Week 19 Wednesday (Year 2)

Readings: Ezekiel 9.1-7; 10.18-22; Psalm 113; Matthew 18.15-20

The gospel reading today is about excommunication, the sad and difficult situation where the Christian community comes to the conclusion that one of its members, for reasons of belief or lifestyle, is no longer in full communion with the Church. It has been much in the news recently with breakaway groups ordaining bishops in Switzerland, Scotland and probably other places also. We find it difficult to think about such things, as we find it difficult to think about the reality of death. For excommunication is a kind of death, a terrible wound in the body of Christ, a real sadness and a profound loss. It means we have failed to maintain the communion to which Christ calls us and for which he prayed in his last great prayer to the Father.

The gospel reading says we are to try everything to maintain that communion: talking privately with a person first of all, talking with them in the presence of one or two other people, and only if it is absolutely necessary bringing a matter to the attention of the whole Church. The conclusion is chilling and we might even wonder 'is it Christian'? Surely we can find a way to stay together, to remain in communion? But truth presses in also, not in order to serve some structure of power or to maintain some artificial conformity. Truth presses in because it is the truth of that communion itself: what if the basis on which we are joined is undone by what a person believes or by how a person behaves? Our communion dies.

This passage of Matthew's gospel is about the difficulty of staying together and it reflects how, even in the early Church, it was realized very quickly that there would be problems in staying together. Sometimes people will do things, or will come to believe things, that even the Church cannot see as compatible with the life of the gospel. Of course we hesitate to use the word ‘excommunication’ but in human relations it is sometimes, sadly, the reality. Even having done our best, we do not see how some can be contained within the life of the community. Some ways of living and some convictions are not compatible, as far as we can see, with life in the Church. More often than not it is people themselves who make the decision to separate from the Church because they no longer share its beliefs or are no longer convinced about the goodness of its teaching. Much more rarely the Church itself makes this decision about a person or a group of people.

We can never be happy about the exclusion of a brother or a sister. It is a death and death is terrible, the last enemy of human flourishing, a final failure. But within the context of Christian hope, exclusion can never be the last word about a person or about our relationship with them. They remain always children of the heavenly Father called to be brothers and sisters of Jesus. I like to think that the two or three gathered in Christ’s name at the end of this gospel reading are the same two or three who have earlier confronted the erring brother or sister. They are praying, and prayer is the characteristic act of the virtue of hope. What is on their minds as they pray must be that same brother or sister whom the Church has decided it must relate to as if he were a pagan or a tax-collector. And there is Christ in the midst of them.

Therefore outside the Church there is no outside, because the prayers of the Church, like the anxiety of loving parents, follow her children everywhere. Even when we cannot see how unity and reconciliation might come about, we must continue to hope for those things, to pray for those things, and to work for those things. All the commandments are summed up, Saint Paul says, in this saying: 'you shall love your neighbour as yourself'. We know that our neighbour is everyone, those who are living and those who are dead, those who are sick and those who are well, those who are in joyful communion with us and those who are in sad separation from us. We reach the limits of our capacities but we know that the Lord, who was crucified for our reconciliation, stretches his arms across the widest horizons of this creation in order to gather in all the scattered children of God.

Saint Clare -- 11 August

Saint Clare of Assisi (1194 - 1253)

In a letter to Blessed Agnes of Prague, written towards the end of her life, St Clare of Assisi uses the image of a mirror to develop her thoughts about following Christ, what Christians call 'the spiritual life'. In the mirror, Clare says, we can see 'blessed poverty, holy humility, inexpressible charity'. Curiously, these are the same three virtues mentioned by St Dominic in his last words to his brothers: 'have charity, serve humility, possess voluntary poverty'.

Clare develops the image of the mirror as follows. The border of the mirror is poverty. It represents the birth of Christ. The surface of the mirror is humility. It represents the labours and burdens Christ endured for the redemption of the whole human race. The depth of the mirror is charity. It represents Christ's suffering on the Cross and his death there.

In the mirror appears Christ on the Cross - this is what we see when we look into its depths. We see ourselves in a mirror - and now we see Christ also. She refers to Wisdom 7:26 which speaks of wisdom as a spotless mirror reflecting God. Look into this mirror and find wisdom.

Clare offers us a progression or programme for the spiritual life, or at least she hints at one. Different terms are used for how we dispose ourselves in relation to the border, the surface and the depth of the mirror. We are to attend to the first, we are to consider the second, and we are to contemplate the third. There is a deepening of our regard in relation to the mirror as we enter more fully into what it has to reveal.

She offers us an alternative to Narcissus. He looked and saw his own reflection and fell in love with that. We are to look and see not just ourselves but Christ. We see ourselves and our Divine Lord. Putting it dramatically we can say that we see the light of goodness and the heart of darkness in that mirror which is the Cross. But the Cross, our mirror, remains our only hope (spes unica), the wisdom and the power of God.

Saint Lawrence – 10 August

Readings: 2 Corinthians 9:6-10; Psalm 112; John 12:24-26

In his poem Little Gidding T.S. Eliot speaks of ‘a condition of complete simplicity (costing not less than everything)’. It comes to mind when reflecting on the readings chosen for today’s feast, the feast of Saint Lawrence, deacon and martyr. ‘God loves a cheerful giver’ is found in the first reading today, taken from Saint Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians.

Few saints fulfil the meaning of these expressions as fully and as clearly as Saint Lawrence. It is why he has always been one of the principal saints of the Church of Rome, frequently represented in the mosaics and frescoes of Rome’s churches, his memory kept each year as a feast in the universal Church.

A deacon in the first place, Lawrence was charged with the administration of charity in the community of Rome. Famously he indicated to would-be persecutors seeking the treasures of the Church that these were to be found in the streets and dwellings of the city where he spent his days, that they were in fact the poor of the city with the care of whose welfare he is charged.

Lawrence understands perfectly Paul’s teaching given in 2 Corinthians 8-9, that in a Christian context almsgiving and sharing of goods are to be thought about always with reference to grace. The grace of God in Christ is God’s generosity to us, the way in which He transforms our poverty through His riches. As we sow, so will we reap, says Paul, the more generously we give the more generously we will receive.

Lawrence the deacon is also Lawrence the martyr. Like Saint Stephen, the first Christian martyr and also a deacon of the Church, Lawrence gave things, gave time, gave himself, and in the end gave his life – for his brothers and sisters. In his case the grain of wheat was not buried in the earth but slowly roasted. That human life given in this world out of love and service, is preserved in the eternal life. He is one of the most striking examples of the ‘condition of complete simplicity’ which the follower of Christ is called to live just as his death confirms that entering into that condition costs not less than everything.

By his life of service and his death for love Lawrence confirms the words of Jesus which we hear today: ‘the one who loves his life in this world will lose it, the one who loses his life for my sake will keep it for the eternal life’. With Saint Lawrence’s help may we persevere in serving Christ, especially in His poorest members. May we serve Christ to the end as He served us, and loved us, to the end.

Week 19 Sunday (Year A)

Readings: 1 Kings 19:9a, 11-13a; Psalm 85; Romans 9:1-5; Matthew 14:22-33

No Christmas would be complete these days without at least one Indiana Jones film being shown on TV. In the first of them, Raiders of the Lost Ark, the climax comes when the German soldiers gather round to examine the contents of the lost ark of the covenant which they have supposedly dug up in the Egyptian desert. In typical Hollywood fashion God makes his presence felt through an impressive storm, earthquake and fire which mercilessly destroy those who dare to gaze upon the glory of the Lord.

It is reminiscent of the moment in the life of the prophet Elijah recounted in today's first reading. Despondent and depressed he flees to the desert and takes refuge in a cave where he is visited by an impressive storm, earthquake and fire. Elijah is told however that the Lord is not in any of these. Instead he recognises God in the sound of a gentle breeze or, as it is more properly translated, in ‘the sound of fine silence’.

This paradoxical phrase links up with a long tradition of reflection on the Bible which explains the variety of ways in which we can speak about God and name God. As creator of all things God can be named from his works. God is the ‘cause’ responsible for all that is and the ‘artist’ whose works we see all around us. These works speak positively about the power and majesty, goodness and beauty of their source. They reflect something of God and are validly understood as images of God.

But God is not any of the things we see around us nor is God just another thing alongside the things we see and experience. The reality and the presence of God are much more mysterious than that. What is called ‘negative theology’ teaches us that in naming God we must also deny everything of God. In other words while God is the creating cause of everything that is, God is not a mountain or a river or a star or an angel or anything else that can be named.

On the one hand we can use everything as a name for God because everything reflects something of the glory of God who is its cause. On the other hand we must deny everything of God and say that God is not any one of these things which God has made but is greater than any and all of them.

The Bible and philosophy together teach us that some names seem more suitable for God, names like being, goodness and wisdom. But even these names are used of God in a way that surpasses our ordinary knowledge and use of them. God is good, powerful and beautiful not simply in the way we experience and understand these names but in a way that is special to God.

To want to see God, know God and name God is a natural human desire. But it can very easily become a desire to ‘have’ God in a way in which God cannot be had and held. The Bible warned that no person could see God and live: a warning against trying to possess, comprehend or control the divine mystery. Whatever we say about God must be carefully qualified until we arrive at a moment which is fittingly described as ‘the sound of fine silence’.

God bursts all bonds, even the bonds of those images, concepts, names and experiences which human beings identify as ‘divine’ or ‘theological’. The adventure of seeking the names of God is like stepping out to walk on water. Very soon we realise that far from being able to hold and control God by knowing and naming God, it is God who sees, knows and names us.

It strengthens our faith to think a bit more deeply about the ways in which we can legitimately speak about God. It brings home to us something of the wonder and magnificence of God. It is important that we not speak about God in a way that is too easy or familiar. In time of real need, however, we all fall back on the name which is above all other names. As we begin to sink we call on Jesus and with Saint Peter we know who we mean as we cry out ‘Lord, save us’.

You will find here another homily for today.

St Dominic -- 8 August

Saint Dominic (c.1170 - 1221)

After the office of compline or night prayer, Dominicans traditionally salute Saint Dominic with a hymn which gives him the title, among others, of ‘preacher of grace’. In the two most important texts which describe his religious experiences, the Libellus or ‘Little Book’ of Jordan of Saxony and the record of the ‘Process of Canonisation’, the term grace is frequently used, along with cognate terms like ‘gracious’, ‘graceful’ and ‘graciousness’. With the term grace, a key word in his vocabulary, Jordan describes the freshness, enthusiasm, joy, freedom, light and gratitude that characterised the lives of Saint Dominic and his first followers whom he refers to as 'sons of grace, co-heirs of glory'.

The description of Saint Dominic as ‘preacher of grace’ can be understood in three ways. Firstly it might mean that he was gracious, attractive, encouraging, friendly and pleasant. Similarly we might speak of someone as a gracious person or use the word grace to describe the presence or performance of a speaker, artist, dancer or musician. Many witnesses to Dominic’s life support this understanding. Jordan talks about his delightful holiness, beautiful character and pleasant countenance which stirred all classes of people [Libellus 36, 103-04]. A witness called Brother Ralph says Dominic was happy, cheerful and pleasant [Process, 32]. Sister Cecilia paints a portrait of Dominic’s physical appearance as attractive and pleasant [Miracles of Saint Dominic, 15].

One might think ‘well, fans of Saint Dominic would say things like that’. Of greater interest here, though, are those testimonies which associate the ‘graciousness’ of Dominic with the experience of being loved by him or of coming to love him (Libellus, 21, 39, 104, 107; Process 36, 90).

A second meaning we can give to ‘preacher of grace’ is to take it that grace was a frequent subject of Dominic’s preaching. While none of his sermons have survived it seems clear that this understanding is accurate because of two things: his deep desire to reconcile people to the truth of God and his great compassion for those in distress. For Dominic God is a God of mercy, forgiveness and reconciliation, the God of grace.

A third meaning of ‘preacher of grace’ is that grace happened as Dominic spoke, acted and prayed. Once again this is confirmed by various witnesses: that the grace (now meaning power, light, help) of God was made present in those whose lives he touched. At Toulouse Dominic spent the night arguing ‘powerfully and passionately’ with an inn-keeper until ‘unable to withstand the wisdom and Spirit which was addressing him’ the inn-keeper was brought back to the faith ‘by the help of the Spirit of God’ [Libellus, 15]. A characteristic work of grace in the lives of many of the saints is a steadfastness, even stubbornness, when once they have reached a decision before God and this too is said of Dominic [Libellus, 103].

It is striking how quickly the story of Saint Dominic becomes the story of the first brothers and sisters of his Order and we find these three meanings of ‘grace’ recurring in their lives also. They are men and women of grace because among them are some very attractive, encouraging and inspiring personalities. Jordan himself, Reginald, Henry, Thomas, Diana d’Andalò, Cecilia and others are gracious, are united in friendship and make up a community characterised by enthusiasm and joy [for example Libellus 38 and 66].

The early Dominicans continue to preach God’s grace by proclaiming the compassionate, encouraging, challenging, grace-filled and reconciling Word of God. And finally grace continues to happen in and through them as they share with others the effects of the grace of God towards themselves [Libellus 58,69, 77-78; Process 24].

Closely associated with the term ‘grace’ in early Dominican sources is the term ‘joy’. As with the first followers of Saint Francis, the lives of the first Dominican friars and sisters was characterised by great freedom and joyfulness [Libellus 75]. Saint Dominic was remembered, among other things, for his joy in singing along the roads of Spain, France and Italy [Process 21].

The association of joy and grace is etymologically correct since in Greek the two terms are related: grace is charis and joy is chairo. In the annunciation to Mary the angel addresses Mary using both ‘grace’ and ‘joy’. ‘Hail full of grace’, he says, also translatable as ‘Rejoice highly favoured one’ [Luke 1.28]. As we will see, the moment of the annunciation in fulfilling the promised joys of the Old Testament is also the beginning of that grace which Christians believe to be at the heart of the gospel.

It has been like that in the history of Christianity ever since. Times of inspiration and fresh enthusiasm, what we might call ‘evangelical moments’, are times of new life among God’s people and they are always characterised by joyfulness. In Galatians 5.22-23 Saint Paul speaks of the experience of grace in terms of the fruits of the Holy Spirit: ‘love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control’. Against such things, he adds, ‘there is no law’.

Times of fresh enthusiasm and evangelical renewal always require also fresh thinking and theological creativity. In the life and work of Saint Dominic the Holy Spirit was active in a way that brought new life and enthusiasm to the Church. His evangelical experience was complemented brilliantly by the theological reflection of Saint Thomas Aquinas, the most outstanding of the second generation of Dominicans, by Saint Catherine of Siena, the outstanding Dominican of the 14^th century, and by many other men and women since then, Spirit-filled followers of Christ along the way of Saint Dominic.

Week 18 Friday (Year 2)

Readings: Nahum 2:1, 3; 3:1-3, 6-7; Deuteronomy 3:35-36,39, 41; Matthew 16:24-28

'Paradox' is an over-used word for describing many of the sayings of Jesus. The term 'koan', taken from the training methods of Zen Buddhism, is at times a more fruitful concept to use. The koan is a statement or story whose wisdom cannot be accessed using the ordinary tools of analysis and logic. Reason understood narrowly, the rationalist in us who wants to take apart and control, cannot get at what it is about. But intellect, or understanding, can come to some understanding of what it might be about, a meditative reception and consideration of what is said, a meditation shaped by experience, a contemplation open to expand and to receive.

On the street one day I saw a homeless man sitting in a porch with his few possessions gathered round him, a dog, a sleeping bag, and a varied collection of odds and ends. It included a reading lamp set up at the head of the sleeping bag. Seeing him became a kind of koan for me as I began to wonder why a homeless man, sleeping on the street, would need a reading lamp, how he could ever get it to work, what he might read by its light (the rationalist in me) ... what was he saying to himself or to the rest of us by carrying around such a thing? Perhaps not saying anything in particular ...

But seeing him became a koan for me, curious and at first sight irrational, but setting off a series of meditations on different aspects of the picture he presented, a homeless man with a reading lamp at the head of his sleeping bag: light, sight, night, knowledge, reading, poverty, wisdom. It brought to mind a comment attributed to Oscar Wilde, that only what is incredible is worth believing. For what is incredible to the rationalist mind is not incredible to the wider, deeper, richer intellectual mind.

Jesus in the gospel reading today gives us two incredible sayings to disturb our rational minds -

Whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.

There are some (reading this) who will not taste death until they see the Son of Man coming in his Kingdom.

Let these sayings tease us and provoke us, swish them around in our minds for a while, and open the doors of our understanding to new ways of thinking, perhaps to new realities.

Feast of the Transfiguration (Year A) - 6 August

Readings: Daniel 7:9-10, 13-14; Psalm 97; 2 Peter 1:16-19; Matthew 17:1-9

We hear about the temptations of Jesus on the first Sunday of Lent each year, and we hear about the transfiguration of Jesus on the second Sunday of Lent each year. We also hear about the Transfiguration on the special feast dedicated to that moment and which is celebrated on 6 August. The gospel reading follows the three year Sunday cycle and so this year is the turn of Matthew’s gospel.

It is instructive to think about what each of the evangelists decides to omit and what he decides to include compared with the other two accounts of the same experience. Matthew, for example, does not show Peter and the other two disciples to be quite as dim as they can seem in Luke and Mark. The comment that Peter, always the first to open his mouth, ‘did not know what he was talking about’ is omitted by Matthew. He is generally kinder in his account of the disciples anyway, certainly kinder than Mark who presents them as forever getting the wrong end of the stick.

In this, Matthew’s approach fits with one aspect of what the transfiguration means, that it is a moment of re-assurance for the disciples. It happens, he tells us, ‘six days later’. Six days later than what? Six days after Jesus had told them for the first time that he was to go to Jerusalem, to be rejected and condemned, to suffer and to be put to death. The transfiguration is a moment of re-assurance and encouragement for them to continue following Jesus even in view of what Jesus had begun to teach them about his destiny. It is a divine endorsement of the way Jesus is going and what he is saying about his mission.

The scene is richly loaded with traditional and familiar figures, scenery and texts. Of course the disciples knew who Moses and Elijah were. The scenery – on a mountain, with an overshadowing cloud and a voice – immediately evokes an experience of the divine presence. They surely understood something also of the significance of the words spoken from the cloud. The beloved son with whom God is well pleased, is referred to by Isaiah and others of the prophets. They might well have been familiar also with Moses’ prophecy in the Book of Deuteronomy about a great prophet, whose authority would be comparable to that of Moses himself. ‘Listen to him’, Moses had said, providing words for the divine voice at the transfiguration.

But if the characters and scenery and words of this dramatic moment are all familiar, the meaning of their being brought together in this way, and the one around whom they are brought together, makes of this an experience of something radically new. Although each of its elements is anticipated in the Old Testament, there is nothing quite like it in the Old Testament. What Jesus is helping the disciples to do is to make the transition from the ways in which they understood life and God and themselves up to then to a completely new way of understanding life and God and themselves in the future. The journey they are being asked to take is solidly rooted in all that they had been taught about the God of Israel and yet it is a journey that will transform them completely as regards what they thought and how they lived. It is at once familiar and completely mysterious and for both reasons their fear is understandable.

Related to this is another detail of Matthew’s account, which is not mentioned in either Luke or Mark. Jesus, he tells us, touched them and told them to stand up. They have done what human beings ought to do in the presence of God: bowed down, fallen on their knees, and put their faces to the ground. But the great outcome of the adoration of God, as distinct from the adoration of anything that is less than God, is that we stand up greater for having worshipped.

Whenever we worship something less than God we must hand over some of our identity to that thing. We are then less than we might be for having worshipped an idol. It may be money or power or a group of people or a political ideology or a religious organisation or some vague abstraction– to worship an idol, a false god, always makes us less than what we are. We must pay tribute to whatever it is we worship in that way. We must invest something of ourselves and such false gods have big appetites.

But to adore God does not mean losing anything of our identity. In fact it means the opposite, for we are not rivals to God and God is not a rival to us. To worship God is to live in the truth. This is the reality of our situation, that we are the creatures and servants of God, called to follow the way of His Son. In the presence of God, the Son says to us ‘stand up’. Already we get a glimpse of the greatness that is being revealed, not only the greatness revealed in Jesus but the greatness revealed in Him for us.

Romano Guardini, a theologian working in Berlin at the height of Nazi power there, decided with colleagues and friends to try to disseminate statements to counter-act what was happening. He decided to write first about adoration, for adoration, he says, is ‘the safeguard of our mental health, of our inmost intellectual soundness’. ‘Whenever we adore God’, he writes, ‘something happens within and about us. Things fall into true perspective. Vision sharpens. Much that troubles us rights itself. We distinguish more clearly between good and evil. … We gather strength to meet the demands which life imposes upon us, fortified at the very core of our being, and taking a firmer hold upon truth’.

To fall on our knees before God expresses the truth of our situation. To be enabled to stand up in the presence of the same God, at the invitation of His beloved Son and through His saving work, is the wonderful grace that has been manifested through the appearing of Jesus our Saviour.