Week 22 Saturday (Year 1)

Readings: Colossians 1.21-23; Psalm 53; Luke 6.1-5

It might seem strange to us that the title 'Son of Man' was more potent for Jesus's contemporaries than the title 'Son of God'.  Israel was already the son of God, God's adopted. Prophets and kings, and sometimes the entire people, were referred to in this way, in the psalms for example: they were already sons and daughters of the Lord, the God of Israel.

For Jesus to refer to himself as the 'Son of Man', however, was a bigger claim in the context in which he lived and preached. In the Book of Daniel, a recent and influential text of the Hebrew scriptures, the Son of Man was a heavenly figure, whose task was to appear on earth in the last days to inaugurate the kingdom of God, God's reign, alongside the earthly powers that came and went. No wonder, then, that the Son of Man would be Lord of the Sabbath, since he was the one to inaugurate the rule of God, the kingdom of Shalom, the promised rest.

The first reading, from the Letter to the Colossians, complements the gospel in this way: it reminds us that the Son of Man's inauguration of the kingdom took place not through any show of physical force, not through any military or political power, but in the scandal of the crucifixion of Jesus. God has reconciled you, Paul says, by Christ's death in his mortal body, in another translation 'in the fleshly body of Christ through his death'.

It is not a philosophy or a spirituality that saves the world. It is saved by a sacrifice which establishes within the world's history a love that originates in God and into which we can now be adopted in a new way, so as to be sons and daughters, friends and kinsfolk, of God, no longer strangers, aliens or enemies.

The new Sabbath, the new Kingdom, is for all people. The way to enter is through faith in the Son of Man who loved us and gave himself up for us. We are to walk in the same cornfield - 'walk in love', Paul says in Ephesians 5.2 - loving God and our neighbour with the same sacrificial love made possible for us by the Spirit of the Son of Man. Wherever that love is found, the Kingdom of God is there.

Week 22 Friday (Year 1)

Readings: Colossians 1.15-20; Psalm 99/100; Luke 5.33-39

Sometimes people speak of being converted to faith in Christ through some kind of spiritual or psychological experience, a moment of realisation or of presence which is sufficient of itself for them to be convinced of its authenticity. Our personal experience is undeniable, even if we cannot share it with others or convince them of its truth. It remains private and personal no matter how strong our conviction, and there is no point in beating other people up because they have not experienced what we have. We can speak to them of it, even if it remains ours and cannot easily, if at all, become theirs also.

The magnificent poem or hymn which is today's first reading takes a different path. It speaks of cosmology and ecclesiology, of the world and of the Church. These are the traditional, public, ways by which the credibility of the Christian faith was presented. Look at the world, look at the Church: what do you see, and to whom do they point you?

Granted the hymn belongs to the concluding moment of this path, its culmination or climax, in which a meditation on creation and a reflection on the Church has led the searcher to see that standing within and beneath both is the same person: Christ Jesus. The claims made for him in this poem are extraordinary, beyond anything ever claimed for any other human being.

He is presented to us not just as a great religious teacher, a wise and good man, a holy guide, a spiritual genius, and anything else along those lines that we care to add. He is presented as the 'head', the first-born, of creation, and as the 'head', the first-born, of the Church, which is the creation in history or the new creation.

It is not just that he has the highest place in creation but that he is the principle of all creation. Everything is made in him, through him and for him. Everything? Yes, everything, in heaven and on earth, all things visible and invisible, every throne, domination, sovereignty and power. He is the principle that gives unity to the cosmos, holding all things in unity, making it to be a cosmos therefore rather than a chaos. So this individual human being is presented as a cosmic principle, a first cause, a power beyond anything we can imagine, because he sustains all we know and experience, keeping it all in existence.

He is also the head of the history of the cosmos, the Church which is his 'body'. It means the presence, within our conditions of time and space, of this principle of all things. And this is linked particularly with the fact that he has conquered death, the power that corrupts and destroys, that moves all things towards chaos. As head of the cosmos and head of its history Christ Jesus is first in every way. The perfection and reconciliation of all that grows, develops and unfolds is, once again, in him, through him and for him. All conflict and loss, all failure and partial achievement, all unfinished business and interrupted living: every historical loose end is tied up, healed, reconciled, brought into a new kind of peace, shalom, a cosmic harmony, through his death on the cross and his birth from the dead.

To re-state the poem in this way may be helpful, or perhaps it leaves us where we were before. It may all seem like too much. But a direction has been indicated, a path we can follow in philosophical searching and in our meditations. Immersed as we are now in virtual reality, in a universe of images, fantasies, conspiracies and flickering shadows, of superficial enchantment, it is perhaps more difficult for us today to enter into these realities of the world and its history, of creation and the Church. More difficult then to see the One to whom meditating on these realities will lead us, Christ Jesus, the first and the last, the old and the new, the beginning of all things and their glorious end.

 

Week 22 Thursday (Year 1)

Readings: Colossians 1.9-14; Psalm 97/98; Luke 5.1-11

The calling of the first disciples seems a bit more normal, less spooky, in Luke's account, which we hear today, than it does in Matthew's and Mark's accounts where it seems like a kind of magic: he sees them, he calls them, immediately they leave everything and follow him. That's it. Here the call is preceded by them hearing Jesus teach. He asks for the use of their boat so that from it he could address the crowd that had gathered on the shore. The teaching is followed by a sign, a wonder, a miraculous catch of fish, which evokes one of Peter's famous declarations, 'leave me, Lord, for I am a sinful man'.

Not only does it make more sense, but it is closer to how we ourselves decide to follow Jesus, or decide to persevere in following Him. (We need to decide this time and again throughout our lives.) Normally we do not have the experience of actually encountering the magnetic or charismatic personality whose voice and look would sweep us off our feet to the point where we leave everything and follow him. What we do have is the teaching of Jesus which continues to exercise its power and to reveal him to us. We hear it at least through our reading of scripture, perhaps of other texts, as well as through the liturgies and preaching of the Church. It is enough to attract us, perhaps even to hold us.

But is there also a sign, a wonder, something happening in our lives or in the world around us, which confirms the words of his teaching and which also reveals him to us? What works as a sign will vary from person to person: the Holy Spirit is infinitely creative in devising signs adapted to the experience and needs of each person. For Peter and Andrew, James and John, the sign is an unexpected and unusual fruitfulness in their ordinary work. Putting together the words of his teaching - which were enough for Peter to trust him when he told them to put down the nets again - and the sign of the great catch, Peter realises that they are in the presence of one in whom God is powerfully at work. (In Luke's gospel he is helped also by having already witnessed the healing of his mother in law and of others.)

So Peter reacts in the normal way a human creature will react coming into the presence of God - he feels unworthy to be there, his sinfulness illuminated by the presence of holiness. 'Do not be afraid', says Jesus, not for the last time, as if to say 'your sinfulness is not an obstacle to the call you are receiving'.

Perhaps a useful exercise for us today is to reflect on three questions - 

1. where am I hearing the teaching of Jesus?
2. what has counted in the past, or counts in the present, as a sign confirming the teaching of Jesus for me?
3. what do I need to leave behind if I am to follow Jesus more closely from now on?

Week 22 Wednesday (Year 1)

Readings: Colossians 1:1-8; Psalm 52; Luke 4:38-44

There are a number of places in the letters of Paul where the basic structure of life in Christ is expressed in terms of faith, hope and love. We find it most famously at the end of the great 'hymn to love' in 1 Corinthians 13 and again in the opening verses of the First Letter to the Thessalonians. Here it is again, in the opening verses of the Letter to the Colossians, as Paul and Timothy give thanks for the members of that church. They have heard already about the faith of the Colossians and the love they have for all the holy ones because of the hope which is kept safe for them in heaven.

These gifts of the Spirit, what later tradition came to call the 'theological virtues', are the fundamental dispositions, attitudes or ways of behaving, that characterise the Christian person. We see them in the life of Jesus himself and quite neatly too in the three sections of today's gospel reading.

Prayer is the characteristic act of the virtue of hope, this is how hope typically expresses itself. The apostles interceded with Jesus about Simon's mother in law, he heard them, and healed her. They prayed to him, in other words, asking his help, and he heard them. The focus of Christian hope is not so much on the favour or help requested as it is on the Person from whom the favour or help is requested. And so it is here. Many times throughout the gospels Jesus encourages his disciples to pray simply, asking for what they need and want. They are to become like children in this, trusting the Father to respond to their requests. Hope is also the virtue of eternal youth since it keeps us looking forward to a future that is to come. Hope opens us to that future, keeps us ready for newness and surprise, enables us to pray.

The pastoral charity of Christ is seen in his service of the people in the towns and villages of Galilee, Judea and beyond. They come to him in droves, the sick, the disturbed and the distressed. He is available for them, always willing to respond to their call even when it takes him away from prayer or from a time of rest with the disciples. He makes no distinction, as love makes no distinction, seeing only the needy children of the Father, his own needy brothers and sisters.

His principal work is to preach the good news of the kingdom of God. In doing this he calls them to faith, to trust in Him and in the Father who has sent Him to preach to them. He is the sower going out to sow his seed, to plant among them the word of truth, which takes root, grows and bears fruit not only among those who were his contemporaries but among all who have come to the obedience of faith through the preaching of the Church.

So faith, hope and love abide, these three. They unite us with Christ in his work and in his relationship with the Father, gifts or virtues that unite us directly with God (hence 'theological' virtues), that express the life of the Spirit who has been poured into our hearts. May God strengthen these gifts in everybody who reads these words today.

Week 22 Tuesday (Year 1)

Readings: 1 Thessalonians 5.1-6, 9-11; Psalm 26/27; Luke 4.31-37

A pregnant woman is, as we say, 'expecting', and so she will be looking out for the moment when her labour begins. It will not be a complete surprise. It may come sooner than anticipated, of course, or it may come later, to test her patience further. But come it will.

This is the metaphor Paul uses to speak about the return of Jesus. We live with this conviction, he says, and so must keep a sense of readiness, staying alert and sober. The world is pregnant with the One who will return even if we do not know the exact day or hour of his return. But come he will. The psalm expresses the same conviction: I believe I shall see the good things of the Lord in the land of the living.

It will not be surprising then if the 'unclean spirits', with whom Jesus grapples in the gospel, should attack this conviction in us. There are various fronts on which they might attack it. Jesus has not returned yet, has he, after all these centuries, so how likely is it that he will turn up today, or next week, or next year? A respectable and grown-up religion should be one that makes a difference to human lives now, not one living out of a promise of something happening in the unknown future. That merely draws people's attention away from present challenges and problems, which are enormous today all across the world. Why waste energy in the direction of something that - let's be honest - is unlikely to happen in our lifetime? Staying sober and alert at every moment is a tall order for the kind of creature we are: it is practically impossible considering our attention span, our various physical and emotional needs that demand attention, the many other interesting and worthwhile things we can and should be doing.

But let us spend some more time with Paul's metaphor because it is itself, well, pregnant! It is about a future event, yes, but it is also a very present reality, a life already underway though not yet visible. Being pregnant makes a huge difference already in the lives of the woman who is expecting, of the father of the child, and of others who will be intimately affected by the new person's arrival.  Keeping our eye on the event that is coming enables us to live well now, to stay sober and alert, to engage with the problems there are so that we will have prepared for the arrival of the one who comes. We need to prepare well in many different ways in order to welcome him or her.

'The creation waits with eager longing', Paul says elsewhere, 'in a great act of giving birth'. The world is pregnant, a new life is underway within it, a life for now hidden with Christ in God. But people who believe are already one with this new life and are living from it. We can add this to the metaphor: the Church, the community of those who actively look for the coming of Christ, is therefore like the womb of the world, the place in which the life of the future kingdom is already present, in a kind of embryonic way.

But this shows us also the main limitation of the metaphor of pregnancy, the point at which the analogy breaks down. Whereas the growing child lives for now from its mother, exercising all its vital functions in complete dependence on her, the life of faith means living from the One who is coming to birth in us, the One with whom the world and the Church is pregnant. The direction of dependence is reversed. It is not that the child lives from the mother but that the mother lives from the child.

The one who is coming commands all unclean spirits with his word of authority and power, and he can prevent and remove all their ways of damaging human beings. When he does come in the clear and visible fullness of that authority and power, it will be for the world's healing, for human well-being, for the establishment of justice, for eternal life in the land of the living God. Living with that conviction, being pregnant in that way, we will strive to stay alert and sober, and to strengthen already, here and now, the life of the kingdom that is coming.

Week 22 Monday (Year 1)

Readings: 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18; Psalm 96; Luke 4:16-30

Why did things go so badly wrong in the synagogue at Nazareth in such a ridiculously short space of time? One minute Jesus enjoys unanimous approval, his hometown listeners astonished by his gracious words. The next minute they are universally enraged to the point of threatening him with violence. It is common human experience to feel one has said the wrong thing or been misunderstood. But the breakdown in relations between Jesus and his own people is difficult to understand.

Was it his fault or theirs? Was it something he said or something they said? They merely chipped in with what seems like a reasonable comment: 'Is not this Joseph's son?' He replies by assuming that they are thinking of him as a physician who ought to heal himself, a wonder-worker who ought to do at home what he has become famous for doing elsewhere. He then proclaims that a prophet is never accepted in his own country, and cites examples from the careers of Elijah and Elisha to show how God's care reached beyond the boundaries of Israel when there were already many needy people within those boundaries.

Was Jesus claiming a status that they considered extreme by placing himself in the line of the great prophets of Israel? What kind of threat or offence to his listeners was implied in his declaration that no prophet is acceptable in his own country?

Some contemporary figures, who might be described as prophetic, endured violent opposition from their own people. A Hindu extremist assassinated Mahatma Gandhi. John Hume was obliged to protect his home against attacks from his own rather than the other side. What entitles them to be called prophetic is their ability to see the humanity of the enemy and the energy they put into reminding their own side that they share a common, needy humanity with the enemy.

Jesus is certainly prophetic in this way, witness his parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10), his healing of Gentile sick (Luke 17) and his death on behalf of all people (Luke 24:46-47). He teaches his followers that they are to be merciful, as the Father is merciful, and shows gracious care towards all, even towards enemies (Luke 6:32-36). Preachers of God's Word carry a message that reaches beyond racial, political and religious boundaries to link up with the humanity of the other person, who is also a son or daughter of God, a brother or sister of Jesus Christ.

A genuine prophet is always reluctant, knowing the dangers of the task. Jeremiah pleads his youthfulness as an excuse for not accepting the prophetic call, and is assured of God's help in the confrontations that must follow. It seems like a nice job, carrying God's Word to the people. That Word is always just, truthful and gracious. But it is not always welcome, because it is also a sword that penetrates human hearts and exposes the foundations of falsehood and injustice. The prophet must confront his own people, sooner or later, with this gracious and penetrating Word. (The first member of his people who must be confronted is, of course, himself.)

Jesus Christ is not just another prophet. He is not just the greatest of the bearers of the Word of God. We believe that he is the Word of God, full of grace and truth, come to his own home, and his own people received him not (John 1:11). Whatever our own home or country is, whatever the nation, tribe, race, language, politics or philosophy with which we identify ourselves, the Word of God comes to dwell among us. As gracious, he is welcome. As penetrating to the foundations of falsehood and injustice, he may not be so welcome. The temptation is to domesticate Jesus and his good news, to make it ours, familiar, homely and comforting. But the Word is a sword, and when preached faithfully it wounds its hearers with a wound that opens to new life.

This homily was first published by torch.op.org on 28 January 2001

Week 22 Sunday (Year C)

Readings: Sirach 3:17-20, 28-29; Psalm 67; Hebrews 12:18f, 22-24; Luke 14:1, 7-14

The teaching of Jesus is not just a piece of social etiquette such as we find in parts of the wisdom literature: better to take a humbler place with the possibility of being promoted than to take a higher place with the possibility of being demoted (and the embarassment that would go with it). When he speaks about a 'wedding banquet' he is always speaking about the wedding feast in the kingdom that is coming. Who is entitled to be there? What is the basis of that entitlement? Where does the invitation come from? And how are people to be ranked at the wedding feast of the kingdom? Is anyone more important than anyone else? It seems that the answer is 'no'. In a beautiful phrase today's second reading speaks about 'the assembly of the firstborn', in another translation 'where everyone is a first-born son and a citizen of heaven'.

People are looking closely at each other. This happens at wedding banquets. People have keen eyes for each other, to see old friends and family members, but also to see who is more 'in', to see what the fashion and style is: it is very good to have been invited in the first place and yet we wonder whether others are preferred to us in some way. Who does not think about their place when they see what the seating arrangment is?

Here though we must look first at the host. Of what kind or character is the host? And who is likely to be the more important in his kingdom. In Jesus' parables, the host is often the Heavenly Father who is always gracious and generous, kind to the ungrateful and to the wicked. We are to be like this too, Jesus says, to be this kind of host to others. To be truly gracious means inviting those who are not in a position to return our generosity. You should invite the poor, the crippled, the lame and the blind. These are the beneficiaries of the messianic kingdom and those who would belong to the Messiah, who wish to be 'Christian', are called to show a disinterested generosity towards the poor.

So today's readings are about humility and about grace. The humble person compares himself not with his fellow guests or even with an idea of what he thinks of himself. The humble person compares himself only with God, thereby knowing his own greatness and his own nothingness.  Jesus' teaching is a call also to generosity. Be a generous host, he says, and break through the iron rules of social propriety. Your invitation to the heavenly banquet is a matter of grace, not entitlement. If you manage to live with a comparable generosity you are already living the life of the resurrection. Those who live in true charity are already guests at the banquet, they are already citizens of the kingdom of heaven.

Week 22 Friday (Year 2)

Readings: 1 Corinthians 4:1-5; Psalm 37; Luke 5:33-39

One of the biggest obstacles to meditating on today's gospel reading is the power of the word 'new'.  Advertisers know that it is one of the most powerful words they can use: notice how often things are on offer with this description: the new iPad, the new model, the new and improved formula. But the parables about new wine in old wineskins and new patches on old garments are not simply saying 'the new is better than the old'.

If we only had the accounts in Matthew and Mark it might seem that this well-established, almost obvious, interpretation is correct. The fact that it was the arch-heretic Marcion who first proposed this interpretation ought to be enough to stop us in our tracks. It became the preferred interpretation of Gentile Christians from Marcion's time to the present day. Some of the most distinguished contemporary interpreters of the Bible continue to follow this line - the religion of Jesus is 'new', and so radically better than the 'old' religion of the Scribes and Pharisees. New Christianity is better than old Judaism: is that not what Jesus is teaching here?

No, it is not. It needs to be said again: this is not what Jesus is teaching here. And it is Luke's account, read today, that holds us back from lazily drifting into this interpretation. Luke alone adds a third parable to the ones about the patch and the wineskins: 'no one who has been drinking old wine desires new, for he says, "The old is good"' (Luke 5:39). This contradicts any interpretation for which these parables are simply saying 'the new thing I bring is better than the old thing you already have'. In this third parable Jesus says it would be absurd to prefer new wine to old: everybody knows wine is at its best when it is old and not when it is new.

So this gospel passage is, thank God, more complex than it seems at first. To get out of what now looks like a contradiction - new is better, old is better - some propose that, in his final comment, Jesus is saying 'of course some of you guys will want to stay with the old rather than embracing the new thing I bring'. They are stick in the muds. But this has no basis in the text and, once again, misses the point.

So what is the point? The main teaching of Jesus here is this: 'Can you make the wedding guests fast while the bridegroom is with them?' The clear answer is 'no, it would be absurd to fast at a wedding'. Fasting when you ought to be feasting is bringing together two incompatible things. The point of the three short parables is to underline this message with a number of other absurd possibilities. Would you put a new patch on old clothes destroying both (especially a valuable old garment)? Of course not. Would you put new wine in old wineskins, destroying both (especially valuable old wineskins)? Of course not. Now that we are talking about wine, would you prefer new wine to wine that has aged and matured? Of course not. These are all absurd proposals, and any right-thinking person will answer 'no' to all these questions. In the same way any right-thinking person will answer 'no' to the question 'should you fast when the bridegroom is present'.

To be in the presence of Jesus, the bridegroom, is to be in a joyful place. It would be absurd not to be joyful, not to celebrate, when we are with him. To suggest fasting in the presence of Jesus is just as absurd as putting new cloth on an old garment, or new wine into old wineskins, as odd as preferring new wine to old.

And that is that for the moment. At this stage in the public ministry of Jesus, his relations with the Pharisees have not deteriorated to what they would become later. They are still curious about his teaching, and open, it seems, to consider what he has to say. Jesus does refer to what was to come , a time when the bridegroom would be taken away. His being 'taken away' is a clear echo beforehand of his passion. And that sad time of loss and grief will be a time for fasting. To continue feasting then would be the absurd, incompatible, thing.

Here is the heart of it: the presence of Jesus means joy, the absence of Jesus means sadness. To confuse these two situations would be absurd. To think otherwise about either of them would be folly. This is the simple and profoundly rich teaching which our wise master wants us, today, to realise.

Week 22 Tuesday (Year 2)

Readings: 1 Corinthians 2:10-16; Psalm 145; Luke 4:31-37

There are three kinds of spirit spoken about in today's readings: the spirit of a person that knows the depths of a person, the unclean spirit that troubles a person and is cast out by Jesus, the Spirit of God that knows the depths of God. We need to consider all three if we are to understand ourselves fully.

Our own spirit shows itself in many ways: memory and imagination, anxiety and desire, our capacities for knowledge, understanding and love. The human spirit is seen in literature, art, music, technology, the whole panoply of activities and interests that make us to be very extraordinary animals indeed. In poetry and music, philosophy and theology, and many other ways, the 'spirituality' of the human creature is to be seen.

Unclean spirits are realities 'in us without us', we might say, that are known through their effects. As well as obvious external difficulties and obstacles, there are many ways in which human beings are afflicted and distracted from within. We continue to surprise and disappoint ourselves. 'I do not understand my own actions', Paul says in the letter to the Romans. Mean-spirited and selfish, hard-hearted and yet profoundly vulnerable, given to addiction and led by the opinions of various publics: there are many ways in which we are disturbed by the unclean spirits. Christian tradition has identified seven or eight deadly spirits or capital vices: vainglory, covetousness, lust, anger, gluttony, envy, sloth and pride.

But there is also the Spirit of God who finally reveals us to ourselves. In the first reading Paul says that the depths of God are accessible to the Spirit of God in something like the way the depths of a human being are accessible to the human spirit, but then says that actually the depths of ourselves are only now accessible to the Spirit of God and not to our own spirit. He is speaking of a new possibility, a new spiritual life, that is not simply part and parcel of the nature with which we were first created but that comes about through a new presence of the Holy Spirit in us. If we are to understand the gifts God has given us we need the Spirit of God. If we are to plumb the depths of ourselves it can only be with the help of the same Spirit.

This relativises our natural 'spirituality', placing its conflicts and achievements in a completely new light. There is a new world of wonder and admiration to which we are called. Paul speaks of new human beings who are capable of judging the value of everything, human beings who have 'the mind of Christ'. Natural spirituality is a token or intimation of what the Spirit brings. When the Spirit, the love of God, is poured into our hearts, not only are the unclean spirits put in their place but our capacities for knowledge, understanding and love are opened up to a new and truly transcendent objective, reaching even to God, in the supreme spiritual activities of faith, hope, and love.

Week 22 Monday (Year 2)

Readings: 1 Corinthians 2:1-5; Psalm 119; Luke 4:16-30

The heroes of Greek and other militaristic cultures are always the soldiers. These are the characters in these cultures regarded as showing the greatest courage and they receive the greatest honour for it. There is a transformation of courage in Christianity. There it is the martyrs who are the great heroes, men and women ready to die in witness to Christ and the faith, and to do so, like Christ, non-violently.

This transformation of courage is one of the consequences of the gospel as Paul summarises it in today's first reading. I came among you in fear and trembling, he says, knowing only Jesus and him as the crucified Christ, so that my preaching might get its strength not from any worldly kind of power or persuasion but might be simply a demonstration of the power of the Spirit.

Nevertheless, the classical Christian account of courage as we find it in St Thomas Aquinas, for example, is developed not just from the Bible but also taking hints from Aristotle. There are two sides to courage, the ancient Greek philosopher indicates, an assertive and a sustaining side. One is the courage to put oneself forward in the world, to undertake great projects and to take action in spite of fear and apprehension. The other is the courage to be patient and persevering in the face of experiences that generate other kinds of anxiety and fear: coping with illness, enduring long-term challenges, living with rejection or mockery, martyrdom. 

For Christians this second side of courage is the higher one. St Teresa of Avila even says somewhere that it takes more courage to persevere in prayer than to die as a martyr.

So courage is required if we are to follow Jesus. One kind of courage is the kind he showed in the synagogue at Nazareth when his preaching was rejected and denigrated. The other kind of courage is enshrined forever in the mystery of the cross, a courage like that of the soldier facing death with its whole weight of fear, but doing it without returning violence, freely accepting it out of love for the Father and the Father's plan for the world's salvation.

Week 22 Sunday (Year B)

Deuteronomy 4:1-2,6-8; Psalm 14; James 1:17-18, 21-22, 27; Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23

To live with faith is a matter of interiority and also of external action. True faith requires both a spirituality and a morality. An interiority without external action will produce good intentions, but, as the saying goes, good intentions alone are the paving stones of the road to hell. On the other hand external action without interiority becomes hypocrisy or legalism. A purely external observance of religious rules, traditions and customs is empty, dry and dead.

True faith moves from the heart through the understanding to the hands. It is the clear teaching of the readings today. Jesus says that it is not what goes into a person from outside that makes them unclean, it is what comes out of a person from inside. The word has been planted in us, says the Letter of James, and it is in our hearts that it grows and flourishes. But this can happen only if we do what the word tells us. It is not enough just to listen to it and pay lip-service to its demands. One’s heart might still be far away and if one’s heart is far away then our actions alone will be vain.

What keeps us alert to the demands of true faith is the presence of the poor. James says pure unspoilt religion in God’s eyes means helping orphans and widows. They symbolise the most vulnerable people in our communities. Our hearts are usually moved by their plight. They are real needy people in our communities, these orphans and widows, but they also represent all the needy people in our communities. Our neighbour calls us to our responsibility, they call us to sincerity in our living of our faith.

So they call to us, touching our hearts and waiting to see whether that movement of compassion will be translated into action. We know how central it is to the teaching of Jesus: love your neighbour. Your neighbour reminds you of what true faith involves and your neighbour calls you to live it.

There is another aspect to this call of the neighbour. The Scriptures tell us again and again that God is the Father of the orphan and the defender of the widow. So when we respond to the orphan and widow according to their need we are in the company of the Father. In fact we are then God’s instruments, the means by which he cares for the orphan and defends the widow. When we live like this, with our spiritual and interior inspirations translated into practical works of justice and charity, then we are like God. And this is the strongest possible motivation for moral action in the Scriptures: be like your heavenly Father, be holy as he is holy, be just as he is just, be perfect as he is perfect, be merciful as he is merciful.

The other characteristic of true faith according to the Letter of James is to keep oneself uncontaminated by the world. It does not mean that we are not to get our hands dirty. We must get involved in the world’s affairs. We must work to establish and to defend justice. We must work to rescue the oppressed and the persecuted. We must welcome the stranger, feed the hungry, cloth the naked and visit those in prison.

Our hands will inevitably get dirty but it is in our hearts and minds that we must keep ourselves uncontaminated by the world. To do this we must remain close to God in prayer, we must live with Christ and meditate each day his word which is planted in our hearts, we must allow the Spirit to heal and to transform us by the gift of love which he pours into our hearts.

True faith requires both a spirituality and a morality. It is established first in our hearts, it becomes more and more our own through our understanding, and it finds its fulfilment in our actions, in the way that we live. May we attend each day to this gift of faith so that we may live more fully the life God wishes to share with us.

Week 22 Sunday (Year A)

Readings: Jeremiah 20:7-9; Psalm 62(63); Romans 12:1-2; Matthew 16:21-27

It was only last week, so still quite fresh in our memories. 'Who do the people say I am?', Jesus asked. And then 'who do you say I am?' Peter's confession - 'you are the Christ, the Son of the Living God' - seemed like a kind of climax. They had arrived at a true understanding of who he is. It was followed by Jesus' declaration that Peter's understanding came not from flesh and blood but had been revealed to him by the heavenly Father.

Strong stuff. Nothing stronger could be imagined. He had revealed himself to them and they, by God's grace, had understood and believed. What a shock, then, that Jesus' next words to Peter refer not to the heavenly Father, nor even to flesh and blood, but to Satan as the source of Peter's next words to him. 'This must not happen to you, Lord'. 'Get behind me, Satan.' What was happening? It seemed as if Peter's confession was a point of arrival. Now it seems as if they are not even at the beginning of understanding.

All three synoptic gospels have this turning point after Peter's confession of faith. 'He began to teach them' (Mark 8:31). 'He began to show them' (Matthew 16:21). 'He set his face to go to Jerusalem' (Luke 9:51). The first act of the drama of Jesus' life is over, the second act is beginning. They have learned something but in another way they still have everything to learn - he began to teach them, he began to show them. Has he been with them this long, already shown them and taught them so many things, and still ... he begins?

Peter's confession of faith, which last week seemed like such a wonderful point of arrival - and it was and is: on this rock Jesus builds his church! - we now see that same confession to be also a point of departure. Jesus is ready to move on to the next stage and to try to take them with him.

The first act had opened 'after John had been arrested' (Mark 1:14; Matthew 4:12). It is a first darkening of the story with the shadow of the cross. The second act opens with Jesus beginning to initiate his disciples into the deeper mystery: if he is the Messiah then his mission will be accomplished through what the prophets had foretold as the birth-pangs of the Messiah and which he sketches as follows: his rejection, his suffering, his death, and on the third day his being raised. This last bit goes over the heads of the disciples for the moment, it fails to register. They discussed among themselves at other moments what rising from the dead could mean. But not here. They do not say, 'oh that's all right then, there will be a happy ending after all!' They hear only the talk of suffering and death. 'God forbid', says Peter - the same God who had revealed to him that Jesus is the Christ, and God's Son. May this same God forbid that things should happen in the way Jesus foretold.

What a shock then to hear Jesus' words: 'Get behind me, Satan! You are a hindrance to me, for you are not on the side of God but of man'. Other translations say something like 'your way of thinking is not of God but of man'. Praised for his divinely-inspired way of thinking last week, Peter is condemned for his diabolical way of thinking this week.

The glory of the Son of Man, of the Messiah, of this Son of the Living God, is the glory of love in a sinful world. What shape will that glory take - must that glory take? - in a sinful world? If the world so loved by God is to be redeemed and healed? Jesus has just given them a sketch of the glory and it is nothing like what they - or we - would count as glory. They should have had some preparatory understanding - the experience of Jeremiah (see today's first reading), the words of Isaiah (the Suffering Servant, the birth pangs of Messiah), the very recent experience of John the Baptist. But not for Messiah himself: surely he would be the one to bring all such injustices and oppression to an end? Yes, but to end it by embracing it, by entering into it more deeply than any prophet or martyr before or since, by drinking the cup of the world's suffering - this they did not expect and they could not accept.

As Act Two of the drama of Jesus' life opens, the disciples still have everything to learn. We still have everything to learn in the face of human suffering, of the world's evil, of the reality of sin and death. 'God forbid, Lord, this must not happen to you, to us!' But notice how the apostles and disciples did quickly come to understand when the events foretold by Jesus actually took place. Paul sums up so well what they had learned from Jesus - 'offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, let yourselves be transformed, renew your whole way of thinking, so that you will discern the will of God' - not of Satan, not of flesh and blood, not of this world - 'and so know what is good, acceptable to God and perfect.'

This is today's so apt second reading. And this is what Jesus is beginning to teach them and to teach us who are always at the beginning of this understanding. At first he teaches them in words, later in his actions and in his passion. The same for us - we learn the way of Jesus not just by understanding his words but by entering into the mystery of the Cross, through prayer, through our own suffering, through sharing the suffering of others, through seeking to understand what it means truly to love another. It is a wisdom we learn only through the renewal of our minds - over and over again - and the transformation of our hearts - over and over again.