30th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C) : Homily / Sermon

Everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the man who humbles himself will be exalted.’ (Luke 18:13)

This is a wonderful tale, which proves beyond all doubt that Jesus has a mischievous sense of humour. He pokes fun at the pompous Pharisee - several of whom would gave been amongst his congregation. This is not angry or bitter sarcasm, but a gentle poking of fun, bringing right down to solid earth those who have such a high opinion of themselves. 

But the story isn't only poking fun. It is also, when we turn to the tax collector, poignant and sad. Here, a wretched and despised man - usually no doubt the butt of many a joke or insult, wrestles with his own inadequacy and failure. He knows his life has gone wrong. He is aware of his sins and failings. And he comes before God, sorry and broken. 

So what is the difference between these men? It is not their faith, because both are found at prayer in Temple. It is not their poverty or riches, because both would have been quite wealthy people. It is not age or education either. 

No. The difference is that one knows his need of God, and the other does not. One is aware of his failings, while the other is aware only of the failings of others. One can name his sins, while the other can name only sinners. 

One is full of contrition, while the other is blinded by pride. 

The Pharisee believes his goodness comes from his own efforts, while the tax collector knows that it is only the grace of God which can send him home in peace.

23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time : Homily / Sermon

Anyone who does not carry his cross and come after me cannot be my disciple. (Luke 14:27)

Some people think that faith is all about comfort. It is about escape from the realities of life. In this point of view, people have faith, or get faith to escape from the pain of bereavement, or the guilt of wrong-doing, or the misery of poverty or the sadness of loneliness. The promise of heaven, of forgiveness, of the communion of saints and a better life to come all give tremendous comfort. Religion, faith, belief - so this argument goes - is all a delusion, as escape from what the world is really like. 

Well, like all popularly held points of view, there is an element of truth in this. Faith does give comfort and hope. It does provide some answer to questions. It does give meaning and hope and strength.

But not always. Faith is much more about carrying the cross, than it is about wearing a forced smile.

Those who embrace the Christian faith have often encountered ridicule, and persecution, and even death. The history of our faith is littered with martyrs. In the last century, it is said, there were more martyrs for the faith than in the whole of the previous 19 centuries. Today, Christians carry their cross in China, in parts of Africa and especially in some muslim countries where churches have been burnt and believers attacked and killed. Christians in parts of the Middle East, now suffer far more than they ever did in the past.


And there is another cross which believers may have to carry.

September 5th was feast day of St Teresa of Calcutta.  Just a few years after her death in 2002, a collection of her diary entries and letters were published. They revealed something which at the time caused a stir – that for most of her life, Mother Teresa was afflicted by what she called 'the dark night of God's silence': it was a deep sense of doubt, of the questioning of God's existence, God's presence, God's love. Mother Teresa was racked by doubt. To be sure, she had a profound experience of the presence of Christ as a younger woman, but for most of her life she sat not in the light of that experience, but in its shadow. Yet her conviction never wavered, her commitment did not shake, she gave her life for the desperately poor and the destitute, the sick and the dying. In an extraordinary way, she carried the cross of darkness and doubt.

One of her biographers put it so beautifully:

Mother Teresa, she said, converted "her feeling of abandonment by God into an act of abandonment to God." She proclaimed that there was "more hunger in the world for love and appreciation than for bread." She lived her doubts, not for an hour on Sunday, but every day, as she tended the poor and dying in utter, relentless squalor.

The darkness of God's silence was her cross.

May we be able to carry our crosses with such grace and generosity and love.

22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time (C): Homily / Sermon

For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and the man who humbles himself will be exalted.

(Luke 14:11)

If you've been away this summer, you may have done some summer reading. And if you didn’t go prepared, the airports, the motorway service areas,  and the railway stations (as I prefer to call them) give us plenty of suggestions for us to choose from. 

Many of course include the murder mysteries or the thrillers, the romances or the biographies of celebrities. But there are others: the self-help books, full of advice, hints and tips and strategies for a full, fulfilling, and successful life. Sometimes they have a business orientation, but just as often they are about life itself "10 ways to be happy and successful". They make it all sound simple and achievable. 

People sometimes presume that scripture works in the same way. They look to the teaching of Jesus - and other parts of Scripture - for wise advice on how to live a good, happy, and of course successful life. 

And indeed there is some of that to be found. 

The Ten Commandments provide a very sound basis for social life. 

If you want to avoid embarrassment at a social event - and indeed even draw positive attention to yourself, then sitting lower down the table might be very effective. 

And there are other examples too - "Turn the other cheek", Jesus says - While hitting back may seem the natural thing to do, every teacher knows that it will not solve problems or even heal hurts. "An eye for an eye makes everyone blind," as Ghandi once said. Refusing to retaliate may be a very powerful act of defiance, especially in the face of a much more powerful foe. 

However, even having said this, life is often too complicated to allow this to be effective every time. Jesus might encourage us to be peaceful, and not to make our giving self-serving, and to assist those in greater need that ourselves, but no one, not even the most holy, suggests that we should only invite the neediest to our family celebrations, or allow exploitation and injustice to continue. 

The trouble is, the advice which Jesus gives us sometimes appears unrealistic and impractical. When violence is used against us, we are told - it seems - to grin and bear it, when exploited we should "carry the pack for an extra mile", and when we organise a party - as he tells us in today's Gospel - we should invite only those who cannot repay the favour. 

These directions seem to fly in face of common sense, and might even be thought to contradict other things that Jesus said. How can we truly “turn the other cheek” and yet still “hunger and thirst for righteousness sake"? 

The problem for us in reading these stories is that we are looking for the self-help guide, the handbook for daily life. And for the modern reader and listener this teaching should be sound advice but more often it seems like dangerous foolery. And we see it like this because we are not looking far enough ahead - we are looking for instant results and outcomes. 

St Luke makes it clear at the beginning of this passage that this is a "parable" - not a story, so much, but a comparison. Jesus is not writing a self-help book, but explaining the nature of God's Kingdom. He is not giving us a homespun vision, a list of hints and tips for living a good life, but inspiring us, and presenting us with a hope. 

The Kingdom of God - he is telling us - is a place where all have their dignity, the poor and the disabled, alongside all others. It is a place where no one should seek a special place because of their wealth or status. It is a place where virtue, good living, not social position matter most. It is a place of peace, not violence, reconciliation, not conflict. 

The problems with the self-help book is that it is self-indulgent. It hoodwinks us into thinking that we can indeed help ourselves and if we just have the right ideas and the right tools, nothing is beyond us. 

The vision of the Kingdom of God is different. We realise that we are imperfect, in need of forgiveness, and can achieve nothing without the help of God's grace. 

This is both a future reality and present vision. It challenges and inspires us - it liberates us, but it doesn't limit us. It is something which can only be fully be realised at the end of time, but which should drive our thoughts and actions now. 

21st Sunday in Ordinary Time (C) : Homily / Sermon

Men from east and west, from north and south, will come to take their places at the feast in the kingdom of God. (Luke 13:29)

When we read in the Gospels of people from east and west, north and south - all over the world - coming in to the kingdom, and when we hear of the apostles being sent out to the whole world, we are reading this through the eyes of hundreds of years of Christian history - a history in which our faith spread from Palestine to Asia, Asia to Europe, Europe to Africa and the New World. We know a history of martyrs who died in Japan, Uganda and Peru. We know of Churches built almost from nothing in Fiji, Scandinavia and even in Cannock. It is a remarkable story - a remarkable set of stories. Christianity is now followed by about a quarter of the world, is known in almost every country, and Catholicism is by far its largest representative. 

But the words in today’s Gospel were spoken and written down long before all that. They were spoken when Jesus’ followers were quite a small group, popular amongst the people, but with an uneasy relationship with the authorities. And they were written down when Christians were already persecuted, considered either a novelty or even a perversion by the society of the time, living in small communities separated by long distances, held together by strong leaders and the many letters which travelled the roads of the Roman Empire.

And yet there was this extraordinary hope: this vision of   Jesus, of a kingdom peopled by those from all over the world; the vision of the Apostles, sent out with few resources to call those people to join them; the vision of the Church, which has never ceased, boldly and in the face of continuing opposition and persecution to proclaim the truth and call people to its communion.  

We live in society where we are encouraged to forget that vision. We encounter not so much persecution, but indifference and ridicule. We are not painted as a dangerous novelty, as still and yet again in so many parts of the world, but more like a spent force from past ages. 

And we worry about declining numbers, a shortage of priests, the dropping off of practice of those who go by the name Catholic. 

Yet they had it much more difficult. Fewer numbers. Greater hardship. Tough times. 

Yet they had a hope, a dream, a vision, for the Kingdom of God, the truth of the Gospel, the certainty of their hope, the realisation of the growth and prosperity of the Church. 

And they were right!

20th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C) : Homily / Sermon

I have come to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were blazing already! (Luke 12:49)

St Catherine of Siena said “Be who God meant you to be and you will set the world on fire.”

Fire is a tremendously powerful thing. And it represents many things to us.

Firstly, it is is comforting.

When we gather in front of the fire, we feel its warmth and a sense of security. If we gather around a camp fire there is a strong sense of community. One of the less positive aspects of central heating is that we no longer need the fire in our homes for warmth - yet we still enjoy the logs and the coal fire, especially on a windy, rainy or snowy day. The fire and the hearth speak of home, and comfort and love.

And this is true also of course of our faith. It is a comfort in times of sorrow and distress. It is a refuge for the weak, and not so weak. It is our home, our assurance of God's love, our hope for life beyond this life.

Yet, secondly, fire is destructive, and because of this, it is also purifying.

Fire can cause terrible damage yet this very power to destroy is also purifying. Fire burns away the dross. It destroys the rubbish, and leaves behind what is really valuable. 

The assayer’s fire purifies precious metals. The potters fire bakes the pots and fixes the glaze. The gardener’s fire burns away waste, destroys harmful bacteria.

And similarly, the fire of the faith casts away the darkness of sin. It reveals the truth, dissipates falsehood and dispels injustice. 

This can be a very painful process. “Do you suppose I come to bring peace on earth?” 

Jesus asks. 

This fire can be divisive and hurtful. Faith, truth, honesty, compassion sometimes divide friends, families, and communities. 

Faith will bring comfort - but it’s coming may not be comfortable. Christ brings fire to the earth, and in a purifying fire, something and someone will surely get burnt.

Yet, finally, fire is also transforming.

The coal which was hewn from the ground round here went to fire the furnaces, the foundries, and the factories of the Black Country, the West Midlands, and beyond. Trains crossed the nation and and ships crossed continents, powered by its fire. And still today, though not so much from coal, fire powers our cars, generates our electricity and cooks our food - especially the Sunday roast we look forward too. It is a great power which does not only destroy, but it also changes, transforms, renews. And when we are strongly motivated, angry or in love, we say that we have fire within.

And so, the fire of faith must burn in our hearts. It enthuses us, encourages us, enlivens us, transforms us. It is no coincidence that when the Spirit was given to the apostles at Pentecost he is described as 'tongues of flame', or when Jesus met the disciples on the road to Emmaus they described their feeling as a burning within. Neither it is coincidence that the Sacred Heart of Jesus and the Immaculate Heart of Our Lady are so often pictured as hearts surrounded by flames.

The fire of faith moves us, enlivens us, and consumes us. It brings us comfort. It challenges, disturbs and purifies us. And it changes and transforms us. St Catherine of Siena intended all these senses when she  said “Be who God meant you to be and you will set the world on fire.” - And she was only echoing what Jesus says to us in today’s Gospel: “I have come to bring fire to the earth and how I wish it were blazing already”.

The Assumption of Our Lady

“The Almighty has done great things for me. Holy is his name” (Luke 1:49)

Here is a sort of quiz question: name ten people of acknowledged greatness: a great composer, a great artist, a great poet, a great novelist, a great engineer, a great scientist, a great inventor, a great campaigner for social justice, a great political leader, a great philosopher, a great musician. 

Do this quickly, the first name that comes into your head, and your list might sound something like mine: 

Beethoven, Michelangelo, Wordsworth, Dickens, Brunel, Rutherford, Edison, Wilberforce, Churchill, and Aristotle.

Well there’s no right or wrong answer, and there may be as many different lists as there are people here but if I were a gambling man I’d be prepared to bet that most lists would like be much like mine: and this list of the great and the good, as many of you may have noticed is made up entirely of white men of European birth or descent. 

I wonder how many of you had more than one or two women in your list? And yet it is entirely possible: 

a great composer: Hildegard von Bingen 

a great artist: Elizabeth Siddal

a great poet: Sylvia Plath

a great novelist: Jane Austen

a great engineer: Emily Roebling

a great scientist: Marie Curie

a great inventor: Beulah Louise Henry

a great campaigner: Rosa Parks

a great political leader: Boudicca

a great philosopher: Hypatia of Alexandria

And of course there are lots of others who could have been included. 

We are being encouraged nowadays to rediscover those who were great and yet almost forgotten, not only women of course, but also those born or having a heritage outside Europe and those from other backgrounds. The debate sometimes centres round names in school textbooks, public statues, and faces on banknotes. 

With this debate going on, sometimes in a controversial and very heated way, as Catholics we might feel a little less uncomfortable than others, perhaps even a little smug. Great figures in our history and amongst our saints are capable, intelligent, often impressive women: Hildegard of Bingen, Hilda of Whitby, Catherine of Siena, St Teresa Benedicta of the Cross (St Edith Stein). And of course, at the very centre of our faith, and our life of prayer and liturgy is Our Blessed Lady herself,  The Immaculate Conception, the Mother of God. And it is her who we celebrate today, her assumption into heaven, her sharing already in the Resurrection. 

But perhaps when we consider Our Lady among the great and good there there is something of problem. Certainly she is famous. Certainly she is a notable figure in the Christian story. But can we really say that Mary is amongst the Great, alongside those with so many extraordinary abilities, accomplishments and achievements? 

It was as a young jewish girl that she became pregnant with Jesus of Nazareth. No doubt she knew her faith, but she was probably unschooled, probably never learnt to read or write.  She invented nothing, built nothing, nor created any works of art; she composed nothing, led nothing, campaigned for nothing. There is no record of her expressing views or ideas or opinions. Her words which are recorded for us in scripture are very few. All she did, really, was become and be a Mother. Like so many others. She was, surely, very Ordinary. 

And yet, herein lies her greatness. The greatness to which God called her. The greatness which he works in her. 

You see, in a way, there is almost nothing you can say about Mary that you cannot say about ourselves. 

Like her, we are created by God, chosen by God from the first moments of our existence. Like her, he has given us a work to do. God brings us, like her, from this sinful world into his plan of salvation. Through baptism and the Eucharist, Christ dwells in us, much as he dwelt in her. Like her, we pray for others. Like her, we are called to share in the resurrection life. 

She is humanity, protected and perfected. 

She did not need to do great works, she just had to be, So that we can say with her: Let it be done to me according to your word … he has looked upon his lowly servant … the Almighty has done great things for me. 

The Great and the Good works, the achievements of humanity, these are the works of God himself, in us. These are the wonders of his grace. 

It was just as St Catherine of Siena said “Be who God meant you to be and you will set the world on fire.”

Mary was who she was meant to be, and she sets the world on fire! 

19th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C) : Homily / Sermon

"If the householder had known at what hour the burglar would come, he would not have let anyone break through the wall of his house."  (Luke 12:38)

Photo by Victor Garcia on Unsplash

If you’ve even been burgled, you might have some idea of what he means. Though it is usually a case of closing the stable door when the horse has bolted, once someone has entered your house and stolen from you, you become very aware that it could happen again, that the visitors may return, and though they probably won’t, you fear them and try to be ready for them. 

Jesus certainly has a way with words, and in his teaching he uses examples, makes comparisons with life which are sometimes strange and sometimes shocking. 

He compares the faithful Christian to a fraudulent steward; 

he compares God listening to our prayers, to the bad tempered neighbour reluctant to stir from sleep, 

He says the rich, privileged and respected members of society will find it as hard to enter heaven as a camel could pass through the eye of a needle,

and here he says that the coming of the Son of Man, the return of Jesus at the end of time, will be like the visit of an unexpected burglar. 

Why does Jesus use this image? 

It is unfortunate, I think, that Christians who have tried to take passages like this seriously, have often concentrated on the wrong thing. They have focussed on the day and the time when Jesus will return: the end is nigh, they have proclaimed at street corners, from sandwich boards and sometimes on our doorsteps, because of course there is little point talking about the day and the time of Jesus’ return unless it is very soon. 

But the point of all these passages is not the date and the time for the second coming of Christ but of our readiness to meet him. 

It is not about watching clocks, but healing hearts. 

Here is the question he asks: are we prepared for him? Are we ready to greet him? The trouble is, much as we want to meet Christ we are never quite ready for him. It was St Augustine who said "Lord, give me chastity, but not yet!" We want to delay the moment, put off the day. The great Roman Emperor Constantine, the one who took Christianity from an illegal practice to the official religion, was baptised only on his deathbed. Others too, wait till moments of safety or the quietness of a kind of retirement to take the Big Step. 

We are good at putting things off: while we are on holiday we can be absolutely certain we will be dieting in January, going dry in February, and giving up smoking in Lent, but today … today … we will carry on as usual. 

And the same is true of our spiritual lives: so many of us, perhaps most of us, make compromises and excuses, and  tell ourselves we’ll sort it out later. 

Yes, the fear of the burglar passes, and as we settle back into our routine. We cut corners again and take chances, forget to bolt the doors, and lock the windows. 

But for Christ we must always be vigilant - not because he might catch us out, but because it is right to be ready now. Honesty cannot wait for our death beds. Compassion does not only come with contrition. Saying sorry is easy, but living a caring, devoted and prayerful life requires something more. 

Our good intentions, our virtues, Are not tomorrow’s todo list, for some later life, after life, but for now, because God is with us not only tomorrow, but very much today.  

16th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C) : Homily / Sermon

It is Mary who has chosen the better part; it is not to be taken from her.’ (Luke 10:42)

Whose side do you take - Martha’s or Mary’s? 

It’s hard not to sympathise with Martha. 

There she is doing all the work. Serving at table, washing the dishes, brushing the floor, soaking the pans, filling the glasses - while Mary just sits there doing nothing, listening and chatting. 

And the more she does, the more frustrated she gets. She bangs a few plates loudly into the sink. Pushes a door to a little more firmly than usual. Huffs and puffs with a bit more force and volume. 

She is annoyed. She is furious with her ... idle ... sister. Livid. 

Well, perhaps it is a familiar family scene. 

But think again - the contrast here is not actually between labour and leisure, though it might seem so at first. It is not a conflict between urgent tasks and idleness. It is about priorities. 

And, of course, Jesus is right, Mary does have the better part. 

What is more important, chores or conversation? the worry of work, or the joy of companionship? The list of tasks or the presence of guests? 

It’s not that the work doesn’t matter. It does. Tables must be cleared. The floor will have to be swept. The dishes must be cleaned. Martha isn't wrong - Jesus doesn't say that. Jobs must be done. 

But these jobs are necessary not despite the guests, but because of them. And people must always come first. Love, Devotion, Companionship, Prayer can never be second best. 

We live a workaholic world where people rush from place to place, work long hours, go on time management courses rather than spend time with their families. We put the kids in front of DVD rather than spend quality time together ... if we are not careful. 

What Jesus speaks of here is what we might call the Sabbath principle. It is the idea that leisure is not simply a pause for idleness, but a moment for recharging the batteries, for assessing priorities. Recreation is Re-Creation. 

This isn't the same as idleness, because that is purposeless and time-wasting. Leisure can only be enjoyed by those who need it. Priorities can be assessed only by those who have them. Batteries can only be recharged by those who use them. we must breathe in as well as breathe out, sleep as well as wake, rest as well as work. 

No - we can sympathise with Martha - but Mary has the better part. 

Corpus Christi • Homily / Sermon

“They all ate as much as they wanted” Luke 9:16

It was in 1976, a sixth former travelling through France with a friend, when I first saw a Pizza. It is an odd thing to relate, because I can’t remember the precise place or the circumstances, only that it was in the middle of a very sunny day, and we were hungry. My friend and I were with some other young people - again, who or why I don’t recall - and they suggested we go into a nearby shop and get a slice of Pizza. Now I’m pretty sure I had heard of pizza, but I had very little idea what it was, what it tasted like, nor indeed if I liked it. And the rest, as they say, is history. 

How the world has changed. These were the days before MacDonalds, KFC and Dominoes pizza. There were Chinese takeaways, to be sure, but we never went to them. In those days I had never heard of onion bhajis and poppadoms. We occasionally had tinned spaghetti and home made macaroni cheese, but we didn’t know these were called “pasta”, and lasagna was yet to be discovered. On Sunday the house smelt of Lamb and Rice Pudding, and during the week we would sometimes have something my mum called an “Egg and Bacon” Pie, which very much later in life I learnt was also called a quiche, but in the main these were the Black and White days, the days of meat and two veg, fish and chips, and - on special occasions - something called “chicken in a basket”.

And while many people still prefer traditional foods, not least what we now call “carvery”, and the “Full English breakfast”, most us now eat a very wide range of foods, foods found all over the world, carefully adapted for the british palate. At one time we were apprehensive about the new and the unfamiliar - but now people yearn for foods which are different, colourful, hot, spicy and exotic. 

The thing is, whatever our preferences, human beings eat and drink not just because we are hungry, but also for pleasure. It has its bad side of course - we eat and drink often not because we need to, but because we want to, and the richer our society becomes, the more we consume food for recreation, not just in order to survive. 

It is worth thinking about this. It is something typically human, and which few animals share. If you are a dog owner, you will know that we are told not to change the feed of dogs suddenly: dogs prefer what they are used to.

Indeed, the diet of most animals is usually very boring, and often rather repulsive to us humans.  Some animals eat meat, some only plants, but human beings can make a choice. No posh plates, garnishes of flavoured dressings for them. Food is fuel. Necessary, essential, but presentation is quite irrelevant. 

But for us, food is savoured, relished and enjoyed. Special foods grace our celebrations - christening, Christmas and wedding cakes, easter eggs, simnel cakes, hot cross buns. When we get together for a welcome or a farewell, when we greet an honoured guest, when we celebrate a success or to share a sadness, we do all these things with food, as they apparently used to say in Yorkshire, they “buried him wi’ cowd ’am”.

The thing is, we could all easily live off tablets and dietary drinks which are full of nutrients which provide us all that we need to survive, yet which have little or no flavour, no aromas, no colour. Sometimes people have to live like this, but nobody wants to. 

Food gives meaning to our lives, and our lives find meaning in food. 

When people meet to worship, they often, frequently share food. Muslims gather in the dark in Ramadan to feast after the fast. Sikhs pride themselves in the hospitality and generosity of  foods they provide for any visitor to the Gurdwara. Jewish inventiveness with food, and their intricate rules for its use are rightly renowned. 

Foods are described in religious terms, as being heavenly or divine. And some even have religious sounding names, like angel cakes and passion fruit. We even have the curate’s egg and the parsons nose. 

And in our Catholic faith, food assumes an even more exalted level. In the Gospels we often hear of Jesus meeting and teaching when food is being shared. His last supper prepares his followers for his death and resurrection. Heaven is frequently described as a banquet, a feast. 

An food becomes essential to the faith itself, because it is Christ himself who is the Bread of Life. When we meet to worship we do not simply share food, as people so often do, but the One who we worship gives himself to us as food. 

This act of eating and feeding, which every living creature needs to do simply to survive, is now lifted by His Creative power beyond the celebrations of our human lives, into an eternal life and the blessedness of heaven. 

So when Jesus when Jesus feeds the five thousand, the food which they eat to their fill is not only for their earthly survival, but even more for their heavenly destiny. This is food beyond food: it is Jesus himself, the Bread of Life, the Manna from Heaven, the Lamb who was slain, the Shepherd of the lost, the consoler of the sorrowful, the hope of those in despair. 

(To recall the words of the sequence), 

He is the rich fare which makes us each his chosen guest, 

and  the living bread, our present food and future rest. 

The Holy Trinity • Homily / Sermon

The love of God has been poured into our hearts. (Romans 5:5)

When I was at school we had to learn the periodic table. I found it very dull - yet I later discovered that the reality behind it was fascinating.

These Protons, neutrons and electrons were tiny building blocks which make up so many different materials.

Nowadays even more is known about these tiny particles:  we now have positrons, quarks, dark matter and anti-matter, string theory, the Higgs boson ... Its breathtaking, and also mind-boggling. 

And amazingly, the very tiny seems to be so much like the very large, the universe itself - planets, stars, moons, spread over million miles of space.

You see, Everything is related to everything else. Amazingly powerful, yet sometimes hidden forces link and bind everything.  Gravity unites planets with stars, and moons with planets. Tiny electrical charges tie electrons to atoms, and bind protons and neutrons. Stars lies in galaxies, and atoms combine to make substances and chemicals. Water is a combination of just hydrogen and oxygen, and then the tides of great bodies of water are moved by the moon. 

Great and Small, unbelievably massive and invisibly tiny, Everything is related to everything else. Even people. Especially people. "No man is an island", the Poet John Donne wrote.

And this is all because God who Created all these things is himself harmony, relationship, connection. He is one, yet three. His creation reflects his glory, the glory of the deepest bonds of all, of family, Father, Son, and Spirit - a relationship which gives itself eternally, yet without ever diminishing. 

He is bound together by the strongest bonds, yet He gives himself with infinite generosity. We call him Trinity. 

And the force that unites him and which he shares with us, the force that enfolds him and which embraces us, that force is not electricity, nor is it gravity. We call it Love. 

Pentecost : Homily / Sermon

Jesus breathed on them and said: ‘Receive the Holy Spirit’. (John 20:22)

When people talk about the Holy Spirit, especially in modern times, the image we are given is of something exciting, something random, something unpredictable. We think of the wind passing through the Upper Room at Pentecost. The spirit which (in the words of St Paul) “blows where it wills”.
It is associated with unexpected events, conversions, healings, visions and miracles, speaking in tongues, enthusiasm, prophecy, the power of inspiration, the intensity of prayer and meditation. It means so very much to some Christians, and
there is nothing at all wrong with that. At times we surely need imagination and a challenge.

But others of us are perhaps not so enthusiastic about all the enthusiasm. We feel uncomfortable and the claims and practices of the charismatics and pentecostalists, perhaps suspect the genuineness of the great wonders, and are of rthe opinion that, rather like the excitements of youth, this zeal and fervour cannot last for ever.

Yet the unpredictable, random wind is not the only image of the Holy Spirit which Scripture gives us.

In today’s Gospel we are reminded that the Spirit is also breath - the breath of God - and breath is at the same time a life force - so, very powerful - but also a regular, predictable, necessity of life. As breath it has structure and regularity. And while the wind is exciting and unpredictable, it is also abstract, dispassionate power. But breath - well, there no breath without a breather. Breath implies a life, a personality, a will, a purpose: it is much more than a force, or a power: it is a living person.

And it is by the action of the Holy Spirit that we receive the very foundations of our faith. The very world is created through him. Christ is conceived through him. The words of the prophets, the letters of the scripture are inspired by him. Through the power of the spirit we enter into Christian life at baptism and confirmation. His gifts sustain our lives. He guides us in goodness and comforts us in adversity. Through the spirit we have the ordained ministers of the Church, the creeds and teachings of the faith, the life of prayer and the glories of liturgy and worship.

It is the Spirit which gives us the very pillars of our faith, Scripture and Tradition, Pope, Bishop and Priest, the life of prayer and faith, compassion and creed.

Yes, the Spirit can pass through and over every boundary, every limit, every fence and wall; and he also provides us with every true path, with every framework and all guidance. He teaches us, protects and guides us. He comforts us, strengthens us, and unites us.

6th Sunday In Eastertide : Homily / Sermon

A peace the world cannot give: that is my gift to you. (John 14:27)

I’ve always enjoyed science fiction, and especially Star Trek. A fascinating thing science fiction - is that strange alien races and species often hold up a mirror to ourselves and our societies. One such is the Klingons, a noble but war like people, for whom the waging of war is a solemn duty.
There is a Klingon language, and Klingon sayings. One such is "Vengeance is a dish best served cold". (No doubt there are more earthly claims to the origin of these words). It a literally chilling saying. It means that even if you think you are at peace with the Klingons, the act of revenge may just be round the corner.
This saying holds up a mirror to what we might mean when we talk of Peace.
Peace is one of those words which we hear so frequently, yet which is rarely defined. When a conflict rages whether it be amongst children at school or at home or in an international conflict, "Peace" is the name we give to the end of the conflict. The trouble is, when this kind of peace is present, the conflict, the bitterness, the hurt and resentment lurks just below the surface, ready to erupt, sometimes with ferocity. Revenge - a dish best served cold.
Peace is a plea, it might seem, which emerges from exhaustion and defeat. It is nothing very much in itself, just normality, and the absence of conflict. Parties come together for peace talks when one side or both realize that they cannot win. Amongst families or friends we try to make peace when the bitterness has ebbed and we desire some reconciliation. Peace is the remedy to conflict, and once the conflict has passed, and the grievances addressed or put aside, then we pretend to move to normality, and get on with our lives. We never need think of peace again, just as, when the noise has abated, we do not need to wish for quiet.
This - to adapt the words of Jesus - is the peace which the world gives. When there has been war, conflict or hatred it is no bad thing. But there is another peace, a peace which the world cannot give. This, like love, is the Gift of God.
But what does it mean?
Do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid, Christ tells us. This is the peace which the world cannot give, the peace which comes from Christ himself. It is a peace which we cannot create for ourselves, but which comes only from life lived in faith. It shows itself as a serenity in the face of trouble, a trust in the purposes of God when life is difficult, a calmness and courage when facing illness or suffering.
But is does not only appear when times are hard. It is always there. It is hope. It is comfort. It is an attitude to life, it is dependence on God. It is a peaceful heart.
This peace is for us a sign of hope and cause for trust in God. It is the awareness of the love of the good Shepherd, it is the indwelling of the Holy Spirit.
And this Peace is not an escape from the troubles of the world. It is not a denial of the world's troubles, like a drug which makes us oblivious to our pains or anxieties. On the contrary, it maes us more aware of the lack of peace in the world.
If we have that inner peace, we will always long for the outer peace. It is true, when we hold grudges and bitterness in our hearts, then we will seek revenge and be driven by malice. But when our hearts are filled with peace, we want others to know the same peace.
And so while worldly peace is often absent, while war ranges and hatred abounds, while we are in the middle of conflict and suffering adversity, the Divine Peace never departs. The Divine Peace is a strength and comfort in time of trouble. It is the yearning for reconciliation, the drive for forgiveness, the pledge and presence of salvation.
This is what Jesus meant when he said "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they be called the Sons of God".
Is Vengeance a dish best served cold? If so, it has a bitter taste which will never be enough. Sweeter and more satisfying is to feast on Peace.

Easter 5 (C) : Homily / Sermon

By this love you have for one another, everyone will know that you are my disciples. (John 13:35)

Everybody, absolutely everybody, knows that Christians should love another, that the Christian Gospel is about love, that God loved the world so much that he gave his only Son. Indeed, Christianity is so much about love, that in times gone by to say someone was a ‘Christian’ wouldn’t necessarily have related to their beliefs or their prayer life or their attendance at mass, but rather to their general kindness and compassion and generosity. “She’s a real Christian” people used to say (it all might sound a bit old-fashioned now).

Easter 4 (C) : Homily / Sermon

The sheep that belong to me listen to my voice (John 10:27)

There are a number of prominent occasions when voices are mentioned in Scripture.
There is the voice of John the Baptist crying out in the wilderness.
There is the voice which speaks from heaven, saying "This is my beloved Son" on the day of Jesus baptism, and at the Transfiguration.
There is also an echo of these voices in the words of the Centurion at the Cross: "Truly this man was the Son of God"
These are all voices which either look forward to the coming of Jesus - or which proclaim his divinity.
Voices call. They grab the attention. Their words may be brief, but their message profound. They may be terse, but they are insistent. And memorable. Difficult to ignore. Easy to remember.
Today the voice is a little different. It is not from others calling us to Jesus, or telling us about him, but it is his own voice. And the words of the voice and its message come second to the effect which it has. "I know them'" he says' "and they follow me."
This is what we mean by vocation, something which is spoken to all of us not only in words, but also in a call to our lives. Hearing the voice is more than just go catching a sound, or receiving a message, but it is about making a response, and taking action.
And the voice makes the action possibly. It makes the action compelling, and it makes it necessary.
The voice of the Good Shepherd is a voice which binds, which heals and which soothes. It is a voice which unites, and which guides. It is a voice which protects, but which also challenges.
It is a voice which we hear in words, and teaching, in commandments and in prayer, but also which speaks to the heart, and enthuses us with love.

Easter 3 (C) : Homily / Sermon

There stood Jesus on the shore, though the disciples did not realise that it was Jesus. (John 21:5)

There are a number of accounts of resurrection appearances in the Gospels, and in quite a few of them it seems the disciples do not immediately recognise Jesus. Mary Magdalen does not at first recognise the risen Jesus in the Garden. Neither do the two disciples on the road to Emmaus. Nor do the apostles here. They see a figure, but not the Man.
But then they do see him. And in each case it is his actions which reveal him. For the Magdalen it is his word of tenderness. For the disciples on the road to Emmaus it is the breaking of bread. Today it is in the great haul of fish.
Nowhere in the Gospels do we have a description of the Jesus’ appearance - short or tall, scrawny or muscular, plain or striking, we are never told. We can surmise that he was certainly not blond haired, white skinned, nor blue eyed (despite what we have often been shown), but we cannot be sure even of this. We are never told. But we do hear time and time again about his words. And about his actions. His works of Mercy.
Our age, our society is obsessed by appearance - but Christ is made known not by how he looks, but by what he does. He heals the sick, cures the lame, feeds the needy, and shows compassion to sinners.
And these actions always create a response - the act offered in return. Mary Magdalen and the disciples in Emmaus rush to spread the news. Peter leaps into the water. And we make Christ known, we make Christ present, by doing what he did: celebrating the sacraments, certainly, but even more by caring, loving, sharing. By assisting those who hunger and thirst, or are in acute need, by welcoming the stranger, by visiting the sick, by supporting those in trouble.
Like the disciples, we may struggle sometimes to see Christ, grapple with faith, and are anxious over unanswered prayers - but when we get on with it, when we practice the Works of Mercy, then Christ himself is visible amongst us.

Divine Mercy Sunday : Homily / Sermon

Happy are those who have not seen and yet believe. John 20:29

Do you know what a “conspiracy theory” is?

Well according to one definition is “an explanation of an event or situation that invokes a conspiracy (in effect a plot) by sinister and powerful actors, when other explanations are more probable”. The conspiracy is usually claimed to be carried out for reasons which are self-interested, financial or political.

Often, these are so ridiculous as to be laughable, such as the claim that the Israeli government uses animals, such as vultures and sharks to attack or spy on their enemies, and the belief that Denver Airport stands over an underground city, which is the true headquarters of a world government. Area 51, in Roswell USA is said to be the centre for research into aliens, and others claim that Bob Hope, the Royal Family and Margaret Thatcher were actually shape shifting aliens.

Some of these might be funny, but others are more dangerous. There have been many anti-semitic (anti-Jewish theories) about world domination, several of which were taken up especially by the Nazis. There have been many anti-Catholic ones too - such as the “Popish plot” in Britain in the 17th century, which produced many martyrs, and suspicion in America about a Catholic takeover, especially after the election of John F Kennedy. Conspiracy theories are often used to build up power, and to channel the forces of hatred.

And then there is Kennedy’s assisination itself, which has been the focus of so very many of these kind theories - over 1,000 books have been written about supposed conspiracies involving these events.

And there are many others - Shergar, Lord Lucan, Madeleine McCann, Flat Earth theories, Global warming, whether Barack Obama was really born in America, whether the Sandy Hook school massacre, and the Moon landings actually took place or rather were faked.

All these kinds of accounts and theories take some thin threads of fact and weave them into a complex and fantastical web, which is then defended by a fervour which bears little relation to what evidence there might be. “Proof” that the theory is false is said to be forged, and if the theory, however odd, cannot be totally disproved, this is taken to be proof that it is true.

Well!

“When people cease to believe in something, they will believe in anything,” so the writer GK Chesterton is reputed to have said.

Indeed, we live in a world and a society where there is no lack of belief at all - for people will believe in almost anything provided is different or novel or unusual. It is good to have an open mind, provided it isn’t open at the bottom.

We do not live in an unbelieving world, at all, but we do live in a credulous one.

But Faith real faith is not the same as credulity. It is very different from the fashions and fancies so popular today.
Faith is not without foundation in fact, or in history. Far from being a fancy idea - it is a life giving power, that gives hope, and purpose and carried the message of love and forgiveness.

And when we consider the resurrection, the facts speak for themselves:

The tomb was really empty.
The disciples were really transformed from being fearful to being courageous.
They proclaimed their story, their faith, even to the point of giving their lives for it.

This is much more than an interesting idea.
Thomas and the Apostles see the risen Christ not so that we can believe blindly, but so that we can be witnesses to the truth - so that we can hear the message they preached, the truth which they taught, the vision they received.

Faith is about our the opening of eyes, and hearts and mouths, not about the closing of them.
And it is not a tale set in the past either, but a living power. Faith’s firm foundation is the Good News, the amazing message of what really happened, and the power of Life and Love which continues to dwell amongst us, full of grace and truth.
--

Easter Day : Homily / Sermon

The Easter Day and Vigil homily was in the form of a presentation.

A version of this can be downloaded here: http://bit.ly/2L8hYB6

The text of the homily (more or less) is to be found in rthe “Presenter Notes” of the presentation. 

5th Sunday of Lent : Homily / Sermon

Jesus bent down and started writing on the ground with his finger. (John 8:6)

Have you ever wondered what Jesus was writing?

Well you are not the first. From the very earliest days of the Church, preachers have asked this very question.

St. Jerome says he was writing down the sins of the accusers. St. Bede says he wrote down the 10 Commandments. St. Augustine said that he wrote on the ground indicating that the names of these men were to be written in earth, not in Heaven, where the names of the saints are written.
And in our own time, have a look round the internet and you will find preachers and commentators saying similar things.

But all of them seem to making a particular assumption - that what Jesus wrote down had some impact on the accusers. In writing their names, or the commandments, he was shaming and embarrassing them.
I’m not so sure. This is the only time in the Gospels we hear of Jesus writing. We know he could read, but perhaps he hardly ever wrote - there would be little need for him to. And why should he be writing names or words: perhaps he was doodling, reflecting, meditating - not sending a message which had been forgotten by the time the story was written.

There are other striking, conflicting elements in this story: between the gang of men who make their accusations, and the solitary woman whose sin was with some unnamed man; between the stones which these men were ready to hurl, and the dust in which Jesus wrote.

They are contrasts between the strong and the weak, the substantial and the insubstantial, the powerful and the powerless - and yet they are the same: stones become dust, man and woman sinned together, all fall short of the glory of God.

And Jesus - in calling the bluff of the hypocrites - by actions rather than words shames the accusers and saves the accused.

4th Sunday of Lent : Homily / Sermon

While he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was moved with pity. He ran to the boy, clasped him in his arms and kissed him tenderly. (Luke 15:20)

On Mothering Sunday it may seem odd to us that we have a Gospel reading which so clearly speaks of family life, yet which mentions only the men, the Father and his two sons.

The situation is very familiar in one way or another to many families. It speaks of faithfulness and impetuosity, of indulgence and jealousy, of affection for the wayward one, and the anger of the one who feels taken for granted. What family has not known some of these feelings and situations?

Yet as we look at the story - especially today - we might just wonder about the mother. How did she feel about the son who took his money and wasted it all? Did she long for his return, or sympathise with her older son in his bitterness? Or did she just dutifully toil in the kitchen, cooking the fatted calf?

We shouldn’t ask too many of these kind of questions, because if we do, we are in danger of missing the point. This all-too-human family is far more. For we are the sons, both wayward like the younger son and bitter like the elder, sinful and self-righteous. And the Father ... is of course the Father. God himself. Loving, forgiving, yearning to welcome us back to him, when we are ready.

And the great painter Rembrandt had a deep insight when he painted the tender scene of the welcome of the prodigal,  for the Father’s hands which embrace the returning son are one large muscular and rough, the other lighter, nimbler and smooth, a male hand and then a female hand, in a loving and welcome embrace.

God is both Mother and Father, indulgent, loving and longing, ready and yearning, for our sorrow, and for our repentance. Waiting to welcome us to the celebration, the feast of our forgiveness.

3rd Sunday of Lent : Homily / Sermon

Do you suppose that they were more guilty than all the other people living in Jerusalem? They were not, I tell you. (Luke 13:4)

Why? Why? 

This is the question which Jesus considers in today’s Gospel. What about the people who were massacred while they worshipped? Why did that happen? And the people who died when the tower fell on them? Why did they have to die? And the victims of the car accident or those afflicted by cancer: why? why? 

These are questions just as important to us today as they were to Jesus’ listeners.

Yet Jesus’ answer may at first appear a little puzzling. He doesn’t seem to be responding to the question we would like to ask. 

But look again - it is filled with hope.

Firstly, he rebukes those who think these terrible events occurred because these were bad or wicked people. This might not seem the most obvious question for us to ask. Yet we do ask ourselves, “Why”, which surely includes “Why them?” “Why me?”
It might be expressed in a different way, but it is obvious that people of Jesus’ time clearly struggled with occasions of innocent suffering as we do.

Those who suffer so terribly, they ask, what have they done wrong?
And the answer - is Nothing. Of course nothing. They have done nothing wrong. No, Jesus says. This is not punishment. It is not God who is striking them down through the wickedness of men or the whim of natural disaster. They are no worse than any of us you. (They might even be much better)

And secondly, Jesus makes another point. And this is our great hope.
He says this: We must all must recognise our need of God; we all need to repent. We must turn again to Him. And if we do - there is mercy, and hope, and more. Comfort often clouds our judgment - but disaster and affliction and persecution make us think again. Consider your lives, he says, live according to God’s will. If you do, you will see the light at the end of the dark tunnel; if you do, there is a very real hope.

When people are on their backs, and sometimes only then, they look up.
When we are in difficulty in despair, we concern ourselves not with theological questions, but with the reality and mercy of God himself. And in times of crisis, those who have a sense or perhaps only an inkling of a greater power and a transcendent love, are together at prayer, united across boundaries, gathering at cracked and wounded places of worship, to share a determination, and a hope, and a belief in Mercy.

Second Sunday of Lent (Transfiguration and St Patrick) : Homily / Sermon

“A cloud came and covered them with shadow; and when they went into the cloud the disciples were afraid.” (Luke 9:35)

As well as being the Second Sunday of Lent and a commemoration of the transfiguration, this weekend it is also St Patrick’s day, the commemoration of the 5th Century Apostle of Ireland

Patrick’s story, and the heritage of faith which has come down from him, is one which is embedded deeply in the past, and in the cultural heritage of these islands, and yet which one which also has tremendous resonance with this diverse, complex, and multicultural world in which we live.
Patrick, this apostle of Ireland, the one who represents everything Irish, wasn’t Irish at all. He was a migrant to Ireland. Twice. Firstly as the victim of what people now call people trafficking, or in other words as a slave, and then later by his own choice, in order to preach the Gospel.
His first migration was, of course, no good thing. He was forcibly taken away from home and family. We tend to think of this kind of migration an extinct feature of ancient history, abolished in the 19th Century. Yet it still exists, terribly in the world today. And there are other, arguably less extreme forms of migration, where people flee wars and conflicts, persecutions or poverty to seek a better life, or often just any sort of life which is bearable and free from fear.
Migration may also be difficult in the receiving communities, especially when they feel vulnerable. Influxes of people, new and unfamiliar customs and religious practices, the pressure on local services and resources, all these can create anxiety and hostility. In many places and at many times, migrants are attacked, insulted and derided.
Much of the political turmoil in the world today has migration as either a cause or as an outcome. Whether it is the “wall” in Mexico, the war in Syria, or political turmoil in Europe - in all these migration is a feature.
And tragically in the past few days we have seen the terrible events in New Zealand, where Muslims, migrants into the country, were slaughtered while they were at prayer.
Some, not only the perpetrator and his supporters, have seen migration to be a root cause of such terrible events.
Migration may be seen to be entirely bad: both disruptive and destructive. And indeed, Patrick eventually ended this first migration, when he escaped from slavery and returned to the land of his birth.
But this is not all.
Patrick of course made a second migration, this time of his own free will, to bring the Gospel to the people who had included his slave master - and it is for the results of this that he is remembered today.
And this more positive migration, we find, is a constant feature of human history.
Not only Patrick, but also the Irish people, are a migrant people. Their migrations have led Patrick to be celebrated today all over the world. He is not only the patron saint of Ireland, but also of New York, and Nigeria, of Puerto Rico and Melbourne (Australia).
We live in a a world which is shaped by migration.
Businesses and public services frequently promote migration as essential to the growth of their economies. Many people see migration as a great cultural and commercial asset, leading to great creativity as cultures learn develop and grow alongside one another.
The evidence is all around us, from the barista in the coffee shop, the taxi or bus driver, the nurse or the doctor in the hospital or the family who run the corner shop. It features in what we eat too: the most popular English dish is now Chicken Tikka Masala, and we also frequently consume Pizzas and Lasagnas, Egg Fried Rice and Prawn Crackers: all foods unknown in my childhood.
We ourselves are the results of migration. There will be few people who cannot count a close relative of friend who has moved to this country or who lives abroad. And if you think you have no family connections outside this land - just get your DNA tested and be prepared for a surprise.
Our faith too, is built on migration.

The Old Testament charts the migration of the pilgrim people of God, on their journey out of Egypt, into the promised land, and their several exiles and returns.
The New Testament begins with a similar exile and return, of the holy family, from Bethlehem into Egypt and eventual their return to Nazareth.

Jesus chooses for himself 12 apostles: Apostle means one who is “sent out”, and from St Paul onwards the Church has sent out missionaries across the world.
And as we move through the history of the Church, of its missions into foreign lands and new territories, we read again and again of pilgrimage, of journey and of migration. So it should be no surprise that St Augustine of Canterbury, the Apostle of England, was Italian, as too, centuries later, was Blessed Dominic Barberi, the priest who received Newman into the Church.
Even the patron saints of the British Isles come from all over the world. St David was not Welsh. St Andrew was not Scottish. And St George … was Turkish.
Migration which looms so large, can be good or bad, chosen or forced, beneficial or damaging. These terrible events really had little to do with migration itself. Almost everyone in Australia and New Zealand are migrants or descended from migrants.
No, what is at the root of this atrocity is not migration itself, which might be good or bad, but fear.
Fear of what is different. Fear of what is new or strange. Fear of change. Fears can be real, and must be addressed carefully and sensitively. But Fear also drives anxiety. It clouds reason. Fear fuels fury. It paralyses the good, and motivates the wicked. Caution is wise, but fear can be destructive. In the face of fear we should not flee, but be resolute in hope, and trust what we know to be right.
And here we can return to the Gospel for today the second Sunday of Lent.
The disciples were approaching Jerusalem with anticipation, but there was also a cause for fear. The story is laced with danger and forboding. When the cloud enveloped the disciples we are told that they were afraid.
And Jesus prepares them in two ways: first by pulling no punches. He has already made clear to them that his work in Jerusalem will be hard and painful and may seem disastrous. This is not going to be easy. There is reason to fear.
But he also provides them with a vision of his glory, and the reason for the suffering which is to come. A reason to face that fear, not with heads bowed in despair, but held high with hope.
The Transfiguration makes real the hope of heaven, and that is where our earthly journey, pilgrimage, migration ends. Our true home is in heaven, St Paul tells us (Philippians 3:20).
Fear, however understandable, is debilitating. But the bright light of mercy, compassion, truth, hope and love is transfiguring, or - as St John says (1 John 4:18), perfect love casts out fear.

First Sunday of Lent : Homily / Sermon

‘Having exhausted all these ways of tempting him, the devil left him, to return at the appointed time.’ (Luke 4:13)

These are menacing words, don’t you think? Defeated now, the devil slinks away, but not for long. He’s off to bide his time, wait for a while, lurk in the shadows, never too far away, just looking for his opportunity.
But we live in an age where people struggle with the idea of the devil. A man in a red suit with a long curly tail? Really!

And sure enough, even religious people, especially religious people, do not believe the devil exists. We surround ourselves with such a comfortable notion of faith, a God of love, the Good Shepherd, the forgiving Father. Wickedness and evil seem so far from what our faith and our idea of God is all about, that is it just so difficult to understand how he could allow there even to be a Devil.

And this is dangerous stuff. Fighting an enemy who you don’t believe exists, is wrestling with shadows.
It was the writer CS Lewis, I think, who said that the devil’s greatest achievement was convincing people that he doesn’t exist. We must not fall into that trap.

It’s not that we need to believe that he’s red and has horns and the tail, that he lives under the earth in fire and brimstone. But if we stop believing that evil can be a power, and even have a mind and a will, if we don’t recognise that the life of faith is a struggle and that obstacles often fall in our way, if we don’t accept that when bad things happen it may not be God’s will but might in fact be ill will, if we don’t accept these - then there is no battle to be fought, no struggle to be won. We are like those without hope.
He skulks in the shadows, waits in the darkness - and we may not even realise he is there.
Lent is our time in the wilderness - our time when we confront temptation and remember that there is a power of evil. Our time for recognising Satan, and all his works, and all his empty promises. And defeating him.

8th Sunday in Ordinary Time : Homily / Sermon

A man’s words flow out of what fills his heart. (Luke 6:45)

We tend to think that the Christian life is all about keeping the rules, and after all we do have plenty of them: the rules of fasting and abstinence, the prayers chosen for the liturgy, the colours of the vestments, the directions for the celebration of mass, not to mention the 10 commandments, the six precepts of the Church, 1,752 Canons of the Code of Canon Law and the 2,865 paragraphs of the Catechism of the Catholic Church.

Rules, rules, rules.
And During Lent, no doubt, many of us will take a look at our lives and ask ourselves which rules we have broken … and consult more lists of rules:
Have I missed mass on Sundays and holy days of obligation?
Have I eaten meat on Fridays?
Have I neglected to say my prayers?
Have I used bad language?
… And so on and so forth.

Rules have their place. They are guides to what describes a good life, and looking at ourselves in the light of the rules can never be a bad place to start.

But that is all it is - it is only a start.

But in today’s Gospel, Jesus presents us with a greater challenge.
A good man draws what is good from the store of goodness in his heart.
A man’s words flow out of what fills his heart.
It is a sound tree which bears good fruit.

Jesus is not using the language of Rules, which we might keep or break, but instead the language of Growth, which we develop into, step by step, day by day.

This is not the Thou shalt and thou shalt not, the black and white, the heaven and hell, the sin and failure, but of progression, of pruning and flourishing, of evolving and maturing, advancing and prospering.

And Jesus teaches us that to grow, we need a teacher.
The blind can’t lead the blind, Jesus says. The teacher leads the way, corrects and encourages.

And he teaches us that we need vision: not only to know the rules, to know what is right and wrong, but also to see the plank in our own eyes, to know our own failings, and to progress in spite of them.

And he tells us that to bear sound fruit, we need not only to follow the precepts, but also live the faith in our hearts - not simply to obey, coldly and methodically, but to love, with warmth and generosity.

Growing has its pains. There are setbacks and failures, sins and selfishness. But in growth there is also forgiveness, and mercy, and hope.

It is conversion of the heart which is necessary, Jesus says. The sound fruit which the disciple bears, comes from the sound tree:
From a heart which, like the heart of the true Teacher, makes sacrifices, gives its whole self, and holds nothing back.

6th Sunday in Oridinary: Homily / Sermon

How happy are you who are poor: yours is the kingdom of God.
Happy you who are hungry now: you shall be satisfied.
Happy you who weep now: you shall laugh. (Luke 16:20-21)

People may sometimes challenge us with the tough question: If God is a loving God why does he allow people to suffer?

It is a tough question, because for all our reasoning, faith begins with the movement of the heart, and when we witness suffering, our heart is troubled.

And in that insight is the answer to this question.

First, we say Yes! Exactly. Suffering troubles us, upsets us, disturbs us. Why? Because we feel for those who suffer, we care about those in difficulty, we are moved by the pain of others, even if they live on the other side of the world. This is true for all human beings, but especially for people of faith.
That is how God has made us. He has made us to care. To be loving and compassionate. To feel the pain of others.

So, secondly, ask yourselves this question:
Which are the first organisations of the scene of natural disasters? Many if not most of them are inspired by religious people - Oxfam, Cafod, Christian Aid and many more.
Which non-governmental organisation runs more hospitals and schools than any other in the world? (The Catholic Church)
Why do you think female nurses are still called “sisters:? Why is a chief nurse called “Matron”?
Which are amongst the first organisations to collect funds for those in need?
And which groups are still - even in our very non-religious society - still the largest group of volunteers which help those in need.
Think of the food banks, soup kitchens, adoption services, groups for the elderly - they include many people from many different backgrounds, yet more often than not.

Yes, it may trouble us to explain why there is pain and suffering and evil in the world. But we might just as well ask why there is compassion and empathy and self-sacrifice? Why are people prepared to give their lives in caring for others? Why are people altruistic, to point of risking their own lives, if God has not made us this way?

And thirdly, this brings us to ask what it means to say we have a loving God.
God gives us, in himself, in the Word made Flesh, the example of perfect humanity. God is love, because he cares for us to point of sharing our suffering.
What is the most obvious, most recognised, most visible symbol of the Christian faith? It is the Cross. The crucifix. Actually, much more than a symbol - it is a portrayal of an event of suffering, a moment of sorrow and suffering.

To say “God is love” is only a problem
if we think he is loving in spite of suffering:
but that is not the the case
God is Love because of suffering.

God is not the cause for suffering,
but the remedy for it
And the proof of that is in his love.

And finally, we need to recognise that Life is a struggle.
In our world and society, especially for us with material comforts, pleasure and leisure, long lives and excellent health care, we see suffering, ill-health, evil as an aberration some unusual, a sort of failure of how things are supposed to be.
But this is wrong: Life (as we soon realise when we think about it) is a battle: for good, against suffering, against sorrow, against evil. Love’s victory does not come easy, but it is hard. Love, Truth, Goodness IS how things are supposed to be - but there is also a negative power which frustrates at ever step.

And it is faith, God, his love, which provides the hope and the remedy.

And we see this again and again.

It may be hard to answer these most difficult questions in words and ideas, but if you believe there is no answer, no remedy, then there his no hope.

We know this. We see this with our own eyes.
I remember 9/11 - nearly 20 years ago now - when we opened the Church in the evening, and people just came in to light a candle, sit in silence, and perhaps even to pray.
And then years later, when the Tsunami hit Indonesia, and people came from all over the city to give donations for our church to pass on to the aid agencies working to repair and heal after such devastation.

When people are sick, or bereaved, or anxious they frequently find some comfort in music and candles and readings and prayers, even if religious faith is something unfamiliar or unusual to them.

Happy you who weep now: Jesus says you shall laugh.
Not laugh because there is no pain. Not laugh because there are no questions.

But Laugh because there is a hope, and a comfort, and a purpose to life. And that is what Love means. And that is what God means.