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.