4th Sunday of Lent Year B

4th Sunday of Lent 2024

2 Chronicles 36:14-16, 19-23; Psalm 136 (137); Ephesians 2:4-10; John 3:14-21

I think I must be slightly gormless. (“What do you mean SLIGHTLY?” I hear you cry.) For the life of me, I cannot see any connection between the First Reading and Psalm on the one hand, and the Second Reading and Gospel on the other.

As you are no doubt aware, the Old Testament Reading is normally chosen to link with the Gospel, whilst, in Ordinary Time, the Second Reading follows a New Testament Epistle week by week. During Advent, Lent, and Eastertide, all three readings tend to be connected. So where is the connection here?

Clearly, the Reading from the Second Book of Chronicles is complemented by the Psalm. Both refer to the Exile of the Jewish people to Babylon, an Exile which lasted seventy years until Cyrus of Persia conquered Babylon in 538BC, and allowed the exiled people to return home.

Actually, it wouldn’t have been a return. After seventy years, most if not all of the original exiles would have been dead, and this would have been a journey to a homeland which the people involved knew only by hearsay. Nevertheless, the longing for home was etched deeply into them, and the liberation from the Exile was celebrated as enthusiastically as the original Exodus from Egypt.

The Psalm is a lament by the exiles before the prospect of return had been opened up to them. It is a beautiful piece of poetry, the only psalm to have reached the top of the popular music charts (Boney M’s version from 1978) but it has an unsavoury ending. The final two verses read “O Babylon, destroyer, blessed is he who repays you the ills you brought on us. He shall seize and shall dash your children on the rock.” Needless to say, those verses are not used in the liturgy.

We can see that this reading and psalm record an extremely important episode in the history of God’s chosen people, and they should rouse us to prayer today. Babylon is situated in modern day Iraq, still in turmoil, a turmoil which has persisted largely since the country was carved out by the Western powers in the wake of the First World War. Persia is now Iran, another country desperately in need of prayers, while the whole Israel/Palestine dilemma cries to heaven for a just and humane solution, a solution which, in human terms seems as unattainable as a return from exile seemed to the author of the psalm. We could spend the whole day praying for that area of the world, taking in also Syria and Yemen; as well as the rising tide of anti-Semitism, which has still not been expunged from the human psyche.

Israel’s  538 BC  release from exile was a sign of God’s love for His people, which is the only, fairly tenuous, link which I can find to the Second Reading and Gospel. The passage from the Letter to the Ephesians celebrates the freely given love of God for the world, through the gift of Jesus Christ the Son of God, a theme developed in the Gospel.

More accurately translated, the extract from Ephesians begins “God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love of His with which He loved us…….brought us to life with Christ”. St. John meanwhile declares that “God so loved the world that He gave us His only begotten Son”. He goes on to insist “For God sent His Son into the world not to condemn (or “judge”) the world, but in order that the world might be saved through Him”.

“God so loved the world……God sent His Son….not to condemn the world.” Do you believe that—I mean really believe it, in the depth of your being? Attending a death bed, I was reading Jesus’ words to Martha following the death of Lazarus. When I reached Jesus’ question “Do you believe this?” the whole family, gathered around the bed, shouted “Yes!” Could you shout “Yes!” in answer to the question “Do you believe what John says about God’s reason for sending His Son?”

If so, what do you, what do I, have to be afraid of? Yes we have to put our faith in Christ, we have to respond to Him, but the dice are loaded in our favour. Notice something else: it is “the world” (ho kosmos) which Jesus was sent to save. He has saved it, which surely includes “Those who seek God with a sincere heart” as the Fourth Eucharistic prayer puts it, even if their knowledge of Christ is lacking. As St. Paul wrote in a letter which we read a few weeks ago “With God on our side, who can be against us?” And He IS on our side.

3rd Sunday Lent

3rd Sunday of Lent 2024

Exodus 20: 1-17; 1Cor 1:22-25; John 2:13-25

“Jesus knew them all, and did not trust Himself to them.” Jesus knows us. Do you think He would trust Himself to us, to you or to me? That is something worth pondering. Are you someone to whom the Son of God could safely entrust Himself?

He is not impressed by the belief shown by many of those who have seen the signs: He knows what that belief is worth. It will pass, like any sudden enthusiasm, replaced by the next sensation to come along.

How many fads have come and gone in our lifetime? It used to be said, before the practice was banned by Health and Safety, that today’s headlines are tomorrow’s chip paper. In 1969, when Prince Charles was invested as Prince of Wales, he was the darling of the hour: when he was crowned King, hardly anybody noticed. Che Guevara, John F Kennedy, Tony Blair, what do your legacy, your reputation, amount to now?

Enthusiasms fade, and the greater they are, the more quickly they disappear. When I was based at the Diocesan Youth Centre, groups would leave us on a Friday morning filled with fervour. It might survive the journey home: it rarely lasted the weekend. A weekend course, bringing together young adults from Lancaster and Preston, filled the participants with deep concern about the dangers associated with drugs and alcohol. We later learned that, on the homeward bound coach, before going their separate ways, the two groups had arranged to meet up in one of the cities for a pub crawl.

There is nothing wrong with enthusiasm in itself, despite the dire warning addressed to John Wesley by an Anglican bishop, that enthusiasm is a dangerous and wicked thing. We need enthusiasm, but it must be allied with reason: the more unreasoning it is, and the more fervent, the more quickly is it likely to burn out.

A balanced steady response, which will stand the test of time, is of far greater value. For the Jewish people, the framework of this balance and this steadiness was provided by the Law, and especially by the Decalogue, the Ten Commandments, which we have heard today.

Even this, however, could turn into an obstacle, if it became an end, rather than the means to an end, the end being closer union with God. Throughout Christian history there have been waves of iconoclasts, carried away by enthusiasm for the prohibition of graven images, who have gone around smashing statues and stained glass windows, failing completely to understand the purpose behind the Commandment, which was intended simply to prevent the worship of false gods.

Jesus Himself, followed by St. Paul, encapsulated the Commandments within two precepts: you must love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength; and your neighbour as yourself. These are the essentials, rather than anything concerned with images or your neighbour’s donkey.

Today’s Gospel shows that, even when lip service, or even total adherence, is given to the Decalogue, things can go horribly wrong. Supposedly devout, religious people saw nothing wrong with carrying on commerce within the precincts of the Temple, selling there the animals which were to be offered in sacrifice, and changing the imperial coinage for the money which was considered fit to be offered in the Temple.

There is enthusiasm, indeed zeal, in Our Lord’s cleansing of the Temple. Zeal is enthusiasm carried to extreme, and zealots should usually be discouraged. Jesus, however, knew exactly what He was doing: His zeal was for God’s house, as foretold in the psalms, and He was the only person who could safely be a zealot.

One more thing needs to be added. Although the Temple is God’s house, it is, like all our sacred buildings, a means to an end. Its time is drawing to a close, as it is to be replaced by the true and everlasting Temple which is the Body of Jesus, a Body which will be destroyed in death, but raised in glory. We are the members of that Body, nourished by that Body in the Eucharist, the reason for a calm and reasoned enthusiasm, and a deep and enduring joy.

2nd Sunday in Lent

2nd Sunday of Lent 2024

Genesis 22:1-2, 9-13, 15-18; Romans 8:31-34; Mark 9:2-10

We have three very powerful readings today. I want to begin by considering the second of them, from St. Paul’s letter to the Christians at Rome, because this links the other two together.

Paul starts with a remarkable question: “With God on our side, who can be against us?” Do you believe that God is on your side? It is easy to envisage God as stern, if not hostile, yet Paul kicks such a notion firmly into touch. Notice something else: God is on our side, not against anyone else, but in a totally positive way.

Too often in history, and still today, various groups have claimed to have God on their side as a justification for war, aggression, terrorism, violence of every kind. The Crusades, the Wars of Religion in Europe, the anti-Jewish pogroms, have all seen one side pitted against another, with at least one side carrying out atrocities in the name of God. The folk singer Bob Dylan commented wryly on this outlook in the 1960s, with his song “(With) God on our side”, concluding with the lines “I can’t think for you, you’ve got to decide, if Judas Iscariot had God on his side”.

Today, Islamic fundamentalists in many parts of the world carry out massacres and inhuman punishments in the name of God; fundamentalist Christians use God’s name to justify the death penalty and the persecution of marginalised groups. Here in Europe, Putin has the backing of the Patriarch of Moscow in claiming that his invasion and attempted takeover of Ukraine constitute a sacred mission.

None of this is compatible with St. Paul’s question. God is for us, and not against anybody. His sacrifice of His Son was, as far as humanity is concerned, a totally positive action, securing redemption for the whole human race.

It is noticeable that God has done what, ultimately, He did not require Abraham to do. I recall a priest complaining forcefully that we should not use the story of Abraham’s surrender of Isaac in the liturgy, because it accepts the concept of human sacrifice. Admittedly, it was written in a setting in which human sacrifice was accepted. We would have to say that God never calls us to do evil, and would not ask anyone to kill another person, let alone their own child. We might add that God’s sacrifice of His own Son is the sacrifice to put an end to all sacrifices, other than the making present of that one ultimate sacrifice in the Mass.

There are two things to notice. Firstly, Abraham is, in the end, prevented from carrying out the planned sacrifice: secondly, what is actually demanded of him is total trust in God, the faith which justifies, and a willingness to let go, not to cling even to God’s greatest gifts: a son, and, apparently, the promise of an inheritance.

Abraham had been led to believe that his son Isaac was to be the guarantee of that inheritance. Now he is seemingly being asked to surrender that hope, and to trust that God will fulfil His promise in a previously unseen way. Finally, the fulfilment did come through Isaac, but only after Abraham had demonstrated his willingness to let go.

Letting go is an important feature of the Christian life. Peter did not want to let go of the vision on the mountain of Transfiguration. That was hardly surprising: it was an experience far surpassing anything that he could have imagined. To see his Lord transfigured, shining with divine glory, and to see as well Moses, the giver of the Law, and Elijah, the greatest of the prophets: why would he not wish to hold onto this? Hence his perfectly reasonable suggestion: “It is wonderful for us to be here, so let us make three tents”…and then we can stay here forever.

It cannot and must not happen. He must allow the vison to fade, and must make his way back down the mountain of Transfiguration to the valley of mediocrity, and eventually to the Garden of the Agony and the courtyard of panic and denial, if the vision is to be fulfilled in the Resurrection.

What about us? How ready are we to let go of everything in order to receive God’s greatest gift, that of eternal life? Our Lenten self-denial prepares us, and we should not be afraid or unwilling to give up everything, including eventually our earthly existence because, as St. Paul has reminded us, God IS on our side. What is there of which you need to let go?

1st Sunday in Lent Year B

1st Sunday of Lent 2024

Genesis 9:8-15; 1Peter 3:18-22; Mark 1:12-15

I have no wish to teach my collective grandmothers to suck eggs, so I won’t insult you by mentioning that, on the First Sunday of Lent, we always hear about the temptations of Jesus in the wilderness. What you may not have noticed however is that we rely on Matthew and Luke for details of the temptations: Mark’s account is much starker.

You probably recall the three temptations. There was the call to turn stones into bread: to make bodily appetites paramount. The order of the other two varies between Matthew and Luke but the essence is the same: throw yourself down from the Temple parapet to test God’s love and power, and worship Satan for the sake of earthly domination.

None of these details appears in Mark’s much briefer account, but there is still much that is important. First, there is the violence which is expressed in Jesus’ entry into the wilderness. Our present translation says that the Spirit DROVE Jesus OUT into the wilderness: the original Greek verb actually means “threw [Him] out”. Our Lord is forced into the wilderness whether He wants to go there or not, and it is the Holy Spirit which forces Him.

Let us consider our own situation for a moment. In Lent, we enter voluntarily into the wilderness with Jesus, associating ourselves with Him by our extra prayer, our self-denial, and our generosity to those in need—prayer, almsgiving and fasting as the Ash Wednesday Gospel puts it. Thus Lent is an important time as we allow the Holy Spirit to draw us closer to Jesus as we share in our own way in His experiences.

Yet there are other times when we find ourselves in the wilderness against our will. These are the times of suffering, whether physical or mental (or both); the times when we are literally beWILDERed. In those times, we need to draw comfort from the realisation that it is the Holy Spirit who has driven us there, has “thrown us out” as the same Spirit threw Jesus out. Jesus is there waiting for us, accompanying us through, and bringing us out at the other side if we have united our sufferings with His.

Mark continues with the bald statement that “He remained there for forty days and was tempted by Satan”. As you know, forty days, like forty years, is Biblespeak for a long time. We may find ourselves in our involuntary wilderness for a long time, and we may be tempted to despair, but Jesus will support us in our temptations.

We should bear in mind also Mark’s comment that “the angels looked after Him”. The angels will look after us too. We are never alone, and we shall not be alone in our wilderness, whether voluntary or involuntary: the Lord Himself will be with us, and His angels will keep us from harm.

There is one other statement by Mark, which is not included in either of the other accounts: “He was with the wild beasts”. What does that mean? Were the wild beasts hostile, or friendly? Was He in danger from them, or did they recognise Him as their Lord, and help to look after Him? Another possibility occurs to me: is Mark intimating that Our Lord was confronting the wild beasts which were part of His nature, as they are part of ours; the appetites and drives which are within us, which give us our energy, but which need to be tamed and controlled lest they run amok and cause havoc and not good?

Perhaps Mark is suggesting that this was a time for Jesus to confront Himself, to come to terms with His own human nature, to recognise those internal forces which He shared with very human being, and which can either benefit or harm us. Satan’s temptations would have formed part of this struggle to attain greater self-awareness, as they form part both of our Lenten journey and of the journey of life, as we strive to understand and to develop our humanity.

There is one word which our translation omits. It is the characteristically Markan word euthus , “at once” or “immediately”, and it comes at the beginning of Mark’s account. Jesus has just been baptised, and has received affirmation from the Father—“You are my Son, the Beloved, on whom my favour rests”—and IMMEDIATELY He is driven into the wilderness. Like Jesus, we too have no time for delay.

Our other Mass readings today point towards Baptism, the culmination of Lent for new Christians. God saves Noah by means of the Ark, which will subsequently be identified with the Church, the Ark of salvation; and the First Letter of St Peter sees the flood as representing Baptism, through which we are saved. All in all, we can say, using a nautical metaphor, that Lent is well under weigh.*

*A term derived from the concept of “weighing anchor”.

6th Sunday in Ordinary Time

6th Sunday in Ordinary Time 2024

Leviticus 13:1-2; Psalm 31(32); 1 Cor 10:31-11:1; Mark 1:40-45

“If you want to, you can cure me.” That is a prayer to keep in mind, not only today, but throughout our lives. It is something which you might usefully incorporate into your daily prayer.

(By the way, is anyone else reminded, by the beginning of the Second Reading, of Status Quo’s song “Whatever you want”? I can imagine St. Paul not writing but singing “Whatever you eat, whatever you drink, whatever you do, whatever you……”)

That prayer of the leper raises two questions for you and me. What is there of which I need to be cured? Do I really want to be cured?

There is every reason why the leper would want to be cured. His disease made him literally an outcast. The instructions are clearly given there in the Book of Leviticus: “As long as the disease lasts, he must be unclean; and therefore must live apart; he must live outside the camp.”

A leper was shunned: s/he became an outsider, and could have no place in the life of the community, social or religious. You no doubt recall the distress caused by the restrictions imposed during the pandemic, when infected people were isolated even within hospital. They were treated by masked doctors and nurses, and were prevented from being visited by their loved ones. Even in death, that isolation continued, as not only they, but anyone who died, was denied a proper funeral. Even those of us who remained well shared the sense of isolation, being unable to travel, to socialise, to take part in any of the normal events of life. This lasted on and off for a couple of years: for a leper, it was a life sentence unless, by some miracle, there was a cure.

Bear in mind that this was the case not only in biblical times. I remember watching, on children’s television in the late 1950s, a serialisation of RL Stevenson’s “The Black Arrow”, in which a hooded “leper” chases the young hero and heroine at a time during the Wars of the Roses. I was terrified, a terror relieved only when the apparent leper was revealed to be Sir Daniel Brackley in disguise. So contagious was the disease that any contact with a leper was likely to create a new victim. Small wonder then that the leper of today’s Gospel was desperate for a cure, or that, having been cured, he wanted to tell his story everywhere and to everyone.

This brings us to our first question: what is there of which I need to be cured? It may be a physical or mental illness, but the Responsorial Psalm points us in another direction. The psalmist rejoices, not in a medical cure, but in the forgiveness of his sins, something for which we pray daily in the Our Father.

You may be familiar with the sense of liberation which can come from a really good confession: the relief of laying our sins before the priest, the representative of both God and the community, and of hearing the words “I absolve you from your sins”. GK Chesterton, the creator of Fr. Brown among other things, wrote “When people ask me….’Why did you join the Church of Rome?’ the first essential answer ….is ‘to get rid of my sins’….When a Catholic comes from Confession, he does truly….step out again into that dawn of his own beginning….He may be grey and gouty, but he is only five minutes old”.

In the light of this I ask again “What is there of which I need to be cured?” Consider the answer carefully. In terms both of illness and of sin, what appears on the surface may be a symptom, rather than the real problem which may lie deeper. If the same sins are cropping up time after time, it may be helpful to ask “What is there deeper inside me which causes me to lose my temper so often, to lie repeatedly, to sin against purity?” Spend a little time simply opening yourself to God in silence and stillness, in order that He may penetrate with His grace your deepest being.

There is, though, for us, a deeper question: do I want to be cured? The leper was in no doubt, but it may be more difficult for us. We may be very much attached to these habitual sins: we may even feel that, without that habitual fault, there would be nothing left of us. Is it so much part of me that, without it, I shall be hollowed out, empty? Will I no longer be myself? That is a question which may cause me to wonder whether I want to be cured.

That is a question which I must face with faith. If I truly believe in God’s love for me, then I can bring before God whatever may be less than good, confident that anything which God takes from me will make me richer, more completely the person that God has created me to be. Then, like GK Chesterton, I may step out into the new dawn, five minutes old.

5th Week in Ordinary Time

5th Sunday in OT 2024

Job 7:1-4,6-7; 1 Cor 9:16-19; Mark 1:29-39

One Sunday, in the parish of St. Thomas the Apostle, Claughton-on-Brock, I began my homily by asking “Sixteen tons, and what do you get?”, and the whole congregation chorused back “………………”

Yes, you are right. These are the opening lines of “Sixteen Tons” recorded by Tennessee Ernie Ford (I kid you not) c1960, and subsequently by Tom Jones and all the world and his pet canary. My favourite version is a recent one by a group called Southern Raised, who have a bass singer whose voice comes right up from his boots. (It is well worth googling and watching/listening.)

For the benefit of anyone unfortunate enough not to know it, the chorus runs “Sixteen tons and what do you get? Another day older and deeper in debt. St. Peter, don’t call me, coz I can’t go. I owe my soul to the company store.”

It could be Job’s theme song. “Whelmed in miseries so deep” as the Stabat Mater puts it, Job laments his very existence. There is a lot for us to ponder there.

Firstly, there is the matter of depression. You may be in a position to empathise with Job, or you may know someone who is. Anyone who has suffered from genuine depression knows that feeling exactly. Day, night, waking, sleeping bring no relief: you simply long not to exist. You cannot fight it: you need to seek medical help, and then wait grimly for it to pass. It WILL pass eventually, however impossible that may seem at the time. A common feeling is: “I know it has passed previously, but this time it won’t”. Yes it will. It passed even for Job. While it lasts, all you can do is take the treatment, pray, and unite your agony with that of Jesus in Gethsemane and on the Cross, through which it will play a part in His work of redemption.

There are also many issues concerning work. Slavery still exists in the world, even in this country. Are you aware of it? Do you campaign against it, and pray for its victims? Many other people are crushed by work or, conversely, crushed by unemployment. There is a great deal to pray for there.

St. Paul’s work is to preach the Gospel which, he implies, entails compassion—cum passio, suffering with—living in other people’s skin. Paul expresses it in terms of making himself all things to all people. The virtue of compassion is one of God’s greatest gifts to humanity: He expressed it by becoming one of us, literally living in human skin. It is a gift for which all of us should pray and strive.

In the Gospel, Jesus demonstrates four aspects of His work: He heals the sick, He casts out devils, He prays, and He preaches. At this point, the Sisters, and anyone who comes here regularly to weekday Mass, will utter a groan of anguish, because I am going to repeat something which I have said more often than you have had hot dinners. This is, in fact, your time to load sixteen tons.

What I have said repeatedly is that we, as members of Christ’s Body, are called, as He Himself stated on one occasion, to perform the same works as He does. We too are called to heal, to cast out devils, to pray, and to preach.

“Rubbish!” I hear you cry. “Not so!” I reply. Let’s take them one by one.

We are called to heal. There are more ways than one of killing a cat, and there are more ways than one of healing. You may not be able to heal as a doctor or nurse does, but you can offer healing words, a healing presence in the form of a listening ear, a shoulder to lean on, a kettle to boil. There is a great deal that you can do to heal.

You are called to cast out devils. What does that mean? It means that you must oppose evil wherever you find it. You should stand up for people who are bullied or unfairly treated: you should support them in their fight for justice. You should be prepared to sign petitions, to lobby MPs or councillors, to refuse to vote for candidates or parties who advocate unjust policies, keeping an eye on the common good and not simply your own advantage. Above all, you should pray.

That brings me to the third of Jesus’ works, namely prayer. Ten days or so ago, we kept the feast of St. Francis de Sales who, in Reformation times, wrote “An Introduction to the Devout Life” making the point that everyone is called to, and is capable of, a prayer life in keeping with their own situation. He argues that it would be ridiculous to expect a labourer to devote as much time to prayer as a monk, or a Capuchin friar to have the same pastoral demands as a bishop, but that all of us can and must pray in accordance with our own way of life.

Finally, Jesus preaches. It is probably not true that St Francis of Assisi told his followers “Preach by every means possible: if necessary, even use words” but there is nevertheless wisdom in the adage. Certainly, Pope St Paul VI wrote, in his 1975 document Evangelii nuntiandi—“On preaching the Gospel”—that “people today listen more to witnesses than to teachers, and if they do listen to teachers it is because they are also witnesses”. Practise what you preach: in fact, practise more than you preach.

Healing, casting out devils, praying, preaching, in appropriate ways: those are your sixteen tons. You may become a day older, but you won’t be deeper in debt, and you should be ready whenever St. Peter calls you.

3rd Week in Ordinary Time Year B

3rd Sunday in Ordinary time. 2024 Jonah 3: 1-5, 10; Cor 7:29-31; Mark 1: 14-20

We are going Greek today, not in the sense of retsina, uzo, or moussaka, but kerygma, metanoia, Kairos and euthus. What do these words mean? Kerygma is “Proclamation,” the work of keryx, or herald; metanoia is a change of heart, outlook or focus, and is often translated “repentance;” euthus means “immediately,” or “at once.” These three words, along with Kairos, about which more later, are at the heart of today’s Gospel.

Mark describes Jesus going into Galilee, “kerusson (proclaiming) the Good News, or Gospel, of God.” What he proclaimed is referred to as the kerygma, or proclamation, our Lord’s fundamental message. Of what does it consist? “The time has been fulfilled and Kingdom of God has come near. Have a change of heart/outlook/focus and believe in the Good News.”

In referring to this as the kerygma, scripture scholars are identifying it as the heart of Our Lord’s teaching. “The time has been fulfilled” or, as our present translation puts it, “the time has come.” What is Jesus saying here?

We have another Greek word to consider. The usual Greek word for time is “chronos,” as in “chronometer,” chronological,” chronicle.” The word used here is different: it is “Kairos.” This means “the critical time,” “the time we have been waiting for.” In English, we might say, “It is time (for action).” This doesn’t simply refer to chronological time: it is saying “This is the moment: NOW we must act.” Jesus is saying that His mission marks the critical time.

If the time was critical then, so it must be now, in our own age. Jesus has not left us despite His Ascension: He has sent us the Holy Spirit who, dwelling in us, gives us the power to act. Why should we act, and what should we do?

We should act because “the Kingdom (or reign) of God is close at hand (literally “has drawn near”).  What does that mean? The Kingdom or reign of God is the subject of all Jesus’ preaching: He proclaimed, not Himself, but the Kingdom. What is this reign or Kingdom? It is, and will be, when it is fully realised, the acknowledgement of God and the fulfillment of God’s purposes. It entails justice, and peace that derives from justice. It involves the breaking of every yoke that oppresses people, and the full flourishing of creation, universal goodness and harmony.

Where is it, and when will it be achieved? It will be fully achieved only when Jesus the Christ returns in glory, completing the victory over evil which has begun by his death and resurrection, establishing the new heaven and the new earth promised in the book of Revelation. Yet, He proclaims, it “has drawn near”: it is already present in embryo. As Jesus says elsewhere, The Kingdom of God is “entos humon” – among and/or within you.’

Where might we see this Kingdom, which is already among or within us? We see it where justice is done, where acts of kindness or generosity are performed, where the poor are served and raised from poverty, where God is worshipped in spirit and truth with actions which match our claims.

How is it to be brought to fulfillment? This can be achieved only by metanoia, by a change of our “nous” or most inmost spirit, that which drives us, our basic focus and direction. Metanoia is often translated as repentance, but this means more than being sorry: at its heart, it entails a re-focusing, a change of direction.

We see it in the response of the Ninevites to Jonah’s preaching. This isn’t only sorrow for past sins, as expressed by fasting, the sackcloth and ashes: it is, we are told, an effort to “renounce their evil behavior” to change their ways. Ironically, the one who fails to experience and to express metanoia is Jonah. He has originally tried to run away from his mission, and has resumed it only under compulsion. Later, when the people underwent their change of heart and behavior, he was disgusted, because he had looked forward to seeing them punished.  – no real metanoia on his part.

Thus we are called to a change of attitude and outlook, and to believe in the Good News or Gospel. This isn’t to be simply a notional assent, but a commitment to living out the Gospel, to make it the driving force of our lives, to work at the task of building the Kingdom.

 When are we to do it? This brings us to our final Greek word, which is “euthos” – “immediately.” This word occurs twice as Jesus calls the fishermen, and several times more in the early kerygma, to recognize the Kairos, and to practice metanoia, “euthus.”

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.