Saturday after Epiphany

Readings: 1 John 5.14-21; Psalm 149; John 3.22-30 

Jesus first came to public attention as a follower of John the Baptist., He came to the river Jordan to be baptised by John, thereby associating himself with John's mission and preaching. It is John who first speaks about Jesus, 'behold the Lamb of God', he says to his own disciples about the one on whom he saw the Spirit rest. Today's gospel gives us then a unique glimpse of Jesus as a 'practising baptist', we might say, for he is at least with his own disciples, the first Jesus-followers, who are baptising in their turn. Whether he himself officiated John's baptism of repentance is not clear.

What is very clear, here and elsewhere, is that John the Baptist was the most remarkable witness to the light which Jesus is, the Light of the World. John served the true light and the light of truth by his way of living, by his preaching and by his death. He did this with great courage and, as we see in today's gospel, with great humility. Humility is truth, it means simply accepting what is true, our own nothingness in the sight of God and our own greatness in the sight of God.

The theme of truth is already raised in the first reading which says that those who believe in Jesus have eternal life because they are in the One who is true, in his Son Jesus Christ, in the One God who is the true God and eternal life. The world can only offer us a variety of idolatries, ways of giving our minds and hearts, our adoration, to things that are less than God and whose promises are vain in the end, things that are, at their worst, not only false but death-dealing.

John the Baptist knows that life and truth come through the one who is coming after him, Jesus who is the Christ. John understands himself as a voice crying in the wilderness of the world, testifying to the coming among us of the Son of God. 'I am not the Messiah', he says, nor Elijah (although Jesus knows him more deeply and recognises him as the 'Elijah' who was to come). Nor am I the bridegroom, John adds. In a beautiful image he describes himself as the 'best man', the friend of the bridegroom, whose job is to watch out for the bridegroom's arrival. His joy is full, his mission accomplished, when he hears the bridegroom's voice and can announce his arrival.

To live in the light of the truth is to be truly humble. 'No one can receive more than what has been given him from heaven,' John says, and 'this is what I have received from heaven, to be the best man.' It is time to hand over to the bridegroom. The bride is his, not mine, he adds, something to be kept in mind particularly by celibate disciples of the Lord who might be tempted to regard themselves as a kind of bridegroom in the place of Christ rather than what they are, a kind of 'best man' to the bridegroom, serving the relationship between him and his bride and not intruding upon it.

'He must increase, I must decrease', John says, and it is not false humility or anti-Baptist propaganda from the early Jesus-followers. It is simply the truth, and the truth is the life of human beings. Live in the light of who you are and you will be fully alive. Live in the light of the Bridegroom who is your best friend and your joy will be complete.

Friday after Epiphany

Readings: 1 John 5.5-13; Psalm 147; Luke 5.12-16

Some of what is happening in the world might lead us to think that withdrawing to a deserted place to pray, as Jesus does at the end of today's gospel, might be the best thing we could do at the beginning of this year. Natural disasters, wars underway and threats of wars, the climate crisis, crimes of violence and sexual abuse, the rates of abortion and suicide - it can all seem too much, leaving us feeling sad, fearful and impotent. The man Jesus encounters in the gospel today is 'full of leprosy', just as the world today can seem to be comprehensively sick. Jesus has resources, of course, that (it seems) we do not have: he can stretch out his hand and touch the man and heal him in an instant for this is what he wants: 'I do will it. Be made clean'.

The Word of God become flesh and dwelling among us, Jesus has come precisely to engage the world's sickness which he does by preaching the truth, by teaching the way of wisdom for human beings, by healing the sick, by sending the demons away. There is a rhythm of contemplation and action in his ministry. His whole hidden life, between the ages of twelve and thirty, is a kind of long contemplative preparation for his brief but revolutionary public ministry. During those years he grew in wisdom and in grace before God and before human beings. Once his ministry begins, however, his contemplative moments are few and far between, with people searching for him all the time.

Is it true, however, that he has resources we do not have? He says somewhere that those who believe in him will perform deeds as great as his, and even greater ones. His outstretched hand touching people now takes the form of the sacramental life of the Church - the water and the blood are witnesses to this, baptism and the Eucharist. His will to heal us and his command that banishes sickness now takes the form of his word preached in so many places every day, the way in which he is still saying to us, 'I will, be clean'. We are cleansed by the word he speaks, John tells us in his gospel (15.3).

And the Spirit is the third witness that accompanies the sacraments and the word, God's testimony within human beings which already establishes eternal life in those who receive it. In his letter John wants his readers to know that they have eternal life already, that they have been anointed with the Holy Spirit, that they have been made partakers of the divine nature (that's the second letter of Peter 1.4): in other words the resources available to Jesus have been shared with those who believe in him.

We also need contemplative moments in which to recover a sense of the gifts we have already received. Perhaps it is more urgent than ever at the beginning of this year with all that can weigh us down. As the world enters what seems like a darkening place it is more than ever urgent that we join Jesus in deserted places in order to pray. But urgent also that we do this not in order to escape what can seem overwhelming, a world 'full of leprosy', but in order to return, in this Jubilee year, to what we have been given as our possession, a share in His Spirit. If we have forgotten about that, or somehow lost contact with it, or have become alienated from it, then this is the time to return to it. It is our land and our inheritance, given us by the Lord. The Jubilee, or Holy Year, is a time for us to be cleansed and strengthened, enabled to shine as the lights in this dark world that we are called to be, people of truthfulness, justice, compassion and love. These are the resources that heal and save and God has made us co-workers with Christ to live and to act as he did, to practise these virtues and so, in our turn, heal and strengthen our world.

Thursday after Epiphany

Readings: 1 John 4:19-5:4; Psalm 72; Luke 4:14-22

The homily Jesus gave in the synagogue at Nazareth may be taken as the prototype or pattern for any homily (Luke 4:16-30). The Introduction to the Lectionary identifies four aims for the homily (§41) and at Nazareth Jesus addresses all four. These aims are

1) to lead the hearers to an affective knowledge of Holy Scripture
2) to open them to gratitude for the wonderful works of God
3) to strengthen the faith of the hearer
4) to prepare them for communion and for the demands of the Christian life. 

How does Jesus’ homily at Nazareth meet these aims? First, he chose a text from the Book of Isaiah, the passage which speaks of the Spirit of the Lord coming to anoint the Lord’s messenger, deputing him to evangelise the poor, to proclaim liberty to captives, to bring sight to the blind, to set the oppressed free and to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour. ‘Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing’, Jesus says, and we are told that they ‘wondered at the gracious words which proceeded out of his mouth’ (Luke 4:21-22). Literally it means the words about grace that he spoke. The passage from Isaiah tells of the grace, or favour, of the jubilee year in which a fresh beginning makes new life possible. They are heartened and encouraged by this. Later in the Gospel of Luke we hear of disciples whose hearts burned within them as he opened the Scriptures for them (Luke 24:32) but already at Nazareth all spoke well of him.

‘Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing’. This may be taken as the fundamental task in preaching a homily, to show how the Scripture that has just been read is being fulfilled in the lives of those who are listening.  The second aim of the homily is to open people to gratitude for the wonderful works of God. These works are read about in the Scripture readings not just to recall great events in other places and at other times but with a view to showing how they continue to be effective here and now. The Word of God is ‘sacramental’, therefore, bringing to pass in the lives of believers the realities of which it speaks. We might say that it is good news only when those who listen are helped to see how the Word that has been proclaimed is working in their lives.

Jesus preaches in order to strengthen the faith of those who hear: this is the third aim of a homily. The text of Isaiah was presumably already well known to his congregation and he seeks to interpret its meaning for them. The difference in his teaching, we are told elsewhere, is that Jesus spoke with authority and with wisdom, often confirming what he taught by signs and wonders (Mark 1:27; Matthew 13:54; Luke 13:10). But at Nazareth his preaching breaks down and the situation becomes complicated.

So what went wrong? (This is presuming that something did go wrong: perhaps what happened is an example of how effective preaching can be!) Thinking of the fourth aim of the homily, we can see that Jesus is trying to prepare them for communion and for the demands of living according to his new way, but this does not go down well with them. If there is to be encouragement in the preaching of a homily there is also to be challenge. Gracious words call to generous living: to be holy as God is holy, compassionate as God is compassionate, loving one another as Jesus has loved us.

On the one hand Jesus in his homily says that the promises of God’s grace are being fulfilled even as they listen. These promises are being fulfilled in him, in his presence among them with his teaching and his works of power. Who would not be strengthened and encouraged?

On the other hand he begins to explain the implications of this time of grace by showing how it calls his listeners beyond their place of comfort to reckon with deep and demanding aspects of God’s gracious work. He reminds them of how earlier prophets brought God’s word and power beyond the confines of Israel. His preaching breaks down as he invites them to break open their hearts and lives, to be receptive once again to the grace of the Living God. The ancient text has come alive and its blessings are welcomed but its demands are not. The mood turns from wonder to anger and he must pass through the midst of them to get away. ...

This is an extract from a longer article on the homily. The full article may be found here.

 

Wednesday after Epiphany

Readings: 1 John 4:11-18; Psalm 72; Mark 6:45-62

One sentence in Mark's account of Jesus walking on the water is omitted from the parallel accounts in Matthew 14 and John 6. 'He meant to pass by them', Mark tells us (6:48). Strange that this would be the sentence that seems strange in an account of a man walking on water through a stormy sea!

The fear of the disciples is not connected with the weather conditions but rather with the strange fact that Jesus appears to them on the water. 'Take heart', he says, 'it is I, do not fear'. Ego eimi is the phrase translated 'it is I', the divine name so important throughout John's gospel ('I am') but not given as much attention when it appears here in Mark. Except to note that the Lord of the seas is God the creator, the one who sets their limits, populates them with creatures, and has the power to divide them, dispel them, or cause them to erupt in the desert.

This is another incident in which it becomes clear, it is revealed, that God is present in Jesus. It is another Epiphany then. Matthew supplements it with the story of Peter asking to imitate Jesus by walking on the water. John concludes it briskly by having them all magically transported to their destination. But Matthew and John use the same Greek phrase as Mark: 'take heart, it is I, do not be afraid'.

So within this strange story we find a sentence so strange (at least for some readerships) that it is omitted by Matthew and John, 'he meant to pass by them'. It seems that this is the sentence that tests credulity most sharply, the lectio difficilior which has a claim to being original precisely because it is a more difficult reading. Whatever weird and wonderful things the Incarnate Word got up to, however he decided to disport himself in relation to creation, there is something scandalous, it seems, in him walking past the disciples. It seems to mean ignoring them, having plans and purposes that for the moment do not include them.

Is that what is shocking, scandalous, bizarre in this surreal story? That the Son of God, the Incarnate Word, would have plans and purposes beyond the concerns of his immediate disciples? That his mind might be elsewhere, so to speak? Some interpreters get down to the task of trying to explain away the plain meaning of the text, to bring it round again to show that Jesus couldn't possibly have been intending to ignore the disciples.

The best explanation, though, is that this phrase belongs with the other phrases and characteristics of this incident that make it a theophany, a revelation of the presence and glory of God. The most famous 'passings by' of God in the Old Testament are those in which he reveals himself more fully to Moses (Exodus 33:22) and Elijah (1 Kings 19:11). Paradoxically, then, the 'passing by' of the Lord means a more intense and intimate presence of the divine mystery, that in passing by God comes closer. In coming close God also becomes more mysterious since it can only be in His nature as God that he comes close and that means in His nature as mysterious, infinite, in comprehensible. So Moses sees only God's back and Elijah is aware of God in the sound of fine silence.

The disciples are, appropriately, terrified, not because of the weather conditions but because of the one walking on the waters. But he turns to them, re-assures them, speaks to them, and gets into the boat with them. Here is a new reality, that the One who is, the Lord of the waters, in passing by, and so coming closer in the mystery of his nature, is now accessible and available, has a face and a voice, can be in the boat with them, is there to be touched and seen and heard, in the person of Jesus.

So Mark, with this strange comment, is more faithful to the language of divine theophany than are either Matthew or John who let it drop out. One of the finest texts in the Bible in which the glory of God is sensed in its passing by is Job, chapter 9. Putting it alongside the text of Mark read today we see again how in Jesus God answers Job's questions and in doing so draws us into deeper mysteries:

... how can mere mortals prove their innocence before God?
³ Though they wished to dispute with him,
    they could not answer him one time out of a thousand.
⁴ His wisdom is profound, his power is vast.
    Who has resisted him and come out unscathed?
⁵ He moves mountains without their knowing it
    and overturns them in his anger.
⁶ He shakes the earth from its place
    and makes its pillars tremble.
⁷ He speaks to the sun and it does not shine;
    he seals off the light of the stars.
⁸ He alone stretches out the heavens
    and treads on the waves of the sea.
⁹ He is the Maker of the Bear and Orion,
    the Pleiades and the constellations of the south.
¹⁰ He performs wonders that cannot be fathomed,
    miracles that cannot be counted.
¹¹ When he passes me, I cannot see him;
    when he goes by, I cannot perceive him.
¹² If he snatches away, who can stop him?
    Who can say to him, ‘What are you doing?’ ...

Tuesday after Epiphany

Readings: 1 John 4.7-10; Psalm; Mark 6.34-44

It is possible to teach five thousand people many things and still have lots left over. The 'spiritual works of mercy' even expand in being practised since one who is taught may teach others just as one who is loved may love others, one who is comforted in affliction will learn how to comfort other sin affliction, and so on.

Our attention is drawn however to the more obviously miraculous event of feeding that number of people with bread and fish. But teaching the people - another kind of feeding - is what is mentioned first. The Lord's compassion, on seeing the crowd like sheep without a shepherd (harassed and dejected is how the gospel of Matthew describes them), expresses itself in the first place in teaching.

Aristotle says somewhere that people must eat before they can philosophise and it makes a lot of sense. Hunger will be a great distraction from anything else and that basic human need must be met before any others can be attended to.

But the readings today remind us of what Jesus said to the devil in the moment of his temptations: the human being does not live on bread alone. So what else? Well, love and truth is the answer we hear today. God is love and to know God is to love just as to love is to know God. And this our love is not simply an attempt by us to ingratiate ourselves with God: the good news is that it is God who has first loved us.

What hunger in us is satisfied in hearing these two great statements: 'God is love' and 'this is love, not that we have loved God, but that he has loved us'? There is some deep hunger that is satisfied by hearing those statements. Read them again, digest them, make them your own, eat these teachings so that they become part of your being, second nature to you.

And what hunger in us is reassured by hearing that the first expression of the Lord's compassion towards the harassed multitude was to teach them many things, to attend to their desire for knowledge. It is another fundamental desire in us, to be in the light, to be informed and aware, to know what is going on around us, to know what is the case, to know the truth.

Jesus is in the first place a teacher and his miracles, the signs he gave, are all at the service of that teaching. Yes, they satisfy real human needs for food, for health, for freedom, but they are never simply acts of powerful magic, done to impress, to support his teaching in an external kind of way. They are done to serve real human needs and in doing so to lead human beings always further on. They are to lead human beings beyond the physical needs that are satisfied in the wonders he does so that they appreciate the spiritual needs of which they are the manifestation (spiritual blindness, spiritual thirst, spiritual hunger, spiritual freedom).

God's love for us is seen in the fact that he sent his Son as expiation for our sins. In other words to attend to the deepest need of humanity, our need to be free from sin and its consequences. We see those consequences all around us and it can seem as if they are more powerful than anything we might try to use against them. This too needs meditation, digestion, taking to heart: what are our sins? and why do we need a saviour to make expiation for them? Why must God's compassion express itself, finally, on Calvary?

Announcing the Date of Easter at Epiphany

Proclamation of the Date of Easter 2025

Know, dear brothers and sisters, that, as we have rejoiced in the glory of our Lord revealed in his birth at Bethlehem, so too we rejoice in the glory of his presence with us until he comes again. In the rhythms and events of time we remember and live the mysteries of salvation.

The Easter Triduum is the centre of the Church's liturgical year and all the other holy days follow from it:

On the 20th day of April we will celebrate with joy Easter Day, the Paschal feast of our Lord Jesus Christ.

On the 5th day of March will fall Ash Wednesday, the beginning of the fast of the most sacred Lenten season.

On the 29th day of May we will celebrate the Ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ.

On the 8th day of June the feast of Pentecost.

On the 22nd day of June, the feast of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ.

On the 30th day of November the First Sunday of the Advent of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Even on the feasts of the Holy Mother of God, the Apostles, the saints and on the commemoration of the faithful departed, the pilgrim Church on earth proclaims the Paschal Mystery of her Lord. To Christ who was, who is and who comes, Lord of time and history, be eternal praise for ever and ever. Amen.

Monday after Epiphany

Readings: 1 John 3.22-4.6; Psalm ; Matthew 4.12-17, 23-25

There is a poetic ring to the text of Isaiah quoted in today's gospel, words that are beautiful, images that. stir the imagination - land of Zebulun, land of Naphtali, way of the sea beyond Jordan, Galilee of the nations. Zebulun and Naphtali are two of the smaller tribes of Israel, who settled in the northern part of the land. They are in the beautiful region of Galilee where the first part of Jesus's public ministry is played out.  It is called 'Galilee of the nations', this area being near to the coastal regions and to Syria, an area through which much trade and communication took place.

The universalism we saw in the feast of Epiphany itself is continued here, Jesus beginning his ministry of teaching, preaching and healing in a crossroads of the world, almost we might say at the street corner, for anybody and everybody, and for Israel in its interaction with other nations for that was its mission from the start.

The First Letter of John tells us that they belong to God who acknowledge Jesus come in the flesh and who love each other as he loved his disciples. There are just these two criteria for belonging and nothing else is relevant, nothing racial or ethnic or linguistic or cultural. 'Come in the flesh' means born into our world, not just into a human body like ours, of blood and bones, but into human society and history, into a particular time and race and culture, with all that this entails.

He became one of us, only one of us, so that all of us might come to the new light which he is. The Messiah is given all the nations for his inheritance, his possession reaching to the ends of the earth. Once again this is confirmed in the adoration of the Magi, those seekers and searchers who have come from far away in order to do homage to the new king.

They followed the star to Bethlehem, the star being the first shining of a light that would grow ever stronger. But it is shining in the darkness and Jesus's ministry begins when he hears of the arrest of John the Baptist. So the shadow of darkness already falls across this beautiful landscape, the shadow of the cross which is this young prophet's destiny.

There is still a long road to be travelled, from Galilee of the nations to the community of disciples to which the First Letter of John is addressed. But we can say that this road is all about a light that grows ever brighter as it draws out the darkness there is in human affairs. And it will be in the moment of deepest darkness, Calvary, that the brightest light will shine, the glory that is his as the only son of the Father, revealing the depth of human sinfulness and the always greater reach of God's love. The Spirit we have received is the Spirit of Jesus that drove him into the wilderness and then to Galilee and then to Jerusalem, to his death and resurrection. The light come into the world with the birth of Jesus does not simply illuminate our situation, it transforms it, giving those who believe in him the power to become children of God.

This is the light that dawns over Bethlehem, the light that begins to radiate in Galilee. It still shines in our world in spite of the many darknesses in which we are immersed, always calling us forward to acknowledge him and to learn from him how to love one another.

Second Sunday after Christmas

Readings: Sirach 24.1-2, 8-12; Psalm 147; Ephesians 1.3-6, 15-18; John 1.1-18

As John the Evangelist composed the famous prologue to his gospel was he influenced exclusively by Jewish traditions about wisdom or was there also some influence from Greek philosophy? It is an interesting question but the answer does not really matter: what matters is the profound truth that is taught in this extraordinary text which the Church encourages us to read more than once during Christmastide.

From the Jewish side there was already the conviction that the Lord, the God of Israel, had come to dwell with his people. We see it in the first reading today: the wisdom that was with God came to dwell in the midst of the people. He 'pitched his tent in Jacob', the precise expression used by John when he speaks of the Word dwelling among us, literally pitching his tent among us. God had already done that by sharing his wisdom with the people, the Book of Sirach says. The Book of Baruch speaks in a similar way, seeing in the gift of the law the way in which God's wisdom is dwelling among his people, 'appearing on earth and living with humankind' (Baruch 3.37). The revelation of the divine name in the Book of Exodus already spoke of this presence of God with his people: 'I am who I am', or in other words 'I am the one who is and who will be with you' (Exodus 3.14).

What is new in John's prologue is that the wisdom of God has now become flesh and dwelt among us in one particular human being, Jesus Christ. He fulfils what had gone before while establishing a deeper and more intimate relationship between God and his people: the law was given through Moses but grace and truth through Jesus Christ. God's wisdom was given through Moses but God gives himself through Jesus Christ. It is what 'grace and truth' means, a phrase that describes the character of God in the Old Testament, 'steadfast love and faithfulness', which is simply another version of the divine name.

What makes it now more intimate is that it is the 'only Son', who is 'nearest to the Father's heart', who is the incarnation of the Word or wisdom or law of God. In the scriptures the phrase 'only child' is almost always used in reference to the death of that child or to the quality of mourning that accompanies his or her death. So that when John says 'we have seen his glory as the only son of the Father' he is speaking already about the paschal mystery enacted by Jesus, his suffering and death on the cross for human salvation. So the birth of Jesus is a wonderful continuation of the relationship already established with the Jewish people while at the same time giving that relationship a new height and breadth and depth.

In Alexandria and elsewhere Jewish writers and teachers were in contact with the philosophical teachings of the ancient world. The philosophically inclined will find plenty to meditate on in the prologue of the gospel of John. Most powerful is the reference to being and life and intelligence which structures the first part of the prologue: not one thing had its being but through him, all that came to be had life in him, and that life was the light of all people. There they are, being and life and intelligence.

The philosophers - Plato and Aristotle and others - had reached as far as identifying these qualities as the essential characteristics of true being, of what really is. The Jewish tradition adds 'grace' to this, the conviction that their participation in these qualities on the part of creatures comes as a gift of God the creator. That gift, already seen in our creation by God, serves an even more extraordinary purpose because, as Paul tells us in the second reading, God chose us in Christ before the world was made to live in love, to be adopted as the sons and daughters of the One who creates us.

John the Baptist is described as 'only a witness': John the Evangelist is anxious that there be no uncertainty about this, 'he was not the light', he says. And we are also 'only witnesses'. But think of what it means to be a witness to these wonderful truths. It means we have received what Paul calls the spirit of wisdom and perception of what is revealed, seeing the hope to which we are now called, growing steadily into full knowledge of the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory.

Feast of the Epiphany

Readings: Isaiah 60:1-6; Psalm 71; Ephesians 2:2-3a, 5-6; Matthew 2:1-12

After they have met publicly with the chief priests and scribes, Herod is anxious to meet the wise men ‘secretly’. It is how politics tends to be done, through secret deals and meetings outside meetings. But today’s feast is about the opposite of secrecy. The mystery hidden in God from all eternity is made known to the world in the birth of Jesus. It is a mystery of light, a revelation, and an illumination. Like all politicians, Herod is anxious to control events and he is already devising his strategy. But another hand is guiding these events, another mind is revealed in how they unfold, and a different power is at work here for a purpose beyond anything Herod can imagine. God’s plan – for it is the hand and mind and power of God that are being revealed – will not be frustrated by Herod.

There had always been a universalist strand in Jewish thought. We find it in the prophets, who issue frequent reminders that the choosing of Israel, and her re-establishment after the Exile, are not just for Israel but are, through her, for all the nations. So the first reading already provides much of the imagery and meaning of today’s feast: your light has come, the glory of the Lord has risen upon you. In the darkness of this world’s night the nations see and are led by the light that has risen over Israel. This universalism is there from the beginning, in the original call of Abraham. He is promised a land and a people so that all the nations of the earth might be blessed through him.

With the birth of Jesus the mystery of God’s love for humanity is revealed definitively and uniquely. In this mystery, the Gentiles, represented by the three pagans who present their gifts to the Holy Family, are fellow heirs with the chosen people, members of the same body and partakers of the same promise. Following their own best understanding of how truth is to be sought, they find their way to Bethlehem. All who seek truth with a sincere heart will, sooner or later, find their way to Bethlehem. The clamorous human world gathers at the feet of this Child, not just the Jewish world of Mary, Joseph and the shepherds but the Gentile world from Midian, Ephah and Sheba. The revelation and the promise are for everybody.

4 January - Weekday of Christmas

Readings: 1 John 3.7-10; Psalm 97/98; John 1.35-42

As children we were taught that it is rude to stare at people. And yet in today's gospel reading two of the heroes of the Christian story do precisely that. Firstly John the Baptist stares hard at Jesus as he passes by before telling his disciples that Jesus is the Lamb of God. Then Jesus himself stares hard at Simon, the brother of Andrew, when he is brought to meet him.

Why all the staring? Perhaps the idea is that it is early morning when John identifies Jesus, evening time when Jesus meets Simon Peter. In both cases the light would have been dim. Perhaps this is all it means, although it being the Gospel of John we hesitate to think that its significance would be exhausted by this flat and literal meaning.

Perhaps it means that it was through a kind of contemplation that John came to realise who Jesus was and through a kind of contemplation that Jesus came to see in Peter what he prophesied about him when he called him Cephas, or 'Rock'. Rather than glancing, John and Jesus are seeing. The same with the disciples who ask Jesus where he is staying, who follow him and then spend the day with him. They are not simply giving each other cursory glances, these men, fhey are rather attending to each other, studying each other we might say, putting energy into their looking, in order to see the person more profoundly.

What is asked of Christian disciples in the first reading can be included in the term 'attention'. To be a follower of Christ is to attend to our brother and sister. We know we belong to God by two things: firstly by acting justly (some translations say when we are 'holy' or 'righteous') and secondly when we are loving our brothers and sisters. Justice and charity are thus the identifying marks of the disciple.

In order to grow in these virtues we need to give attention to them, to their requirements, and to how we must act in order to practise them. One of the things we need to do is to keep our eyes fixed on Christ who is the model for all of our life, our teacher or formator. He certainly teaches us how to attend to others. We need to 'study', both ourselves and others, as well as the situation in which we find ourselves encountering others. What does justice require here and now? What does charity require here and now?

We live in a world that is increasingly fast in producing information for us but what is involved in the formation we need if we are to be persons of justice and charity? That takes time and experience, spending days with Jesus from morning to night, accepting the guidance of prophets and teachers, being ready to put into practise what we are learning by sharing it with others as Andrew tells his brother Simon that they have found the Messiah. And thus the church begins to be born, the community of disciples.

'Fissando lo squardo' is the Italian translation of the phrase 'staring hard' and it means literally fixing one's gaze on someone. It is what we seek in Christian meditation or contemplative prayer, that our minds and hearts, our 'inner eye', will be fixed on Christ, keen to learn from him and then to put into practice what we receive from him. And we do that not just by practising prayer, but by attending to others already in justice and in charity.

3 January - Weekday of Christmas

Readings: 1 John 2:29-3:6; Psalm 98; John 1:29-34

Jesus cannot be understood apart from the history of Israel. God's covenant relationship with the chosen people -- 'I will be your God and you will be my people' -- is the golden thread running through that history. Everything recounted in the Old Testament, whether in the law or in the prophets or in the writings, records the fortunes of that covenant-relationship and looks forward to its consummation in the coming of Messiah, the Christ. Jesus himself tells us that 'salvation is from the Jews' (John 4.22).

In identifying him, John the Baptist describes him as 'the Lamb of God' (John 1.29). Lambs were slaughtered and eaten by the Hebrews in the moment of their deliverance from the land of Egypt. The blood of those lambs marked the houses that the Lord 'passed over'. The annual remembrance of the Passover that began their journey towards a promised land, still involved, in Jesus's day, the slaughtering of lambs in the Temple.

In Jesus's day also the title 'lamb of God' had become a way of referring to the 'servant of God', the figure who is the subject of four great poems in the Book of Isaiah (chapters 42, 49, 50 and 52-53). The servant is 'the beloved' and 'the chosen one of God', another description used by the Baptist to identify Jesus (John 1.34). These titles are uttered by the Father at the baptism and transfiguration of Jesus, according to Matthew 3 and 17, Mark 1 and 9, Luke 3 and 9.

These are thoroughly Jewish titles, then, and they take us to the heart of Jewish experience and faith. Jesus is the lamb, the servant, the chosen one, and the beloved. In Jesus the promise of an everlasting covenant (Jeremiah 31) is fulfilled. In Jesus, God visits His people in a 'once and for all' sealing of the covenant (Hebrews 7.27), its establishment on a foundation that can never be shaken.

We can even say that Jesus is Israel. The servant of Isaiah is an individual from among the people but represents the whole people, and stands for them so that what happens between him and God is happening between the whole people and God. But this Jewish messiah, this servant of the chosen people, carries through a work that is not just for the Jews but is for all human beings, for all creation even. He is to bring back Jacob and to gather Israel but he is also to be the light of the nations so that God's salvation may reach to the ends of the earth.

The Christian faith presents us with this paradox, that it is particular and universal. It is a call of particular individuals and communities to be witnesses to the light of Christ in the world and in its history. But this call has a universal reach because God's salvation is to reach the ends of the earth. The journey taken by Jesus in response to his call was from the outlying reaches of the Holy Land, Galilee of the nations, through Samaria and Judea to Jerusalem with its temple. There, in that very particular place, a particular story reached its climax, the covenant-history of the God of Israel.

We believe that climax to be of universal and eternal significance, relevant to all people in every time and place. From Jerusalem the word goes out, the news of our reconciliation, and it is preached in Judea, in Samaria, in Galilee and eventually to the ends of the earth (Acts 1.8).

The phrase lumen gentium has become very familiar in recent decades as the title of Vatican II's constitution on the Church. Christ is 'the light of the nations' and the Church is the sacrament -- sign and instrument -- of Christ in bringing that light to bear on human lives everywhere. 'He is their Lord no less than ours', Paul says, referring to all who are called to take their place among all the saints everywhere (1 Corinthians 1.3). He takes away not only the sins of his own people ('ours the sins he bore, ours the sufferings he carried', as Isaiah puts it). He takes away 'the sin of the world' (John 1.29).

We are in Christmastide, between the great feasts of Nativity, Epiphany, and Baptism. We see Jesus revealed to his own people -- Mary, Joseph, the shepherds, Simeon, Anna. We see Jesus revealed to foreigners and outsiders -- the magi who followed their understanding to find their way to him. Those of us who believe have seen his glory as the only Son from the Father. We have, therefore, a responsibility to be 'phosphorescent'. We are called to be 'carriers of light', signs and instruments of the light and love which the Lamb of God has brought into the world.

This homily was first composed for the Second Sunday of Year A which has the same gospel reading. It may be found also on torch.op.org.

2 January - Weekday of Christmas

Readings: 1 John 2:22-28; Psalm 97; John 1:19-28

John the Baptist confirms one of the ways in which he is described in the other three gospels. He is 'a voice crying in the wilderness', as Isaiah foretold, with the message 'make a straight way for the Lord'. So far, so good.

But he says he is not Elijah and this is unsettling because not only is he described in that way in Matthew, Mark and Luke, but it is from the lips of Jesus that he is so described: Matthew 11:14; 17:12; Mark 9:13; Luke1:17.

Is it possible that John himself did not know everything about his role in the inauguration of the messianic era? It seems so.

It is a useful warning for listening to today's other reading, from the First Letter of John. We are told that we do not need anyone to teach us, that we have received an anointing (it is the Holy Spirit) who anoints us with truth and teaches us everything.

What can it mean? It cannot mean that we receive answers to questions like 'who will have the places of honour in heaven' or 'when will the Son of Man return'. We are told explicitly that such answers are not available. It must mean, though, that we have received all relevant knowledge, everything we need to know for our salvation, about ourselves and about Jesus, as well as an instinct for the truth that will keep us on the right road. Or lead us back to it when we stray.

Like John the Baptist we will die without knowing what our precise role has been in the story of the world's salvation. It seems that it is something we do not need to know. Like all those heroes and heroines of 2024 who did what they were trained to do and used their skills and compassion in the service of others, like the Baptist who defended justice and proclaimed the truth without seeing the bigger picture, the meaning of it all, but saw clearly what love and truth and justice required - so we are to continue on our journey, living in the truth, loving what is good, seeking to build relationships that are just.

What our name or title is in the end is something that will be revealed, by the Lord, in the fullness of time (Revelation 2:17). In the meantime we are called to grow in our knowledge of God, living and true, and of Jesus Christ whom He has sent, to live according to Jesus's commandment of love, and so live already with the eternal life He promises us, already the children of God without knowing what we are to be in the future, when we see Him as He really is.

 

Mary Mother of God - 1 January

Readings: Numbers 6:22-27; Psalm 66; Galatians 4:4-7; Luke 2:16-21

Among many strange phrases in the current English translation of the Mass is one we hear very often because it is found in the second Eucharistic Prayer. In praying for the dead we say ‘welcome them into the light of your face’. It is not a familiar way of speaking and yet it has deep roots in Biblical patterns of thought and speech.

We see it, for example, in the famous blessing from the Book of Numbers which is read today, the first day of the new year. We find it also in today’s psalm. Grace or blessing are often spoken of in this way in the Bible: God (or another human being) turns his face towards a person, looks at them, notices them, keeps them in sight and therefore in mind and in heart. ‘May the Lord bless you and keep you’. In other words ‘may he let his face shine on you and be gracious to you’. The prayer is that God will keep the people in mind, attend to them, watch over them.

One of the Hebrew terms for grace, chen, originates in this ordinary experience of being noticed by another, being seen or, as it is often translated, finding favour in the sight of another person. The great blessing of Numbers 6 concludes: ‘May the Lord uncover his face to you and bring you peace’. Psalm 66 prays that God will be gracious and bless us, that he will let his face shed its light upon us. It is from within this biblical tradition that the prayer we now use at Mass comes: may the dead be welcomed into the light of God’s face: may they be remembered by God, may they be greatly blessed by Him.

The greatest blessing is to see the face of God. We call it the beatific vision, the experience in which the perfection of human fulfilment and happiness is to be found. It is misleading to think simply in terms of physical sight, of course: it is more about knowledge and understanding, being present together sharing God’s life in a communion of love. We know from the First Letter of St John, also read during these days of Christmastide, that to see God means to become like him ‘because we shall see him as he really is’.  From being seen by God (and so brought into existence, to life, to the life of grace) we are brought to see God, to turn our faces towards him, and in this our deepest happiness consists. Lovers rejoice to look at each other, to admire each other, to feast their eyes on each other. They look out for each other, keep each other in sight and so in mind and in heart. And often too they become like each other, taking on the mannerisms, interests and concerns that they see in the one they have come to love.

This way of thinking is present also in the angel’s conversation with Mary at the annunciation. ‘You have found favour with God’, he tells her. God has turned his face towards Mary. He has remembered her and noticed her. The light of God’s face is shining upon her as the angel delivers his message and she responds with faith, trust and love. Across this mutual gaze, of God seeing Mary in the angel’s message and Mary seeing God in her response,  flow the grace and blessing that belong to her as the Mother of God and the First Disciple. That mutual gaze establishes the particular graces that belong to Mary as an individual daughter of God with her particular role in the history of God’s relationship with the people. Because what happens through Mary is unique and unrepeatable. It brings time to its fulfilment and in the same moment initiates the new time. Mary is Virgin as well as Mother and in this paradox we find also the paradox of the beginning and the end of time.

Paul, writing to the Galatians, describes this moment of Mary’s motherhood as the fullness of time, when the Son was born of a woman, born a subject of the law. She is fully pregnant with the Word, ready to deliver. Her time to give birth has come and so too God’s time has come, the time appointed for sending Jesus, the one who was to save the people from their sins. His conception and birth means the end of expectancy, the fulfillment of the promises of the Old Testament, a new and eternal covenant.

It is also the time of Mary’s virginity which means the time of a new creation when God acts within the world without doing violence to it, without intruding upon it or interfering with it. Grace does not destroy nature but brings it to its perfection. God’s gaze does not destroy Mary but brings her to perfection, a supernatural perfection, as the first disciple in the Kingdom that is coming. So it is virginal time, springtime, fresh and free and full of new life. It carries the promise of new birth for all and an adoption as children of the Father. No longer slaves but sons and daughters. No longer debtors but heirs. No longer controlled by fear but alive by the Spirit of the Son who enables us to cry ‘Abba, Father’.

Mary treasured in her heart all that was being said about her son and she pondered over what was being revealed about him. We continue to do that during this season of Christmas as we gaze upon the infant in the crib, and gaze upon the Virgin Mother who brought him to birth. It is a fulfilment, yes, a birth so long desired, a healing so long awaited, a light so long watched for. But it is also a new beginning, completely fresh and unexpected, a gift from the God of surprises.

We begin the new year, then, in the company of Mary, basking in the light of God’s face as it shone on her, meditating on the mystery of her place in our life of faith, in our spirituality. We begin the new year with her, praying that during the weeks and months ahead we may enter more fully, less hesitantly, into the light flowing from her Son, a light that is not only new knowledge and understanding but new life and a new love. During this coming year may we all be welcomed into the light of God’s face, whether we are alive or dead when he uncovers his face to us, is gracious to us and brings us peace.

Seventh Day in the Octave of Christmas - 31 December

Readings: 1 John 2:18-21; Psalm 96; John 1:1-18

God has shown mercy by forgiving us our sins. But forgiveness is not God's only mercy. The whole work of God is merciful. Creation itself flows from the generous love and mercy of God. It is already a work of mercy, God taking pity on what was not in order to bring it into being. Creation itself is a sharing in God's own existence, life, wisdom, and love. God need not have created us and that he did so is a generous gift. Creation comes about through God's kind purposes.

God's kind purposes fashion this world and guide its history. Those same kind purposes call us to live with God and to share a happiness beyond our dreams. Those kind purposes shared with the people of Israel the gifts of God's wisdom and law. His kind purposes came to a climax at Christmas with the birth of Jesus - the Word, and wisdom, and law, of God. Jesus of Nazareth is God's kind purpose in person.

Mercy means gift or grace, something received through sheer generosity. The coming of Jesus is all about this generosity:

From his fulness we have,

all of us, received - 

yes, grace in return for grace (John 1:14).

The Latin word for mercy is misericordia which refers both to pity and to the heart. Mercy is a compassion that is heartfelt, and Jesus comes from the heart of God:

No one has ever seen God;

it is the only Son

who is nearest to the Father's heart,

who has made him known (John 1:18).

All we know about love tells us that love will be merciful. All we know about love tells us that love will be kind and generous. All we know about love confirms that it is experienced as unearned and freely given. All we know about love tells us that it is about a union of hearts.

Love and mercy would remain merely a wonderful but impossible dream were it not for Christ Jesus. He has fought his way past the enemies of love, past selfishness, despair, sickness, sin, and death. At the end it was not a pretty sight, this child born in simplicity and joy who died in blood and tears on the cross. But this was still God working out his kind purposes and the victory of divine mercy. It was the triumph of God's grace and generosity over all the stinginess, egotism, pride, cruelty, deceit, and fear (the weapons of the Antichrist) that can be marshalled against it.

God's kind purpose is that the human heart - healed and set free - should be made one with the heart of God. the infinite splendour of God's mercy shines through the broken heart of the child born at Christmas, that child in whose heart God and the human being are for all time made one in love.

Sixth Day in the Octave of Christmas - 30 December

Readings: 1 John 2:12-17; Psalm 96; Luke 2:36-40

Heaven and earth may pass away but the Word of the Lord endures forever. And whoever does the will of God remains forever, according to today's first reading.

Anna is very old. Whatever way we translate the information given about her it amounts to the same: she is a very old woman. She is passing away, we can say, just like Simeon and just like the former dispensation which is being replaced by the birth of the Son. But, again like Simeon, she is one who has done the will of the Lord and so she remains forever.

The phrases used in the first reading to describe what the world has to offer - the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, the pride of life - are exactly what attracted Eve and Adam to the forbidden fruit. Seeing that it was pleasing to the eye, good to eat, and would make them wise, they decided to eat of it, with dramatic consequences. Simeon and Anna are presented to us as saints of the old dispensation, people who have done the will of God and so have risen above these worldly desires.

The first reading gives us, then, one of the Johannine texts in which the world has a very negative sense. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him, it tells us. But this is a strange statement considering that in the famous text of John 3:16 we are told that God so loved the world that he sent his only son not to condemn it but that it might be saved by him. And Jesus himself confirms this, that he had come not to condemn the world but to heal and save it.

One way out of this apparent contradiction would be to say that the term 'world' is being used in two different perspectives, for one of which the world is a bad place and for the other of which the world is a good place. But this is too easy. The truth is more complicated, as the truth often is. It is the same world in which the Christian is to be on guard that is loved by God.

Pope Francis opened a discussion recently about the translation of a phrase in the Our Father. 'Lead us not into temptation', 'do not put us to the test', 'do not allow us to be tempted': these are all possible translations of its penultimate phrase. It is not that God is trying to catch us out but that the world, precisely because it is good and beautiful, can distract and seduce us into valuing the things of the world more than the things of heaven.

There is no way to avoid temptation which is inevitable. But as Saint Teresa of Avila says, this is where virtue is seen, not by staying hidden in some safe corner but by living as fully as possible the life we have been given in this world, negotiating our way to the serenity and wisdom of old age, like Simeon and Anna, but 'in the midst of the occasions of falling'. And, God knows, in spite of falling many times. Otherwise why need a saviour? Otherwise why speak of the redemption of Jerusalem?

Feast of the Holy Family (Year C)

Readings: 1 Samuel 1:20-22, 24-28 or Sirach 3:2-6, 12-14; Psalm 83 or 126; Colossians 3:12-21 or 1 John 3:1-2, 21-24; Luke 2:41-52

I grew up in an Irish family where we were frequently ticked off for being bold. In every other part of the world parents want their children to be bold. Of course the word had a special meaning in Ireland, it referred to being naughty or troublesome. Its meaning elsewhere has more to do with being confident, assertive and courageous.

In fact the second reading of today's Mass encourages us all to be bold, and to be bold precisely because we are children. In approaching God in prayer the fact that we are already the children of God ought to make us bold. We can be confident that we will receive from God who is our Father whatever we ask.

Sometimes people have problems about the prayer of petition, 'asking God for what we want'. One is that it does not always seem to work. Most people can tell of something they have asked God for, in all sincerity, and it has not been granted. Another problem is that it can seem like a kind of magic, as if we are trying to manipulate God and bring him into line with what we have decided ought to happen. For people who like to think of themselves as adult and mature even in their dealings with God, petition can seem infantile, a matter of 'give me this, give me that, and give me the other'.

There are ways of approaching the prayer of petition that are not good. We may treat God as a distant, benevolent source of good things who might or might not decide to share them with us. Our interest in God may really be in what he can do for us. We are then using God, or trying God out, as it were: no harm in trying. We might even try to establish some kind of commerical exchange with God along the lines of 'if you do this, I promise to do that'. This is to turn God into an all-year-round Father Christmas who has a sack full of goodies if only you can work out how to insinuate yourself into his favour. These are obviously childish ways of understanding prayer.

The prayer of petition, like all the other practices of the Christian life, is about love. The basis of our relationship with God is God's love for us, God's adoption of us as his children in Christ, and his desire that we should come to share his life ('become like him by seeing him as he is', 1 John 3:2). We cannot understand prayer if we do not speak about love. We can be sure of God's love for us: what about our love for God?

Saint Thomas Aquinas, one of the Church's greatest theologians, is very keen on the prayer of petition. In a beautiful phrase he describes prayer as 'the interpreter of desire'. Prayer provides words for what is in our heart. What is it you want? What is it you desire? What has won the affection of your heart? What do you love? These are the things we must speak about openly and honestly - boldly - with God. It may be that we might be somewhat embarrassed or ashamed of our answers to these questions. What do I want? What do I desire? Where is my heart fixed? What do I, really, love?

If we learn to pray as Jesus did, then God is a father with whom we can speak about what we want. It may be, of course, that the desires and wants of our hearts need to be sifted and thought about and re-directed. I may want my neighbour to drop dead. I should speak about this with God and tell him that it is what I want. I should not be too surpised if it does not happen. (In fact I will be very shocked if it does, particularly if it seems to come as an answer to my prayer!)

In today's gospel reading, Jesus as a young adolescent seems confident and even a bit smug in his reply to Mary, his mother. At the end of his life we see him in a very different place, in Gethsemane, petitioning his Father and telling him what he wants. He wants the cup of suffering to pass him by. He asks God for this just as he has taught his disciples to ask God for what they want. We know that this petition was not granted. But the other petition in that prayer was granted: 'not what I want but what you want' (Mark 14:36). It is as if he had said: another thing I want is what you want. It is as if he had said: the deeper thing I want is what you want. The basis of the relationship between Jesus and  the Father is simply love, through which, perhaps not immediately on our side, a union of wills comes about. We begin by telling God what we want. Through what is usually a lifetime of bold conversations, we end by wanting nothing but God alone.

Feast of the Holy Innocents - 28 December

Readings: 1 John 1:5-2:2; Psalm 124; Matthew 2:13-18

You will find here a homily for today's feast

St John the Evangelist - 27 December

Readings: 1 John 1:1-4; Psalm 97; John 20:1-8

The apostles are the witnesses on whose testimony the Church is built. As witnesses, they speak of what they have seen, heard, and touched. This is what qualifies a person to be a witness: they have experienced something immediately, they have personal knowledge of it, and so they can speak about it with authority. Not only have we seen the Word of life, says John in his first letter, we have touched him with our hands. And now we speak about him so that you might have fellowship with us in our knowledge of the Word and experience the joy that comes with that fellowship.

The claim of these witnesses is unique. They say that they have seen, heard and touched the Word of life. In their experiences with Jesus of Nazareth they have seen the eternal life that was with the Father and has now been made visible in the world. 'Come and see' is a Christmas invitation. The shepherds respond to it and so too do the Magi. So also do all of us who make our way to the Christmas crib to pray and to worship the Child who has been born, to gaze upon him in the simplicity and wonder of his birth.

'Come and see' is the invitation of Jesus to the first disciples. After their years of formation with him - listening to his teaching, learning from him how to pray, seeing the miraculous things that happened through him, seeing especially the glory of his death and the evidence of his resurrection - through all of this the disciples who saw, heard and touched him came to believe that they had seen, heard and touched the Word of life. They came to believe that they had seen the eternal life made visible in Jesus of Nazareth.

Unless I see and touch, said doubting Thomas, I will not believe. So he did see and he was invited to touch. We remain forever dependent on the testimony of these first witnesses. The Church is not only one, holy and catholic, it is also apostolic. It is not just a spiritual phenomenon but an embodied human community spread out across time so that our fellowship with the apostles is a physical one. The Irish poet Sean O'Riordain has on his tombstone the epitaph 'all I am is a part of the body that is my people'. We can apply this to our fellowship in the Church: 'all I am is a part of the body of Christ that is my people'. I belong in the same body as John and Peter, as Mary Magdalen and John the Baptist, as Mary his mother and Elisabeth, and all who saw, and heard, and touched the Word of life during the course of his earthly existence.

We need not be afraid of considering the evidence for the Catholic faith. Evidence and the testimony of reliable witnesses: these are our ways to knowing what is true. Even if that evidence and testimony does not bring everybody to faith, it brings many people to believe. And there is no other route for us except to see and hear and touch the body of Christ alive in the world. Of course the Spirit moves our hearts to realise the deeper meaning in what we are seeing and hearing and touching: Thomas sees the man but believes in his Lord and God.

At the level of sentiment and emotion we feel again the draw of the Christian faith as we listen to the scripture readings and sing the songs of Christmas. Would that it were true that the Prince of Peace has been born for us. Would that it were true that the Child we honour is the Saviour of the world. Would that it were true that all captivity and oppression, all darkness and imprisonment, are dissolved and enlightened by his coming. Would that it were true ....

The witness of the apostles is that it is true. What we have seen and heard, what we have touched with our hands, is the Word of life, the eternal life that was with the Father and is now made visible. Would that we could translate this faith more effectively and more powerfully into the way we live, into our relationships, into the structures of our communities, into our service of the poor. For others now must also see and hear, they must touch and experience, if they are to have any hope of coming to faith. We are to be the witnesses, to give testimony by our words and by our lives, to the fellowship and joy that come with our faith in Christ.

The Christmas liturgy does not dwell on the sentimental aspect of the baby's birth. We are straight down to business, with the feast of Stephen, one kind of witness, and the feast of John, another kind of witness. May our faith grow strong through our celebration of Christmas this year so that we might, in the year to come, be more effective and more powerful instruments of Christ in the world. May we, by our words and the testimony of our lives, welcome those who wish to share our fellowship, attract those who wish to understand our joy, introduce to Christ those who hunger and thirst for the Word of life.