Our Lady of Sorrows - 15 September

Readings: 1 Timothy 2,1-8; Ps 28; John 19:25-27 OR Luke 2:33-35

Along with the scripture readings the Church's liturgy for today also proposes the sequence, the famous Stabat mater dolorosa, so beautifully set to music by many great composers, most recently by the Scottish composer James Macmillan.

How can such beauty - think also of Pergolesi's setting of the Stabat mater - be built on such unpromising foundations? It is all about pain and loss, sorrow and abandonment. These are not things we seek out or try to provoke. They constitute suffering which in its literal meaning refers to what comes to us, what is imposed on us, what we can only either accept or protest.

In another powerful and beautiful work of art, Oscar Wilde's letter from prison called De profundis, he explains that he came to see suffering as a revelation. His words about it are quite extraordinary. Clergymen get as far as describing suffering as a mystery. But it is a revelation. We find Oscar Wilde repeating, unconsciously it seems, the words of Simeon, that through the suffering of Jesus and Mary the secret thoughts of many are laid bare. 'In suffering', says Wilde, 'one discerns things one never discerned before. One approaches the whole of history from a different standpoint. Sorrow is the supreme emotion of which man is capable, it is simply true and it wears no mask.'

'There is no truth comparable to sorrow', continues Oscar Wilde, 'there are times when sorrow seems to me the only truth. Other things may be illusions of the eye or of the appetite, made to blind the one and cloy the other, but out of sorrow have the worlds been built, and at the birth of a child or a star, there is pain.' 'The secret of life is suffering', he concludes.

The clergyman proposing suffering as a mystery might use the same words - the secret of life is suffering - and struggle then to show how suffering and love go together. But the suffering man or woman who has tasted sorrow to the depths can speak these words with authority: the suffering man or woman who has had this revelation, can say this with authority: the secret of life is suffering.

Oscar Wilde again: 'Now it seems to me that love of some kind is the only possible explanation of the extraordinary amount of suffering that there is in the world. I cannot conceive of any other explanation. I am convinced that there is no other, and that if the world has indeed ... been built of sorrow, it has been built by the hands of love, because in no other way could the soul of man, for whom the world was made, reach the full stature of its perfection.' In no other way than suffering could the soul of man, for whom the world was made, reach the full stature of its perfection. So sorrow must be the work of love, and Jesus too, although he was Son, as we read in the Letter to the Hebrews, learned to obey through suffering, and having been made perfect, became for all who obey him, the source of eternal salvation.

This homily has been largely given by Oscar Wilde, speaking de profundis, out of the depths of pain, sorrow, loss and abandonment. It is better to quote him than to repeat banal and hackneyed phrases about the mystery of suffering. He speaks of what it revealed to him. And that unites immediately with Mary's pain as she stands at the foot of the Cross and with Jesus' pain in the garden and on the Cross.

Our celebration of the Eucharist today, when we meditate on Mary's pain and sorrow, could well be followed, later, by listening to Pergolesi's or Macmillan's setting of the Stabat mater, or by reading Oscar Wilde's De profundis, and in doing so praying to God for all who today are asked to realise the revelation that lies hidden in suffering.

The Triumph of the Cross -- 14 September

Readings: Numbers 21:4-9; Psalm 77 (78); Philippians 2:6-11; John 3:13-17

With just one exception, whenever the Bible refers to an only child, it is in reference to the child’s death. (The exception is Proverbs 4.3). In the Book of Judges, for example, we read of Jephthah, a judge, who made a foolish vow. If the Lord helped him in a particular campaign, he would sacrifice the first living thing he met on his return home. To his dismay, this turned out to be his daughter who was his only child (Judges 11.34). 

 

The prophets speak of the particular sadness involved in mourning for an only child (Jeremiah 6.26 and Amos 8.10). Zechariah in particular speaks of a time when a spirit of supplication will be poured out on the inhabitants of Jerusalem and a fountain will be opened to cleanse them. When they ‘look on the one whom they have pierced’, he says, ‘they will mourn for him as one mourns for an only child, and weep bitterly over him, as one weeps for a firstborn’ (Zechariah 12.10; 13.1).

This sense of special sadness continues in the New Testament, particularly in the Gospel of Luke who notes that three of the children restored to life by Jesus were the only children of their parents: the widow’s son at Nain (chapter 7), the daughter of Jairus (chapter 8), and the teacher’s son (chapter 9).

The most important of the only children of the Old Testament is Isaac. He was the child miraculously given to Abraham and Sarah in their old age. The promises made to Abraham, through him to the Hebrews, and through them to the whole world, rested on Isaac. Bizarrely, God asks Abraham to sacrifice Isaac (Genesis 22). He is to take Isaac, ‘your son, your only son, whom you love’ and offer him as a burnt offering to God. Isaac himself carries the wood for the sacrifice though he is unaware of who the victim is to be. At the last moment God intervenes, satisfied that Abraham has passed the test, and a ram is offered in place of the boy.

The Jewish people believed that the promised Messiah would be raised up by God as a reward for the faith Abraham showed on that occasion. This is what Saint Paul is thinking of when he says that ‘God did not spare his own son but gave him up for us all’ (Romans 8.32). He spared the son of Abraham but he did not spare his own son.

The most important references to an only son in the Christian scriptures are those passages in the writings of John where Jesus is described as the only son of the Father. Keeping the story of Abraham and Isaac in mind helps us to understand what is happening between the Father and Jesus.

God so loved the world that he gave his only son, we are told, so that everyone who believes in his name may be saved through him (John 3.16-18). The first letter of John famously declares that ‘God is love’. We know this because ‘God sent his only son into the world so that we might live through him’ (1 John 4.9). The promises first made to Abraham are fulfilled in ways beyond anything old father Abraham could have imagined. Just as Isaac carried the wood for the sacrifice, so Jesus takes the cross upon his shoulders (John 19.17).

The prophecy of Zechariah is fulfilled in the moment of Christ’s death. His side is pierced with a spear. The inhabitants of Jerusalem look on the one whom they have pierced (John 19.37). The fountain opened in the heart of Jerusalem is the blood and water flowing from the side of Christ. John tells us that the glory of Jesus is the glory ‘of a father’s only son’ (John 1.14). This means death, the death of a beloved child, in all likelihood a sacrificial death.

It seems strange that we must look to the cross of Jesus to see his divinity. What glory is there in this man dying without beauty, ‘from whom others hide their faces’ (Isaiah 53.3)? We think we know what God is, what is appropriate for God and what is not. So we transfer the ‘glory’ to some other moment in the story. We cannot see it in the cross. But no one has ever seen God, John tells us, so how can we be so sure of what is or is not fitting for God? ‘It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father’s heart, who has made him known’ (John 1.18).

It is in the death of Jesus that God is revealed because it is in his death that the love which God is, the love of a Father and his only Son, is finally revealed to the world.

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 You will find here another homily for today's feast.

Week 23 Saturday (Year 1)

Readings: 1 Timothy 1:15-17; Psalm 113; Luke 6:43-49

Must we wait then for the harvest to see whether we have borne good or bad fruit? Must we wait for the storms to come to see whether we have built our house on rock or on sand? It seems that we must wait. When we are asked to evaluate persons or movements it is often wise to give things time, to wait and see how they turn out. It is the advice of Gamaliel in the Acts of the Apostles when he offers his views about the new Christian movement: if it is from men it will fizzle out, but we do not want to find ourselves opposing God, so let us wait and see.

Saint Paul says it is only at the judgement that we will see whether what we have made of ourselves counts as gold or straw: fire will test the quality of each person’s work (1 Corinthians 3:13). And it is the criterion given by Jesus in today’s gospel: by their fruits you will know them, in the day of trouble you will know how solid is the house you have built.

 

It means that our life of faith is itself lived in faith. I asked an older brother once whether I could be certain that I had the faith. He replied immediately saying ‘no, you can only believe that you have the faith’. The certainty of faith about which theologians speak is a certainty found in the object of our faith which is God. Saint Paul, in the text just referred to, says that the day of judgement will reveal the quality of what we have built but the foundation on which we build is Christ. The foundation is sure, then, and secure and reliable. The certainty of our faith comes from that foundation.

Nevertheless we often try to transfer the certainty of faith from Christ, to ourselves, to our own act of believing, or to our own doctrines, or to our own teaching authorities. But all absolute certainties of salvation, all paralyzing dogmatisms and all shrill fundamentalisms: all of these have to be wrong and they are wrong because they are idolatrous. They seek to anticipate the outcome of a judgement that belongs only to God and they therefore shrink God to include him within the limits of their own criteria of judgement. We can only live in faith and hope, with the kind of trust and confidence that these gifts establish in us.

One kind of failure is easy enough to detect and Jesus also speaks about this in today’s gospel: just because we say ‘Lord, Lord’ does not mean that we are with him. If we do not do what he asks, we can say ‘Lord, Lord’ as much as we like and it makes no difference. In fact the instructions Jesus gives in today’s gospel make no reference to us saying anything at all. Our job is to come to him, to listen to his words, and to act on them: come, listen, act. Some of us are called to preach and to teach the faith and that merely puts us in a more dangerous position, with more ways in which we can fail.

But the focus in this is on Christ and not on ourselves. He is our way, our truth and our life. So whatever confidence we have about our salvation, whatever certainty about the truth of what we believe, can only be established on him, not on our own understanding or our own knowledge or our own moral rectitude.

What is trustworthy and deserves our full acceptance, Paul says in today’s first reading, is that Jesus came into the world to save sinners. Building our life on that conviction about Christ means building our house on solid ground. Living in communion with him means we will stand when the storms come. Living in communion with him means we will bear good fruit and apart from him we can do nothing.

Week 23 Friday (Year 1)

Readings: 1 Timothy 1:1-2, 12-14; Psalm 16; Luke 6:39-42

The contrast in the parable is one of the absurd, ridiculous comparisons we sometimes find in the parables. On one side is the speck of dust or wood, a splinter, irritating the eye. On the other side is a beam, a huge piece of wood that could be used for constructing the roof of a house. It is obviously absurd that somebody could go round with a beam in his eye, something hundreds of times bigger than the eye, and not be aware of it. Unless what is meant is such a comprehensive problem that it means the person is, in fact, blind while thinking that he can see.

It brings to mind the text of John 9, the healing of a man born blind. Towards the end of that chapter, Jesus says that he has come into the world so that the blind might see and that those who see might become blind. He is present in our world for judgement. (One of the points of today's parable is that judgement about others does not belong to us.) Those who know they are blind, or partially sighted, or who see but with something irritating their eyes, are in a happier situation than those who think they can see, think they see everything, clearly, and without any difficulty. This is what emerges in the reaction of his interlocutors in John 9: 'are you saying we are blind?' 'If you were blind', answered Jesus, 'you would be without fault, but because you say 'we see' your guilt remains.'

The parable today does not invite us to narcissistic and egocentric introspection. go look into yourself to try to identify the plank that's blocking your vision. First of all we don't need encouragement to be narcissistic and self-preoccupied, worried about our own spiritual difficulties. Secondly it seems as if we would be moving in a circle, trying to see things when there is a radical problem with our sight! The whole point of the parable seems to be that my blindness is so comprehensive that I will not be able to find the problem by myself.

So we must look to Christ which is, in any case, always the better and wiser thing to do. Earlier in the week we read from Paul's letter to the Colossians that 'in Christ are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge'. Now imagine this absurdity, of a person saying 'I have seen all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge, I know all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge'. It is clearly absurd for any human being to say this, as absurd as a man walking round with a plank sticking out of his eye. It can never be so. The treasures of wisdom and knowledge are infinite, so we remain always learners, always disciples. We never arrive at the height of our Master: it is another comment in today's gospel which is therefore calling us to docility, to being open always to learning more, to seeing afresh, waiting for our vision to be strengthened and clarified, for new things to be presented for our vision.

Paraphrasing Jesus' way of speaking we can say: how happy are you who have splinters in your eyes now because you know your need for help and you will see. But woe to you who think you can see now because all you are really seeing is a plank blocking true vision, confusing and distorting and darkening your vision of what is true. Turn towards Christ, then, like so many blind people in the gospel and say 'Lord, that I may see'.

Week 23 Thursday (Year 1)

Readings: Colossians 3:12-17; Psalm 150; Luke 6:27-38

The teaching of Jesus about turning the other cheek, giving to everyone who begs from you, lending while expecting nothing in return - all this can seem idealistic and quite unrealistic for the rough and tumble world in which we live. Jesus is here sketching the 'ethics of the kingdom': where God's love reigns, people will find themselves living in these ways. But, as long as we are living in a fallen and struggling world, many feel that such a way of living remains an ideal beyond human ability. And it is. In ourselves we find the 'first Adam' and the 'last Adam', the old man and the new man, and the struggle between them is never fully resolved in this life.

But when we love, we find ourselves able to live in the way Jesus asks. Where we like people, are fond of them and want to remain in friendship with them, we find ourselves turning the other cheek, giving whenever we are asked, and lending without expecting anything in return. It is only where we 'fall out of love', or lower our sights from the goal of loving, that we begin to count the cost, measure what we give in terms of what others are prepared to give, and then begin to judge and condemn others.

We must look above and beyond the particular situations and relationships in which we find ourselves, to God and His way of loving. God is our third point of reference, above ourselves, above others. From God we experience forgiveness for ourselves and learn how to be merciful to others. This comes about not just through some kind of external learning but because, as Paul puts it in the first reading, 'the peace of Christ controls our hearts'. As long as our hearts are unhappy we will experience the world as divided and in conflict. We will generate division and conflict to confirm the way our unhappy hearts believe things to be. But the Word of Christ dwelling in us generates gratitude and mercy, the peace that the world cannot give and the love that is to be put on over everything else. Then the teaching of Jesus about turning the other cheek, giving to everyone who asks, lending without expecting anything in return: such behaviour is no longer strange but perfectly normal in the kingdom established by Christ.

Week 23 Wednesday (Year 1)

Readings: Colossians 3:1-11; Psalm 145; Luke 6:20-26

Luke's version of the beatitudes is not as well known as Matthew's. The eight beatitudes that open the great Sermon on the Mount in Matthew's gospel have a secure place in people's knowledge of the New Testament. The fact that they are often read at funeral Masses and on other special occasions puts Matthew's beatitudes up there with 1 Corinthians 13 as one of the best known texts of the Bible.

Luke gives us just four beatitudes. Famously Jesus here says simply 'blessed are you who are poor'. We are told that the radical edge on this is already blunted a little by what might seem like a gloss in  Matthew, 'blessed are the poor in spirit'. Throughout Luke's gospel Jesus is more direct, more incisive, about the dangers riches pose for following him. It is not just our attitude to riches that might be problematic, it is the simple fact of being wealthy (in all the many ways in which human beings can be rich) that makes it less likely that people will be able to respond to his call.

Another contrast between Luke and Matthew is that here the four blessings are followed immediately by four woes or laments that mirror the blessings exactly: woe to you who are rich, who are filled now, who laugh now, of whom people speak well. Poverty, hunger, weeping and rejection are blessings because knowing these things allows people to understand what the prophets experienced. We need think only of Jeremiah and what he suffered at the hands of the people and their leaders, a passion that anticipates very clearly the passion of Jesus. The woes, on the other hand - of wealth, a full belly, laughter and esteem - these are what the false prophets received. The most radical contrast is between the true and the false, the prophet serving God's word and the prophet serving other interests.

Here is another way in which Jesus teaches 'the great reversal', the first will be last and the last first, the one who humbles himself will be exalted and the one who exalts himself will be humbled, the one who saves his life will lose it whereas the one who loses his life for my sake will find it. Happy are you when you are last, humbled, losing your life ... It is not simply a moralistic teaching, it is an analysis of what serving God's word of truth will inevitably bring.

In today's first reading Paul presents in other words this same teaching of Jesus. You have died, Paul says, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. Here too the fundamental contrast is between truth and falsehood. 'Stop lying to one another', Paul says. Neither is this just a moral exhortation but the recognition of a radical falsehood that is shown up, brought out into the light, by the truth that is Christ. Paul speaks of the reversal in this way: the old self is dead, all the masks and pretences, the sad efforts at fame and fortune, the ways in which we try to save ourselves by making something of ourselves, by being some kind of effective persona in the world - all of this is empty, vain, disintegrating. But our true life, the life of the new self, is hidden with Christ in God. This new life means our re-creation in the image of the Creator, the emergence of the human being as originally intended by God.

We are to shed the old skin, let it go, with all its pathetic aspirations, and allow ourselves to live from this new source, Christ who is all and is in all. A whole series of 'behavioural changes' must inevitably follow. It is not simply effortful teeth-gritting that brings an end to immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, greed, anger, fury, malice, slander, obscenity. It is much simpler than that: stop lying to one another. Stop lying, in the first place, to yourself. Look to Christ, walk in him, be rooted and built up in him - all that Paul said yesterday - and we begin to see things correctly, without distortion. We see that the austerity of the beatitudes recounted by Saint Luke is simply the fresh air of truthful living, the capacity to be in touch with reality, the way along which Christ will appear, and we with him in glory.

Week 23 Tuesday (Year 1)

Readings: Colossians 2:6-15, Ps 145; Luke 6:12-19

Paul gives us a series of images for our being 'in Christ'. We are to walk in Him, we are to be rooted in Him, and we are to be built up in Him, established in the faith and abounding in thanksgiving. The image of walking is found elsewhere, in Ephesians 5:2 for example. It means to live and to move, to proceed from day to day, to persevere in a way of living and acting. Walking is neither standing nor running: it means to maintain a steady course.

To be rooted is a contrasting image, taken from the natural world. It is difficult to walk and be rooted at the same time but this is what we are to do: have our roots in Christ as we walk in Him. The roots provide food and water for the organism. They give it a secure place in the world, a firm hold on things, feet on the ground.

The third image is taken from the world of construction: we are to be built up in Him. It is a common image for the Church as a whole which is often described as a building or house or even as a temple. Here Paul speaks to individual Christians, the 'living stones who make a spiritual house' as Peter puts it in his first letter (1 Pet 2:5). Each believer is constructed on Christ who is the foundation, the corner stone, the enduring support and the overall plan of the entire edifice.

When we turn to the Gospel we can bring these images with us and ask 'who does Jesus walk in? where is Jesus rooted? on whom is Jesus constructing his life?' The answer is immediately clear: 'he spent the whole night in prayer to God'. More than any of the other evangelists, Luke reminds us again and again about the prayer of Jesus. His relationship with the Father is the air he breathes. He walks always in that atmosphere. His life and mission are rooted in the Father's will ('my food is to do the will of my Father who sent me', Jn 4:34). There is no other foundation for his life than the love the Father has for him and the love he has for the Father.

The relationship of Jesus and the Father is the source, root and foundation of His life, and His life is the source, root and foundation of our lives. Elsewhere Paul puts it this way: 'you are Christ's and Christ is God's' (1 Cor 3:23). In the calling of the apostles recounted in today's gospel we begin to see how this relationship with Christ and with God is to take shape within human relationships. The apostles are taken up into the mission of Jesus. As soon as they are called, the fruit of that night of prayer, they are faced with the apostolic task: a large gathering of disciples and a great crowd of people who want to hear Jesus, to be cured of their illnesses and to be freed from unclean spirits.

The people wanted - and still want - to touch Jesus because power comes from him to cure us all. It happens now through His Church, in the sacraments it celebrates, the faith it preaches, and the charity it practises. This is most clearly experienced in the lives of the saints, the people who do these things best, walking in Christ, rooted and built up in Him, established in the faith and abounding in thanksgiving. We pray that God will raise up saints for our time in the Body of Christ. We pray that by His grace we may be counted among them.