‘Where is the infant king of the Jews?’ the wise men asked. ‘We saw his star as it rose and have come to do him homage.’ (Matthew 2:2)
In today’s Gospel we are given a very great contrast between two kinds of kings: King Herod, and his advisors; and the Wise Men who travel into the Holy Land.
How do they understand the ancient prophecies about the birth of this child? How can they understand the work which he is sent to do? What role will he have amongst them, and what duty will they owe to him?
Now the interesting thing is that both Herod and the Wise Men largely agree: this child is destined to be someone who Is greater than they are, someone to whom they should give homage, someone whom they must worship.
But there the similarity ends. And the difference between them comes not because of their belief in the prophecies but because of their outlook on life.
For Herod the King sees only politics and power, allegiances and hierarchies, armies and battles, wealth and influence. A great king, a greater King, must fit in this model. He can only be a threat. And he can only be dealt with by force, when he is at his weakest.
But the wise men, even if we think of them as Kings, are outsiders; they are seekers not after power but after truth, not fighters of battles, but enquirers for meaning and purpose, they seek not wealth or influence, but hope. They seek not for their own benefit, but for the good of all mankind.
And human beings today are not so different. Do we - like Herod- search for wealth and comfort and personal glory and position? Or are we - like the wise men - more concerned with truth and hope and the good of all mankind?
How do they understand the ancient prophecies about the birth of this child? How can they understand the work which he is sent to do? What role will he have amongst them, and what duty will they owe to him?
Now the interesting thing is that both Herod and the Wise Men largely agree: this child is destined to be soneone who Is greater than they are, someone to whom they should give homage, someone whom they must worship.
But there the similarity ends. And the difference between them comes not because of their belief in the prophecies but because of their outlook on life.
For Herod the King sees only politics and power, allegiancies and hierarchies, armies and battles, wealth and influence. A great king, a greater King, must fit in this model. He can only be a threat. And he can only be dealt with by force, when he is at his weakest.
But the wise men, even if we think of them as Kings, are outsiders; they are seekers not after power but after truth, not fighters of battles, but enquirers for meaning and purpose, they seek not wealth or influence, but hope. They seek not for their own benefit, but for the good of all mankind.
And human beings today are not so different. Do we - like Herod- search for wealth and comfort and personal glory and position? Or are we - like the wise men - more concerned with truth and hope and the good of all mankind?
A concise reflection on the Gospel, other readings or the celebration of the day. See also bit.ly/3f8SRYT
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Homily Sermon for Holy Family
My child, why have you done this to us? (Luke 2:48)
They say that Christmas is a family time - and indeed we make it so. There are family reunions a-plenty. There are family parties and get togethers. Christmas Dinner, more than any other perhaps is a family occasion. Even families who rarely sit at table, rarely prepare the same food at the same time for all members, even these families try at least to do turkey and trimmings and Christmas pud.
But the image of the happy family gathered round the Christmas table is a fragile one. Many families are not united. Often family members do not speak, or it they do they may flare up into an argument. Some family wounds run so deep the different members have forgotten what the original cause for the argument was. Many do not know the closeness of a family because of separation and bereavement, and their experience may be of solitude and loneliness. And even if all appears good on the surface, there are few families which do not experience stress and strain and tensions, especially in this ‘joyous season’?
Does this mean our families are failures. Far from it!
Take great consolation in today’s Gospel. Here we hear of a family trying to do the right thing, yet falling into anxiety and confusion. The child Jesus - remarkable and devout - becomes separated from his distraught and uncomprehending parents. It would be easy to say that Mary and Joseph failed to understand their child. Some might turn the tables and try to point to Our Lord himself, as if he were to blame, as if he were at fault. (Even though Luke, who tells us this story, certainly did not believe Jesus had ever sinned).
Oh no: in families it is too easy to hand out blame. It is very simple to separate family members as perpetrators and victims. But it is also very easy to encounter trials and troubles for which no one may actually be to blame.
And this is the point. Families need not fail - but they must always struggle. No family is perfect - every family is loved by God. A family that never has an argument is a family that never communicates; a family that never grapples with problems is a family that never engages with life. But a family that confronts its challenges is a family which welcomes God’s grace.
The Holy Family knew confusion and anxiety. It encounters loneliness and separation. It will soon also know suffering and death. And so do our own families. And the Holy Family will make them whole - not because we stumble, but because God will lift us up.
They say that Christmas is a family time - and indeed we make it so. There are family reunions a-plenty. There are family parties and get togethers. Christmas Dinner, more than any other perhaps is a family occasion. Even families who rarely sit at table, rarely prepare the same food at the same time for all members, even these families try at least to do turkey and trimmings and Christmas pud.
But the image of the happy family gathered round the Christmas table is a fragile one. Many families are not united. Often family members do not speak, or it they do they may flare up into an argument. Some family wounds run so deep the different members have forgotten what the original cause for the argument was. Many do not know the closeness of a family because of separation and bereavement, and their experience may be of solitude and loneliness. And even if all appears good on the surface, there are few families which do not experience stress and strain and tensions, especially in this ‘joyous season’?
Does this mean our families are failures. Far from it!
Take great consolation in today’s Gospel. Here we hear of a family trying to do the right thing, yet falling into anxiety and confusion. The child Jesus - remarkable and devout - becomes separated from his distraught and uncomprehending parents. It would be easy to say that Mary and Joseph failed to understand their child. Some might turn the tables and try to point to Our Lord himself, as if he were to blame, as if he were at fault. (Even though Luke, who tells us this story, certainly did not believe Jesus had ever sinned).
Oh no: in families it is too easy to hand out blame. It is very simple to separate family members as perpetrators and victims. But it is also very easy to encounter trials and troubles for which no one may actually be to blame.
And this is the point. Families need not fail - but they must always struggle. No family is perfect - every family is loved by God. A family that never has an argument is a family that never communicates; a family that never grapples with problems is a family that never engages with life. But a family that confronts its challenges is a family which welcomes God’s grace.
The Holy Family knew confusion and anxiety. It encounters loneliness and separation. It will soon also know suffering and death. And so do our own families. And the Holy Family will make them whole - not because we stumble, but because God will lift us up.
Homily / Sermon for Christmas
I will be preaching this homily - slightly adapted, at each of the masses for Christmas Day (vigil, night and day).
Have you ever really looked at the Christmas Tree?
In every house, in every town and every city it can be seen. It is drawn on cards and is on display in show windows. In the middle of a cold and barren winter, it stands tall and strong and unfailingly green. While other trees are lost of leaves, while plants recede into the ground, while buds hide and wait below frost and snow, and the land lies dull as if dead or dying, the evergreen Christmas tree is a symbol of hope, a promise of new life, a harbinger of victory of life over death.
And what of the decorations on the tree - the baubles, glimmering and sparkling, catching the light as they move gently in their place. They claim our attention, so perfectly formed, like small worlds, yet so frail, so needful of our care. They remind us of the wonderful universe created by God, full of colour and beauty, yet so fragile - held in place by the strand of God’s love. This the universe which Christ came to save.
And the lights flash in their places, small candles which punctuate the shadows. Only pinpricks in the darkness now - but they represent a much greater Light. They remind us that child whose birth we celebrate is the Light of the World, who has come to cast away the darkness of the night, and light the way for us to the place where darkness vanishes for ever.
And at the top of the tree we often find an angel - a messenger from heaven, who proclaims the coming of the Saviour to the lowly Virgin and who reminds us of all the heavenly host who surprise the shepherds and sing the glory of the one who is born.
And with the angel - or even without the angel - there is usually a star. Bold, dominant and commanding the scene. A reminder of another star. And another place. A star which points to heaven - and marks a place on earth. A star which says that this humble place is where heaven touches the earth, where divine and human meet, where God dwells with men, where the word becomes flesh.
Have you ever really looked at the Christmas Tree?
In every house, in every town and every city it can be seen. It is drawn on cards and is on display in show windows. In the middle of a cold and barren winter, it stands tall and strong and unfailingly green. While other trees are lost of leaves, while plants recede into the ground, while buds hide and wait below frost and snow, and the land lies dull as if dead or dying, the evergreen Christmas tree is a symbol of hope, a promise of new life, a harbinger of victory of life over death.
And what of the decorations on the tree - the baubles, glimmering and sparkling, catching the light as they move gently in their place. They claim our attention, so perfectly formed, like small worlds, yet so frail, so needful of our care. They remind us of the wonderful universe created by God, full of colour and beauty, yet so fragile - held in place by the strand of God’s love. This the universe which Christ came to save.
And the lights flash in their places, small candles which punctuate the shadows. Only pinpricks in the darkness now - but they represent a much greater Light. They remind us that child whose birth we celebrate is the Light of the World, who has come to cast away the darkness of the night, and light the way for us to the place where darkness vanishes for ever.
And at the top of the tree we often find an angel - a messenger from heaven, who proclaims the coming of the Saviour to the lowly Virgin and who reminds us of all the heavenly host who surprise the shepherds and sing the glory of the one who is born.
And with the angel - or even without the angel - there is usually a star. Bold, dominant and commanding the scene. A reminder of another star. And another place. A star which points to heaven - and marks a place on earth. A star which says that this humble place is where heaven touches the earth, where divine and human meet, where God dwells with men, where the word becomes flesh.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Christmas Carol Service 2009
Our Carol Service took place on 20th December amid cold weather, snow and black ice. The congregation was depleted almost by half ... so I chose to preach about SNOW.
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The Word became flesh, and dwelt amongst us. (John 1:14)
What is it about snow?
Yes we complain about the cold and the incovenience, the slow traffic and the black ice. For a couple of days each year schools close, roads lock and routes are blocked as we cope with the seasonal snowfall. But we love it!
As children we loved the snowmen and the snowballs. We seized the opportunity, the brief opportunity to build with snow and coal and carrots, and to fight and freeze our temporary enemies. And as adults we admire the magical dusting which having miraculously descended from the sky gives a silver moonlit shimmer to the night-time trees and in daylight dazzles our sight.
Oh yes we complain about the cold and the incovenience, the slow traffic and the black ice. Yet we buy Christmas cards with snow-laden branches and red-breasted robins, we admire landscapes swept in white, and familiar buildings transformed into beauty by ice-sugar dusting of snow.
And what is it? What is it? Nothing but water, water which we find everywhere, water we drink, water we wash with, water that feeds our crops and cleans our cars.
Yet here is the magic and the wonder. Water, which is the foundation of life, Water, which is all around, Water which is never far from our finger tips, is hard to grasp. It runs through our fingers and tumbles off our roofs. It is sucked into drains and evaporates into the air.
Yet when it snows, the precious resource suddenly - yet briefly - is made solid. For a moment we can touch it, mould it, grab it, throw it. We can build with it. It makes ordinary scenes beautiful and beautiful scenes stunning: and yet it was always there.
In the words of St John we just heard, we are told ‘The Word because flesh’: the Word, through whom all things were made; the Word, who was there from the very beginning, the Word always there yet never quite visible or within our grasp, that Word becomes solid, He is seen in all his reality, He comes to live amongst u
That is what we celebrate - the coming to earth of the maker of the earth, the dwelling amongst us of the one who was always amongst us. The crystallising of truth in a human being.
And we beheld his glory: not the glory of a King, not the glory or riches, but the glory of a truth which was always present, the making visible of a love which we always knew.
Come, let us adore him!
Christ the Lord!
---
The Word became flesh, and dwelt amongst us. (John 1:14)
What is it about snow?
Yes we complain about the cold and the incovenience, the slow traffic and the black ice. For a couple of days each year schools close, roads lock and routes are blocked as we cope with the seasonal snowfall. But we love it!
As children we loved the snowmen and the snowballs. We seized the opportunity, the brief opportunity to build with snow and coal and carrots, and to fight and freeze our temporary enemies. And as adults we admire the magical dusting which having miraculously descended from the sky gives a silver moonlit shimmer to the night-time trees and in daylight dazzles our sight.
Oh yes we complain about the cold and the incovenience, the slow traffic and the black ice. Yet we buy Christmas cards with snow-laden branches and red-breasted robins, we admire landscapes swept in white, and familiar buildings transformed into beauty by ice-sugar dusting of snow.
And what is it? What is it? Nothing but water, water which we find everywhere, water we drink, water we wash with, water that feeds our crops and cleans our cars.
Yet here is the magic and the wonder. Water, which is the foundation of life, Water, which is all around, Water which is never far from our finger tips, is hard to grasp. It runs through our fingers and tumbles off our roofs. It is sucked into drains and evaporates into the air.
Yet when it snows, the precious resource suddenly - yet briefly - is made solid. For a moment we can touch it, mould it, grab it, throw it. We can build with it. It makes ordinary scenes beautiful and beautiful scenes stunning: and yet it was always there.
In the words of St John we just heard, we are told ‘The Word because flesh’: the Word, through whom all things were made; the Word, who was there from the very beginning, the Word always there yet never quite visible or within our grasp, that Word becomes solid, He is seen in all his reality, He comes to live amongst u
That is what we celebrate - the coming to earth of the maker of the earth, the dwelling amongst us of the one who was always amongst us. The crystallising of truth in a human being.
And we beheld his glory: not the glory of a King, not the glory or riches, but the glory of a truth which was always present, the making visible of a love which we always knew.
Come, let us adore him!
Christ the Lord!
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Homily / Sermon for Advent 4
As soon as Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the child leapt in her womb and Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit. (Luke 1:41)
Visiting relatives and friends is an important part of the observance of Christmas, isn’t it. Of course we can send cards - and we do, in great quantity and at extraordinary cost. We can write and receive letters - including those dreadful show-offy circular letters that some people seem to go in for. We can also, of course, send emails, texts and make phone calls - second best, perhaps, but better than nothing.
But nothing quite replaces the visit.
We may sometimes find it a chore to be visited or to visit, but often too it is a great joy. To see how much the children have grown. To catch up with news - sad and glad. To remark how much someone is ‘looking well’ (put weight on) or looks exactly the same (has aged) or must take care of themselves (looks ill). No remotely transmitted message, however necessary and however kindly meant can replace the personal contact. And sometimes - let’s not forget - what is a chore for one party may be a joy for the other.
Todays Gospel is about a Christmas visit (well sort of). And it is an encounter which St Luke narrates to us with this beautiful detail - that the presence of Christ within His mother touched both his Elizabeth and her unborn child with joy. And it is the greeting of Mother which brings that presence of Son.
When we are visited or visit we make similar encounters. We bring Christ to others and we meet him in others. We are blessed through what may seem a simple duty. Christ will be born amongst us, if we make him present through our greetings, our compassion and our love.
---
For Bidding Prayers, click here
Visiting relatives and friends is an important part of the observance of Christmas, isn’t it. Of course we can send cards - and we do, in great quantity and at extraordinary cost. We can write and receive letters - including those dreadful show-offy circular letters that some people seem to go in for. We can also, of course, send emails, texts and make phone calls - second best, perhaps, but better than nothing.
But nothing quite replaces the visit.
We may sometimes find it a chore to be visited or to visit, but often too it is a great joy. To see how much the children have grown. To catch up with news - sad and glad. To remark how much someone is ‘looking well’ (put weight on) or looks exactly the same (has aged) or must take care of themselves (looks ill). No remotely transmitted message, however necessary and however kindly meant can replace the personal contact. And sometimes - let’s not forget - what is a chore for one party may be a joy for the other.
Todays Gospel is about a Christmas visit (well sort of). And it is an encounter which St Luke narrates to us with this beautiful detail - that the presence of Christ within His mother touched both his Elizabeth and her unborn child with joy. And it is the greeting of Mother which brings that presence of Son.
When we are visited or visit we make similar encounters. We bring Christ to others and we meet him in others. We are blessed through what may seem a simple duty. Christ will be born amongst us, if we make him present through our greetings, our compassion and our love.
---
For Bidding Prayers, click here
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Homily for Memorial Service at Carmountside Cemetery 13th December 2009
There's a lot about heaven in the Christmas story.
There are angels everywhere. Bringing messages, singing, announcing. And the child who is born, he himself comes down to earth from heaven.
It is a time when the invisible becomes visible. When love, and kindness and generosity are celebrated. When what is often so far away from our lives, for a time is very close.
Christmas is a time when heaven touches the earth.
And though it seems so hard that we are parted from our loved ones at this joyous time of year, what we do today is part of this.
Today, as we remember our loved ones, we reach out over our grief and lasting sorrow to embrace those we love. Our hope can overcome our pain. The rift of death that separates us from them is crossed by our memories, our gratitude, and most of all by our love.
Today earth touches heaven.
Heaven is not far away. The singing of the angels, the heavenly host, reminds us of that. Heaven is not far away, but very very close. Our loved ones are too are not far away. We may not see them, but every time you hear that story of the angels singing, remember this: heaven is very very close. And our loved ones are here with us today.
There are angels everywhere. Bringing messages, singing, announcing. And the child who is born, he himself comes down to earth from heaven.
It is a time when the invisible becomes visible. When love, and kindness and generosity are celebrated. When what is often so far away from our lives, for a time is very close.
Christmas is a time when heaven touches the earth.
And though it seems so hard that we are parted from our loved ones at this joyous time of year, what we do today is part of this.
Today, as we remember our loved ones, we reach out over our grief and lasting sorrow to embrace those we love. Our hope can overcome our pain. The rift of death that separates us from them is crossed by our memories, our gratitude, and most of all by our love.
Today earth touches heaven.
Heaven is not far away. The singing of the angels, the heavenly host, reminds us of that. Heaven is not far away, but very very close. Our loved ones are too are not far away. We may not see them, but every time you hear that story of the angels singing, remember this: heaven is very very close. And our loved ones are here with us today.
Monday, December 07, 2009
Homily / Sermon for Advent 3
All the people asked John, "What must we do?" (Luke 3:10)
What is the best way of preparing for Christmas? It's a reasonable question.
Of course many people prepare for Christmas by beginning the celebrations early. Their trees are in their houses decked with lights and decorations. The round of Christmas dinners and parties is well underway. Carols and other seasonal songs are to heard in homes and pubs and shops. And of course there is the shopping …
But others of course frown upon this frivolity. It is yet advent, and the parties and the decorations and especially the carols must wait. No trees till Christmas Eve, please! This is a time for reflection and prayer, let the feasting follow the fast. The trouble is, this attitude makes us look like latter day scrooges to the unbelieving world, and scrooges about the vestige of Christian culture which still makes an impact on our increasingly secular culture.
"Master, what must we do?" our situation is very different, but the question is the same. Should we go along with the world, or refuse to be part of it?
John's answer is a wise answer. Don't be a glutton or a Scrooge. Act justly and with honesty. Be generous. Protect and do not exploit the weak and those in need. Give with joy.
This is a time when it is very easy to think only of our own wants and pleasure, but just as easy to give from full and joyous hearts to others: to the sick and the lonely, to the homeless poor, to the refugee and the seeker after asylum, to those who are abused and neglected.
John's answer is profound because it is so simple. Just do what you do and do it honesy and well. Just do what you already know to be right. Just do it.
What is the best way of preparing for Christmas? It's a reasonable question.
Of course many people prepare for Christmas by beginning the celebrations early. Their trees are in their houses decked with lights and decorations. The round of Christmas dinners and parties is well underway. Carols and other seasonal songs are to heard in homes and pubs and shops. And of course there is the shopping …
But others of course frown upon this frivolity. It is yet advent, and the parties and the decorations and especially the carols must wait. No trees till Christmas Eve, please! This is a time for reflection and prayer, let the feasting follow the fast. The trouble is, this attitude makes us look like latter day scrooges to the unbelieving world, and scrooges about the vestige of Christian culture which still makes an impact on our increasingly secular culture.
"Master, what must we do?" our situation is very different, but the question is the same. Should we go along with the world, or refuse to be part of it?
John's answer is a wise answer. Don't be a glutton or a Scrooge. Act justly and with honesty. Be generous. Protect and do not exploit the weak and those in need. Give with joy.
This is a time when it is very easy to think only of our own wants and pleasure, but just as easy to give from full and joyous hearts to others: to the sick and the lonely, to the homeless poor, to the refugee and the seeker after asylum, to those who are abused and neglected.
John's answer is profound because it is so simple. Just do what you do and do it honesy and well. Just do what you already know to be right. Just do it.
Saturday, December 05, 2009
Homily / Sermon for Advent 2
A voice cries in the wilderness (Luke 3:4)
We have a clock in the sacristy which is always exactly correct. It is regulated by a radio signal which is broadcast from Rugby. When the battery goes flat you put in a new battery and the fingers spin round till they get to the right time. When the hour changes the clock immediately corrects itself. We always know exactly what the time is.
In the ancient world it was not so easy. Time was much more general and vague, depending upon the the phases of the sun and the moon. There was no universal system of dating.
So the beginning of today’s Gospel is not just a list of kings and rulers, a collection of obscure and difficult-to-pronounce names. The only way of giving dates at this time was to relate to the years of a king or governor’s rule, and the more officials you could name, the more accurate your date.
In other words, Luke is taking his time to make a very important point: here you are witnessing a very precise, a very definite moment in history. It is not ‘once upon a time’ but ‘precisely at this time’. We know that this happened, we know where it happened and we know when it happened.
Luke is telling us that John the Baptist appeared and began his preaching at a definite point in time, a carefully chosen moment in history, a moment in history which will change history itself. It is what the prophets called ‘the fullness of time’, a time when the maker of time enters into time itself.
It is almost as if we see the curtain drawn back and the great drama begin; it is as if the bell chimes and we all stand to pay heed. Nothing will ever be the same again. Everything starts here. From this time forward we set dates not by the reigns of governors, tetrarchs and pontiffs, but by the Birth of the King of Kings.
We have a clock in the sacristy which is always exactly correct. It is regulated by a radio signal which is broadcast from Rugby. When the battery goes flat you put in a new battery and the fingers spin round till they get to the right time. When the hour changes the clock immediately corrects itself. We always know exactly what the time is.
In the ancient world it was not so easy. Time was much more general and vague, depending upon the the phases of the sun and the moon. There was no universal system of dating.
So the beginning of today’s Gospel is not just a list of kings and rulers, a collection of obscure and difficult-to-pronounce names. The only way of giving dates at this time was to relate to the years of a king or governor’s rule, and the more officials you could name, the more accurate your date.
In other words, Luke is taking his time to make a very important point: here you are witnessing a very precise, a very definite moment in history. It is not ‘once upon a time’ but ‘precisely at this time’. We know that this happened, we know where it happened and we know when it happened.
Luke is telling us that John the Baptist appeared and began his preaching at a definite point in time, a carefully chosen moment in history, a moment in history which will change history itself. It is what the prophets called ‘the fullness of time’, a time when the maker of time enters into time itself.
It is almost as if we see the curtain drawn back and the great drama begin; it is as if the bell chimes and we all stand to pay heed. Nothing will ever be the same again. Everything starts here. From this time forward we set dates not by the reigns of governors, tetrarchs and pontiffs, but by the Birth of the King of Kings.
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