealed her suffering—though, had she not done so, her sister’s child would have been a third victim.

Is it possible for the victims of abuse to forgive their abusers? Should they? I cannot answer those questions, but it does seem that, without an admission of the fault, forgiveness is inevitably limited.

Few of us, please God, will have undergone the horror of abuse. What about less heinous offences? The poet Philip Larkin was not referring to abuse when he pointed an accusatory finger at parents in general in his poem “This be the verse” which begins “They [expletive deleted] you up, your mum and dad”, a wry and indeed cynical expose of parenthood, which concludes that parental damage is inevitable.

From personal experience, I can deny this, but I have been shocked to learn of the childhood problems of many of my friends, whose parents were far from ideal, yet who themselves, in general, learned to manage things better when they themselves had children. Thus, the negative experiences had some positive effects, and their response to their parents has frequently been an acceptance that no one is perfect, and a forgiveness of parental faults which even Larkin himself admitted were unintentional.

One important consideration is that forgiveness liberates not only the one who is forgiven but, perhaps even more so, the one who forgives. The author of the Book of Ecclesiasticus speaks of resentment, which he describes as a foul thing. Resentment, which frequently arises from an unwillingness to forgive, eats away at us, damages us, imprisons us. It may hurt the person whom we refuse to forgive: it certainly hurts us.

A former Vicar General of this Diocese (not to be confused, by the way, with the Bishop’s Secretary) hurt a considerable number of priests during his time in office. I heard second hand that, following his retirement as a result of ill health, he had acknowledged that people had been hurt, and had said that he regretted it, but this did not penetrate to my heart. I remained angry, and concluded that I would not be able to attend his funeral when it happened, as it would infuriate me to hear positive things said about him.

Around a fortnight ago, I attended a priest’s funeral at which this former VG was present. He is old and frail now, and seems to have recovered some of the more attractive aspects of his personality, which were overlaid during his time in office. As I helped him down some steps, I felt all the anger  and bitterness which I felt seep away, a process completed at the graveside, when he answered my mutter that there seemed no sign of the Salve Regina being sung, by whispering from behind me “You start it!”, which I did. There was a new and tremendous freedom in letting all the anger go. I shall be able to attend his funeral, and will have no objection if he is extolled to the skies.

Up to now, I have been speaking in purely human terms. In the last analysis, we are talking about something divine. As both the Old Testament author and Our Lord point out, God is the author of forgiveness. He forgives us much, and we must imitate Him.

23rd Sunday Year A

23rd Sunday 2023

Ezekiel 33:7-9; Romans 13:8-10; Matthew 18:15-20

“Where two or three meet in my name, I shall be there with them.” Are you conscious of that? Does it occur to you that when you gather with other people in the name of Jesus Christ Our Lord, that same Jesus Christ is present among you, present in a manner different from His presence in the Blessed Sacrament, but nevertheless truly present? It may be a prayer group, a group which gathers for a faith-based discussion, an RCIA meeting, or the SVP, the UCM, at Mass, or whatever. If you are meeting in the name of Jesus Christ, He is truly present among you.

Another question: are you familiar with “The General Instruction of the Roman Missal”? “Are we heck as like” I hear you cry. “Why would we be? How could we be?”

It’s actually not as difficult as you might think. There is a small version of the Missal which is a photocopy of the altar Missal, which has the General Instruction as an introduction. It is well worth reading, easy to read, and fairly short.

One of its most important sections is paragraph 27, which states the four ways in which Jesus the Christ is present in the Mass. Do you know what they are? The most obvious one is the Eucharistic species; the bread and wine which, when consecrated, are truly the Body and Blood of Christ, a reality which abides, so that Christ remains present in the tabernacle always. Within the Mass, Christ is both priest and victim, offering Himself to the Father, making present here and now the one perfect sacrifice which He offered on the Cross, enabling us to offer ourselves in union with Him.

Secondly, Christ is present in His word, proclaimed in the Scriptures. As paragraph 29 declares, “When the Scriptures are read in the Church, God Himself speaks to His people, and CHRIST, PRESENT IN HIS WORD, PROCLAIMS THE GOSPEL”. Just as the Body of Christ is broken, and His Blood poured out, so is His word broken open in the homily—or it should be. There is really no excuse for careless preaching, or for preaching which discourages people, rather than build them up.

The third, and probably most difficult to recognise, of the presences of Christ is in the priest, who acts and speaks in persona Christi “in the person of Christ”. Christ is the true priest, offering Himself; all God’s people are a priestly people, joining in offering the sacrifice of Christ and of themselves; the ordained priest puts the offering into effect through and in Christ, and on behalf of the whole priestly people.

What remains? That presence which is listed first, and which occurs first chronologically: His presence in His people. Before the priest comes to the altar, before the Scriptures are opened, before the consecration, Christ is already present, not only in the tabernacle, but also among you. “Christ is really present in the very assembly gathered in His name” says the final sentence of paragraph 27. We speak of Christ’s presence in the Eucharist as the “real presence”, not because the other three presences are somehow unreal, but because this is His presence in re , “in a thing/substance”.

Does it surprise you that Christ is first present in you? It shouldn’t, when you think about it. You are the Body of Christ, who increasingly become what you receive. Bear in mind too those words “Whatever you did to the least of mine, you did to me”. Look around you. Every face that you see is the face of Christ. Funny looking, isn’t He? But then again, so are you, and your face is His face.

I think of Veronica, a legendary figure, but one whose story teaches us. Allegedly, she wiped the face of the suffering Christ with a towel, and the impression of His face was printed on it. I suspect that the face would have been difficult to recognise, just as it is difficult to recognise in the faces around you, but it is there nonetheless. “Where two or three meet in my name, I shall be there with them.”

22nd Sunday Year A

22nd Sunday 2023

Jeremiah 20:7-9; Romans 12:1-2; Matthew 16:21-27

You have to feel sorry for Peter: the poor lad is only trying to do his job. He has just been given the Keys of the Kingdom, and named as the rock on which the Church is to be built. He must have been feeling thoroughly confident, and so he wouldn’t have hesitated when he glimpsed an opportunity to  exercise his newly given authority in the best of all possible causes.

His Lord and Master is talking about suffering and death. Surely this is a moment for Peter to give support and reassurance; to remind Jesus that His trusty lieutenant is at hand to keep Him safe. Peter goes about his task impeccably: mindful of Our Lord’s instructions, he even takes Him aside to speak privately. Does he really deserve to be called the devil?

Actually, that is not what he is being called. Strictly speaking, I don’t think that Our Lord is speaking to Peter at all. He is addressing Satan himself, the Tempter, who is using Peter’s good intentions for his own ends and speaking through Peter.

How often does someone—how often do you—say something with the best of intentions, which turns out to be totally the wrong thing? You mean well, but your suggestion, advice, whatever, is at best unhelpful, at worst positively harmful. Indeed, it has been suggested that “s/he means well” is the most damning thing that can be said about anyone, since it implies that the person in question has missed the target entirely.

This is true especially when the person is a trusted friend, and when the suggestion fits your own desires, even though it is not the right thing. When Peter said, in effect, “You don’t have to go through with this” Jesus must have felt the force of his words. Perhaps He really didn’t have to? No, this was temptation, and He had to dismiss it as such, calling out Satan himself who was hiding behind Peter. Remember the temptations in the wilderness, when we were told that Satan “left Him, to return at the appointed time”? This is one of those appointed times, but now Satan is disguised as Peter, and must be identified and named.

There is, however, a warning for Peter. He must not assume that he is always being guided by God. It is a warning too for successive Popes: like everyone else, they will make mistakes. They must never confuse the gift of infallibility, bestowed on them only when they are expressing the God-given mind of the entire Church, with their own opinion, however strongly held.

If indeed there is a warning for Peter, there is a warning for us as well. To follow Christ will not always be a matter of beer and skittles. There will be times when the Cross weighs heavily upon us, when it chafes our shoulders; then we may be tempted by others, or by our own inclinations, to lay it down, to take the easy option. Those are the moments when Satan is tempting us, hiding behind a good friend, or within ourselves. Those are the moments when we must recognise him, and call him by name, though perhaps silently, so as not to panic our friend into thinking that we are calling him or her the devil.

We have something of a linguistic issue in what Jesus says to us. “Anyone who wants to save their life will lose it” we are told. Then we hear that crucial, life-defining question “What will a man gain if he wins the whole world and ruins his life?”. You and I may be more familiar with the more severe question “What doth it profit a man if he gains the whole world and loses his soul?”. Which is the correct translation?

Well, in effect, both of them are. The Greek word in question is psuche—“psyche” in English--which originally means the essence of a person, his or her identity, what he or she is at the deepest level. As such, it can be translated as “identity” or as “mind” “life” or “soul”.

In the question “What doth it profit a man…?” the more powerful translation is “soul”. Yet it is the same word—psuche—which Jesus uses when He warns that anyone who wants to save their life will lose it. There, it wouldn’t seem right to use “soul” as the translation: surely we are right to want to save our soul? Do we use different translations for the same word in the space of a few lines? That isn’t entirely satisfactory either. Whatever translation(s) we use, we must bear in mind that our fundamental purpose is to follow Christ, and that this will involve the Cross, and the rejection of temptation.