Presentation of Mary -- 21 November

In Praise of Older Women

The Book of Sirach invites us ‘to sing the praises of famous men, our ancestors in their generations’ (44.1). I would like to change that very slightly and sing the praises of famous women, the other half of our ancestry. I do this because during the second half of November the Church celebrates the memory of a number of great women, outstanding for learning and holiness. As married women, as mothers, as religious sisters or as single women, these heroines of the Christian people continue to inspire, if not in the universal church, then at least in some part of it.

Margaret of Scotland (d.1093), wife, mother and queen is remembered on November 16th as is Gertrude (d.1301), philosopher, scholar and spiritual teacher. November 17th is the feast of Elizabeth of Hungary (d.1231), wife of a German prince, mother of a large family, a woman devoted to prayer and the care of the poor.

November 22nd is the feast of Saint Cecilia, a Roman martyr who became (through a mistranslation of the account of her death, it must be admitted) patron saint of music and of musicians in the Church. The Passion of Saint Cecilia recounts the circumstances of her martyrdom and there has been a basilica in her honour at Rome since the 5th century.

Towards the end of the month in the old calendar came the feast of Saint Catherine of Alexandria (November 25th). There was a remarkable cult in her memory throughout Western Europe for many centuries. And she gives her name to a firework, the ‘catherine’ wheel. Legend has it that Catherine was a brilliant philosopher who confounded the pagan teachers of Alexandria with the depth and skill of her thinking. Sadly this Catherine, Christian philosopher, cannot be mentioned without speaking of her pagan counterpart, Hypatia, also of Alexandria, who died about 400. She too was a woman of great intelligence and religious insight, one of the last great philosophical teachers of the ancient world whose students included at least one Christian bishop, Synesius of Cyrene. It seems undeniable that Hypatia’s cruel murder came about through the envy and resentment of an ignorant Christian mob.

Gertrude the Great, already mentioned, stands at the centre of a group of remarkable women scholars and mystics of the high middle ages. She was taught by Mechtild of Hackeborn (d.1298) and they were later joined by Mechtild of Magdeburg (died about 1290), to name only the most famous of them. Although these women did not pass through the normal school system that was not always a disadvantage. They gave an independent slant to what they were learning, for example in being free not to follow Augustine in all he had to say about hell. For these women the love of God in Christ is stronger than any resistance it encounters and so it is Christian to hope for the salvation of all.

But back to November, and to today, November 21st, the day on which the Church celebrates the Presentation in the Temple of the Blessed Virgin Mary, her dedication to God from her earliest years. It is fitting that this remembrance of great women should end with reference to the Mother of the Lord, she who is ‘blessed among all women’. Certain kinds of piety and devotion sweeten her image and make her seem unreal, ethereal, idealised, a woman, yes, but hardly a woman of flesh and blood and so of less use to us than she ought to be.

The gospel texts about Mary paint a different picture. Her trust in the ways of God, her love and fidelity towards her Son, her prophetic praise of God in the Magnificat — all of this places her among the heroines of Israel: people like Esther and Judith, the mothers of the kings, Hannah and many other women, under the old and the new covenants, who have been courageous in faith, reliable in wisdom, and tender in love. We pray that we may be like her, like them.

Week 33 Tuesday (Year 2)

Readings: Revelation 3:1-6, 14-22; Psalm 14; Luke19:1-10

How did the story of Zaccheus become a story for children? One reason, I suppose, is because he is a small fellow. He also goes in for climbing trees, which children like to do. In England religious education at key stages 1 and 2 has a section entitled ‘Who was Zaccheus?’ It includes, among other things, this health and safety warning: ‘children should know that climbing trees can be dangerous’.

Zaccheus is unpopular and without friends and presumably feels lonely: perhaps these are other reasons why he will win the sympathy of children who themselves often feel this way. As a small fellow he is easily mocked. As a senior tax-collector he is despised and probably feared. He is someone, it seems, with no friends, and so of particular concern to Jesus.

But sentiment can dull the edge of the story and its challenge. Zaccheus is a complicated figure. He is mocked and despised but he is rich and perhaps his wealth has cushioned him from loneliness. How will he relate to Jesus? How will Jesus relate to him? We are reading Luke’s gospel in which Jesus is critical of the rich, warning frequently about the dangers inherent in being rich.

Today’s first reading includes this teaching: ‘You say to yourself ‘I am rich, I have made a fortune, and have everything I want’, never realizing that you are wretchedly and pitiably poor, and blind and naked too’. True wealth is to be found in Jesus who brings the gold that makes really rich, the clothes of the saved, the ointment to cure the blind. He stands at the door, knocking, this passage from the Book of Revelation tells us.

So it is, almost literally, between Jesus and Zaccheus: he is standing at the door, knocking: ‘I must stay at your house today.’ The enthusiasm of Zaccheus in running up the tree to see what kind of man Jesus was is matched by the desire of Jesus for the well-being of Zaccheus. Jesus focuses not on his past or on his present predicament but on their future relationship. Everybody complains: this must include the disciples. But Zaccheus is stubborn in his determination to be with Jesus, so stubborn in this that he frees himself of his wealth in order to fulfill his desire.

Jesus’ treatment of Zaccheus teaches a number of things:

• Don’t judge by appearances, prejudice, or categories. We must allow ourselves to be surprised, by people, and certainly by God’s ways.
• Don’t presume to think that we have cracked the mystery of divine grace. It is infinitely patient and endlessly creative.
• The rich man can get through the eye of the needle but not without radical change. We see the small man who is a tax-collector, the rich man who is a sinner. But Jesus sees a son of Abraham, a child of God, one of the lost he has come to seek out and to save.

Week 33 Monday (Year 2)

Readings: Apocalypse 1:1-4; 2:1-5; Psalm 1; Luke18:35-43

‘What do you want me to do for you?’ can seem like a strange question. Is it not obvious? We can imagine bystanders thinking or even saying, ‘is he also blind, does he not see that the man is blind and so, obviously, healing from his blindness is what the man will want?’

But Jesus does not presume, does not jump to this conclusion. He leaves it to the man to say what he wants. He gives him space, a space of respect and attention, allowing him to speak and say what it is he wants the Lord to do for him. He leaves space for prayer.

The new creation comes about in these conversations between the Incarnate Word and human beings. As in the Annunciation so in many other places in the gospels there are conversations between Jesus and other people about their needs and their wants, about the difficulties and distress of their lives.

The conversation between revelation and faith is the foundation for the new creation, the revelation of the Father in the Son and the response of faith on the part of human beings. As creation it is, of course, the work of God, but by God’s grace it is a work that comes about also through human thinking and deciding. Prayer is our way of remaining part of this conversation.

Today’s readings also invite us to think of the ways in which we remain blind. For example, how clearly do we see the level of meaning contained in the Apocalypse of Saint John which we will read over the next two weeks? There are other ways in which we know ourselves to be blind but this is one to think about: seeing the profound, future meaning of human history revealed to us in this last book of the New Testament.

Week 33 Sunday (Year B)

Readings: Daniel 12:1-3; Psalm 16; Hebrews 10:11-14,18; Mark 14:24-32

Is Jesus some kind of comedian? The fig tree has an uncontroversial role in today's gospel: when its twigs grow supple and its leaves come out you know that summer is near. So too when you see 'these things' happening, you will know that the Son of Man is near. Fine, except the things you will see happening are so unusual and dramatic - the sun darkening, the moon losing its brightness, the stars falling from heaven - that any further warning seems unnecessary. He means 'as sure as the suppleness of the twigs and the appearance of the leaves means summer, so these events happening means the Son of Man is near'.

Just before this, though, we heard about another fig tree, to which Jesus went for something to eat. There were leaves on that tree - summer! - but no fruit because it was not the season for figs - not yet autumn. But Jesus curses it: 'may no one ever eat fruit from you again' (Mark 11:14). The fig tree is praised today for offering a reliable analogy for knowing what time it is; the earlier fig tree is cursed for not producing fruit at a time when fruit is not to be expected from fig trees. What might it mean?

The fig trees draw our attention to the different kinds of time that are inter-woven in these readings and in apocalyptic writing generally. There is the ordinary level of chronological time as year succeeds to year, season to season, birth and maturity and aging, and the events of history are played out on this stage. The fig tree helps us to know where we are in the cycle of the seasons and the years - its twigs grow supple, its leaves multiply, we know summer is near. So too the events foretold by Jesus will, one day, happen. Just as he lived a human life in historical time - existed as an historical individual - we believe he will come again at the end of this time (whatever that means) to judge the living and the dead.

But the fig tree cursed for not bearing fruit even though it was not the season for fruit brings us to another level of time, time as the opportune moment, the day of salvation, 'now'. The only real time is the present, the only time over which we have control and the only time in which we can act. We have no control over the past and the future does not yet exist. If we are to bear fruit it can only be now. Whatever the conditions of this time, be they favourable or unfavourable, in season and out of season, we are called to bear fruit in the kingdom of the Lord.

The moments of Christ's historical existence have eternal significance as the second reading teaches us. Eternity is not another kind of time but is the full presence of God in the complete perfection of His life. The historical events here in the earthly career of the Incarnate Word have a meaning that belongs there also. So with his one single sacrifice offered on Calvary he has taken his place forever at the right hand of God. By virtue of that one single offering, made at a point in our historical time, he has achieved the eternal perfection of all whom he is sanctifying.

We live in the time of this eternal redemption, its work underway in the world through the Church. But there is a time that is coming and for which we are to be ready, the time of the resurrection when the dead will rise. We are told in the first reading that the darkness of that time is illuminated by the light of gospel learning, the wisdom of the saints, which will shine in those days of great distress. As the material light of sun and moon and stars declines, the spiritual light of those who have instructed many in virtue will shine for all eternity.

It might be tempting to lift all this out of our ordinary time, to say that it is a purely spiritual level of significance that is intended. The opposite temptation might also be attractive, to run it all back into our ordinary time and to see it as inspiration and encouragement for the life we experience now. The truth, though, is the richer combination of the two. There is an ordinary time of seasons and years, maturing and aging, in which we learn about the kingdom that is coming. And there is a theological time that is breaking in on our ordinary time, glimpses of the eternal in the passing of time but also the presence in eternity of the moments of our time.

We taste already the gifts of the world to come and in the world that is to come nothing of the tears of earthly time will be forgotten.

Today's readings speak of 'every day' and 'summer time' but they also speak of 'that time' and 'those days'. We are equipped for our strange, hybrid, in-between, life by the teaching of the saints and the sacrifice of the Son. He is Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, all time belongs to him and all the ages, Christ who died, is risen, and will come again.

Week 32 Saturday (Year 2)

Readings: 3 John 5-8; Psalm 111; Luke 18:1-8

There is an unusual Greek term in today's gospel reading. The judge gives in to the woman because she keeps bothering him and he fears that she will 'finally come and strike me'. It seems unlikely. One imagines a little widow and a big judge, a small and persistent little lady against a strong and stubborn man. Another version has 'she will wear me out by her continual coming' and other translations have her 'attacking' him, 'embarrassing' him, 'worrying him to death', or 'plaguing' him. Whatever it is she is doing to him he finally gives in.

In fact the term comes from the world of boxing. We find it again in St Paul's first letter to the Corinthians where he compares the Christian life to athletics. Just as athletes exercise self-control in order to achieve the goals they have set for themselves so ought the Christian be focused on the imperishable goal that is promised. I do not run aimlessly, Paul says, 'I do not box as one beating the air; but I pommel my body and subdue it, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified' (1 Corinthians 9:25-27). The term translated as 'pommel' is the same term used by the judge about what the widow is doing to him.

Where boxers are of significantly different sizes and weights one of the few strategies the smaller, lighter one can use is to land a series of irritating blows on or around the eyes of his (or her) larger and stronger opponent. This is what it means to pommel, and this is what the widow is doing to the judge. She persists and cannot be shaken off. She is not strong and powerful but she is persistent and annoying. She will 'give me a black eye' is another translation which gets the point exactly.

So another way of taking this parable is to see the contrast between the widow and the judge as pointing to the contrast between the one who prays and God to whom he or she prays. The distance here is infinitely greater, as the small and weak creature turns to the almighty and eternal God. What weapon can the one who prays possibly use to bridge such a distance and to storm such a citadel? It brings to mind some phrases in a poem by George Herbert entitled Prayer: it is probably the most beautiful poem on prayer in the English language. Among the litany of images Herbert uses for prayer are these pugilistic and militaristic ones:

Engine against th'Almightie, sinners towre, / Reversed thunder, Christ-side-piercing spear

'Christ-side-piercing spear': this is what the needy widow's prayer succeeds in doing, piercing the side of the Incarnate Lord, not in the end because of the strength of her fists but because of the depth of his compassion. Mystically inclined writers will dare to say that the Lord becomes helpless and powerless in the face of human need, once again because of the depth and tenderness of His love. We may be like the widow in the story but Our Lord is not really like the judge for He is ready to respond, and to respond speedily.

St Albert the Great -- 15 November

Readings: Sirach 6:18-21, 33-37 OR James 3:13-18; Ps 118 (119):9-14; Matthew 25:14-23

Albert the Great belongs to that band of university students and teachers who joined the Dominicans and Franciscans in the early decades. Born at Lauingen near Ulm he studied at Padua where he joined the Dominicans. He taught at Dominican houses throughout Germany and was professor at Paris. Thomas Aquinas was his student there and later his assistant in founding the Order’s house of studies at Cologne.

Occupying himself with the full range of philosophical and theological questions, Albert took particular delight in the empirical observation of the natural world. ‘Experiment is the only safe guide in such investigations’, he wrote. At the same time he says that ‘the whole world is theology for us’. He stands alongside so many monks, nuns and friars who not only contemplated the natural world as an expression of God’s glory and wisdom but became vintners, bee-keepers, gardeners, farmers, collectors, apothecaries and so on. His interest in natural science means Albert was more like Aristotle than Thomas ever was. In fact it was Albert who led Thomas and others in ‘making Aristotle intelligible to the Latins’.

Albert undertook administrative responsibilities as provincial of Germany and as Bishop of Regensburg (1260-62). The Dominicans were generally reluctant to become bishops - Dominic himself, and Thomas, had refused. Humbert of Romans tried to dissuade Albert from accepting a bishopric fearing it would make it impossible for him to preach from that base of poverty which for Dominic was essential. ('I would prefer to see you dead in your coffin than a bishop', Humbert wrote to Albert.) A change of Pope made possible Albert’s early return to preaching, teaching, and writing although he agreed to preach a crusade in Germany at the request of the new Pope and attended the Council of Lyons in 1274.

Albert was drawn into many controversies, particularly those concerned with the interpretation of Aristotelian philosophy and the bitter disputes with secular clergy who felt threatened by the arrival of the friars. In 1277 he defended Thomas’ teaching which had been declared suspect by the Bishop of Paris.

Albert stands at the head of a German Dominican school which differs in important ways from the Thomist school. Ulrich of Strasbourg, Dietrich of Freiberg, and Berthold of Moosburg developed Albert’s work using newly available neoplatonist sources while their interest in speculative mysticism led Meister Eckhart, John Tauler, and Henry Suso to develop themes dear to Albert such as the incomprehensibility of God and the importance of self-knowledge. Albert wrote commentaries on some Biblical books as well as on the works of Pseudo-Dionysius. The popular De adhaerendo Deo and other works of spirituality and piety attributed to Albert are now regarded as works of later authors.

Known as ‘the Great’ even before he died, Albert was canonised in 1931 and declared a Doctor of the Church. Patron of natural scientists, he continues to inspire those fascinated by the natural world, whether for its own sake or as a way of contemplating the Creator. One of the greatest of the early scientists, Albert continues to be honoured as an exceptional genius. He has a typeface named after him and also, because of his love for the natural world, a plant species and an asteroid (as well as an award winning Kentucky stallion). In 1998 Deutsche Bundesbahn named one of its most powerful locomotives ‘Albertus Magnus’.

Week 32 Tuesday

Readings: Titus 2.1-8,11-14; Psalm 37; Luke 17:7-10

It is complicated. Not that little parable in itself, but the fact that just a few weeks ago we heard another parable about a master and a slave that seemed to say the exact opposite. That first parable is found in Luke 12 and tells about a master who returns to find his servant awake - doing what he should be doing, in other words, watching for his master's return. There the master has the servant sit at table and, switching roles, serves him. Here in Luke 17 it is not like that. A servant is not to expect anything more from his master than to be treated as a servant should be treated: serve the master, and then sit and eat yourself. 'We are useless servants, we have only done what we were asked to do.'

How do we put them together? Because the life of faith and prayer, the life of friendship and love, is a life it needs attention day after day. It is not something established forever, once and for all. Our appreciation of these gifts - of faith and prayer, of friendship and love - has a history. There is a dynamism, a journey, a development, as these realities continue from day to day and as they face the changing demands and challenges of each day. Sometimes our need to maintain a clear sense of what we have received will be threatened from one direction, sometimes from another. These varied parables are ways of keeping us on the right path, ways of ensuring we stay steady in our reception of these gifts and in our living of them.

There can be a subtle change in statements like 'he is my Lord', 'she is my friend', 'He is our God'. If we emphasise the noun then it seems fine: Lord, friend, God. These are realities to be celebrated and honoured and for which we give thanks every day. But if we begin to emphasise the possessive pronoun - my Lord, my friend, our God - then a not so subtle shift takes place and we have turned the gift into something it is not.

Always we need strong and clear reminders of the graciousness of the gift, that it is totally free, undeserved, way beyond anything we could have imagined. 'Love bade me welcome', George Herbert says, insisting that I sit at her table, and 'so I sat and ate'. Always we need strong and clear reminders also that to turn this gift into some kind of possession, some kind of currency between God and myself, or between my friend and myself, will mean losing the very thing which makes it so wonderful: its gratuitousness, its undeservedness, its freedom.

As always when faced with perplexity in interpreting the gospels it helps to apply this parable to the Servant of servants, to put it in a Christological key. How would it read if the servant/slave in question here is thought of as Jesus? Then (putting the two parables together) we can imagine the Father welcoming the Son to the eternal banquet and saying to Him, 'come, sit and eat, and I will serve you'. And we can imagine the Son, coming into the presence of the Father, saying 'I am a useless servant, I have only done what I was asked to do'.

That 'uselessness' is the point of faith and prayer, of love and friendship. It is what gives them their wonderful character. To commercialise these things or to use them in some other utilitarian way is to destroy them. So we live between the need to be assured that we are totally and gratuitously loved, and the need to be assured that the One who loves us remains completely free in doing so. For otherwise how could it be the gift that we need? And for this divine gift we thank God profoundly each day.