Week 16 Thursday (Year 1)

Readings: Exodus 19.1-2, 9-11, 16-20b; Daniel 3.52-56 ; Matthew 13.10-17

In the first reading today God makes his presence felt in no uncertain terms - lightning and smoke and crashing thunder. The people do not actually see God for the density of the cloud but there is no mistaking God's presence. The volume increases as Moses converses with God until eventually he disappears into the cloud for a more intimate encounter with God from which he will then report back to the people.

What a contrast the gospel reading is! There is no smoke or fire, no thunder or lightning, no trumpet blast getting louder and louder. Instead there is Jesus teaching in parables and then sitting with his disciples and explaining to them why it is that he does so. The puzzle of the parable takes the place of the cloud. To some the parables remain impenetrable, he says. Simple as they seem to us, perhaps we do not understand them correctly either, even when we think we do. Especially when we think we do.

So they (we?) see but do not perceive, hear but do not listen, receive his words but do not understand. Jesus quotes Isaiah saying that all this is in the first place a matter of the heart. The kind of perceiving, listening and understanding which allows us to penetrate the parables, to enter the cloud, to be in more intimate contact with Jesus and, through him, with the Father, is not a matter of bodily organs or human intelligence. It comes from elsewhere.

'O that today you would listen to his voice', we read in one of the psalms, which continues 'harden not your hearts'. In order to enter the cloud where God dwells we need an open heart, a tender heart, a docile heart. Any heart of stone, closed and hardened, needs to be replaced with an open heart, a human heart, a heart made malleable by God's Spirit, capable of believing and hoping and loving. Only in that way can we perceive, listen and understand. In a sermon for Christian unity Rowan Williams says that we will be disposed to hearing the voice of God when we are silent enough, free enough, patient enough and loving enough.

The way in which God reveals himself in Jesus is anticipated in the other great theophany of the Old Testament, the revelation of God's presence to Elijah which is no longer in wind and fire and earthquake but rather in the 'sound of fine silence', in the 'still, small voice'. The dark cloud in which God dwells now takes the form of parables. Let us not presume that they are easily understood, and certainly not without the voice of the Spirit whispering their meaning to hearts ready to receive it.

It gives us a programme if we want to hear the voice of God: work on your heart until it is silent enough, patient enough, free enough and loving enough for such an encounter. Then you will see and listen and understand.

Week 16 Wednesday (Year 1)

Readings: Exodus 16:1-5, 9-15; Psalm 78; Matthew 13:1-9

Sometimes the Lectionary edits the Bible readings in ways that are not helpful. With Matthew 13:1-23, however, the division into three parts over the next three days is very helpful. Today we hear a parable about a sower sowing seed. Tomorrow we hear a short discourse by Jesus about his method of teaching. And finally on Friday we will hear an interpretation of the parable which Jesus gave in response to a request from his disciples.

Hearing this parable today, detached from the rest of what follows, gives us an opportunity to let it speak more directly to us, perhaps in a fresh way, before we move on to hear the interpretations that came to accompany it. What would be the impact of this parable if we only heard it just as it is heard today? I suppose you might call it a 'phenomenological' approach to the parable - what does it present to our eyes and ears?

We hear about a sower and the seed he sows.  What happens to the seed is familiar, the experience of farmers and gardeners everywhere: some seed is lost to the birds, some seed falls on ground too rough to support it, some seed does well initially but is quickly entangled with weeds and briars, and some seed flourishes, having found good soil in which to grow. 'Listen, anyone who has ears!', Jesus concludes. Well we all have ears, but he seems to be calling us to perceive something deeper than the surface meaning of the story.

What would we make of it if we had just this part of the text, without what we will read tomorrow and on Friday? To what would we apply it, taking it for granted that a teacher like Jesus is telling the story to illustrate something important about human life and experience? There is the good thing that is scattered and there are the different ways in which it does or does not flourish. It seems to be beyond the sower's control whether the seed flourishes or not: he just has to make sure that the seed is so generously scattered that as much of it as possible falls on good soil.

It is the question at the end that alerts us to the need to seek the moral of the story, its deeper spiritual or religious meaning, 'listen, anyone who has ears'. Depending on our knowledge of the Bible our minds will go in different directions. We might think first of the land given to His chosen people by God, the land in which they were to settle, which they were to cultivate, and in which he promised they would enjoy prosperity and security. There is uncertainty about that prosperity - some seed sown does not flourish - and so there is a question about trusting in God to assure success.

We might think next of the Jewish way of referring to genealogy and descendants - the seed of Abraham, the seed of David, and so on. Perhaps the moral of the parable is to be found here. There will be some successes in the people's relationship with God and there will be some failures as well.  Seed carries the promise of life and the continuation of life from generation to generation but sometimes contexts and circumstances see to it that this promise is more or less fulfilled, sometimes perhaps not fulfilled at all. But the simple endurance of the people across the centuries - the persistence of their seed - is itself a confirmation of the presence of God with them. This is the sign given to Ahaz in Isaiah 7, for example, a young woman will bear a child. The continuation of his line is the sign - ordinary, undeniable, the birth of a child - that God has not abandoned the House of David.

These reflections might draw us back towards Deuteronomy and the promises God there makes to the people, that they will flourish, be prosperous and be secure, and the line of their descendants will be assured, if they are faithful to the covenant. In the middle of such texts we find this one which fits with what Jesus says at the end of the story about the sower:

You have seen all that the Lord did before your eyes in the land of Egypt ... the great trials which your eyes saw, the signs, and those great wonders; but to this day the Lord has not given you a mind to understand, or eyes to see, or ears to hear (Deuteronomy 29:4).

The people have seen and they have failed to see. They have understood and not understood. They have heard but have not heard. That is puzzling enough. Even more puzzling is the comment that 'the Lord has not given you a mind, eyes, ears' to understand, see and hear. Does it mean the sower has not done the work he should have done to prepare the ground so that there will be more good soil for the seed to find? Does it mean that it is God who must also prepare the ground for the reception of the seed, giving us a mind to understand, eyes to see and ears to hear?

But now we have moved into thinking of the sower as one who must not only scatter the seed but prepare the ground. And we begin to see what it might mean morally or spiritually: if we are to appreciate the gifts God gives us, to know what God is doing for His people, then we need the Spirit of God to enter our minds and hearts and to inform our eyes and ears.

As the Spirit entered into the prophets so the Spirit enters into all who are baptised. In this way the ground has been prepared, the soil has been made ready, and all we need do is clear away obstacles that remain to prevent the full flourishing of the life promised in the seed God scatters.

Lord that we might see! Lord that we might hear! Lord that we might understand the life you have already so generously sown in us!

St Mary Magdalen - 22 July

Readings: Song of Songs3:1-4 or 2 Corinthians 5:14-17; Psalm 63; John 20:1-2, 11-18

The story of Mary Magdalen involves conspiracy, religion, and sex. She always has a place in the (fictional) conspiracy interpretations of Christianity. Dan Brown's Da Vinci Code was just the latest in a line of such interpretations. They usually involve also the Knights Templar, the Holy Grail, the Priory of Sion, other secret societies, corrupt clergy, secret information, and a Catholic Church desperate to keep hidden some knowledge about its beginnings that would destroy it and bring its historical mission, finally, to an end.

Conspiracy itself is part of the excitement. It seems that we prefer to believe that some of what happens in organisations and institutions is the result of conspiracy (thoughtful and clever planning) whereas what we are trying to explain is often simply the outcome of incompetence, bad management, and disorganisation. But there seems to be a 'paranoia gene' in the human mind that prefers conspiracy. Or perhaps it is a childish wish for security, that somebody somewhere knows what is going on, even if they are not telling us about it. If the conspiracy can be attributed to the Catholic Church, this makes it even more compelling, it seems.

The other two ingredients essential for this kind of best seller are religion and sex. That combination always catches the eye and has a particular frisson that either by itself would not generate. Once again, if the religion involved is the Catholic Church, then it is of even greater interest. If Jesus and Mary Magdalene did get married, and had children who were the ancestors of the Merovingian kings of France, then it is certainly a story worth telling. The predictable reactions of condemnation from the Church usually serve only to generate greater interest in the book or film.

Today we celebrate the feast of Saint Mary Magdalene. And her story, as we see from the gospel reading, really does involve conspiracy, religion, and sex. The conspiracy - somebody somewhere knows what is going on; what is happening is the outcome of thoughtful and clever planning - is one hatched in the mind and heart of God before the ages began. This is how Paul speaks about the conspiracy or, as he calls it, 'the mystery'. The gospel is preached openly, the Word is broadcast for everyone to hear, and there is nothing esoteric in the teaching of the Church. But what that teaching means is continually being uncovered. There are always depths to be explored. There are hidden treasures in Jesus Christ, and our true life is hid with Christ in God. Only very slowly do we come to realise the truth of what is going on.

What better conspiracy could we be involved in? We do not yet know everything about it but we know enough of what it means for us, and we know enough about the One behind it, to embrace that teaching and to enter into that mystery, with confidence and enthusiasm, even if also with fear and trembling.

Mary Magdalen was also, clearly, in a love affair with Jesus. He became the centre of her life. And today's gospel reading is about the most intimate moment in that love affair. One of the readings recommended by the Church for today's feast is from the Song of Songs, in which the bride searches for her beloved, the one her heart loves, the one she has lost. In the early dawn, in the garden, with the guards hovering nearby, a tryst involving anxiety, desire and mystery: this is the atmosphere in which Jesus and Mary Magdalene meet again.

Lovers, we might say, create each other. Love enables us to be more fully, and more truly, ourselves. It creates the space in which the loved one can be, can flourish, and can grow. In the case of Mary encountering Jesus it is not just a matter of a new life - as Dante described the experience of falling in love with Beatrice - it is a matter of a new creation, a new world, a new human being with a new deepest happiness and fulfillment. The conspiracy is unlocked by Jesus saying 'Mary'. This is the magic word, to call her by her name. She recognises him, called by her name she is immediately taken into his world, and she begins to live as a creature of the Resurrection.

Tradition says that Mary Magdalene went on to be a preacher of the gospel at Marseilles before retiring to a cave in the mountains outside that city. In that moment in the garden after the Resurrection, she is the new woman encountering the new man in the garden of the new creation. This is the kingdom of which Jesus had spoken, where they no longer marry and have children, but in which a different kind of communion and fruitfulness are found. 'Do not touch me', Jesus says to her, 'for I have not yet ascended to the Father'. The plot thickens.

You see how the truth of this mystery is far more interesting than the fiction of the conspiracy theorists. You see how the religion and union of persons involved here is far more profound than anything novelists manage to describe. In a way she never expected, Mary Magdalene, searching for the one her heart loved, was found by Him. He called her by her name, 'Mary', as if he had said 'let there be Mary'. And in the light of His recognition of her, she saw the Lord.

Week 16 Monday (Year 1)

Readings: Exodus 14:5-18; Psalm 15; Matthew 12:38-42

What are we to do with this warrior-God who finds his glory in destroying armies? As the Egyptians repent of having let them go, the Hebrews show that their 'triumphant escape' is not so triumphant after all. At the first threat they too repent and say 'better the slavery we knew than the uncertain future into which this Moses is leading us'. They are not convinced either about the reliability of this warrior-God.

Perhaps we can draw a lesson already: do we prefer the dependencies and limitations we know to the promises of a future freedom not yet experienced? What would it take to carry us from those dependencies and limitations, enable us to persevere through the uncertain in-between times, and sustain our hope of being brought into a land of freedom and new life?

The warrior-God has his power to offer as a basis for trust and hope. If he is on our side, who can be against us? Certainly not the poor Egyptians whose defeat we still celebrate every Easter. What we really need, however, is not a God who knows power and can act from there but a God who knows powerlessness and can still act from there. God's providence is bringing the Church in many parts of the world to the point where it needs to realise this - not wealth, power, status but poverty, weakness, insignificance ... what can yet be done from there, perhaps more authentically?

This is the sign Jesus offers in the gospel reading, Matthew's version of the sign of Jonah. It is not the sign of a new manifestation of military might. It is the sign - ridiculous and absurd! - of a man trapped in the belly of a sea-monster for three days and three nights. It is the sign - ridiculous and absurd! - of a man hanging dead on a cross. So the Son of Man will be buried in the heart of the earth: conquered, defeated, not just weakened but rendered utterly powerless.

To rise form there is not a stronger exercise of any power known to humanity. It is the revelation of a power beyond our experience and comprehension. Our warrior-God, our hero, is not mighty in the way the warrior-God of the Exodus is described. In fact he is more like the Egyptians than the Hebrews in the crucial moment of their defeat. But he is greater than Solomon and Jonah, greater than Moses and David. His power is not just the most powerful of the powers we know, it overcomes all the kinds of power we know. His kingdom is not just one of a different kind to the ones we know, it is not of this world at all.

How are we to learn how to interpret this sign so as to live by it? How are we to embrace powerlessness in order to enter the new world Jesus creates? How are we to make the love of God, that new reality Jesus breathes into the world, to be the basis for all our relationships? We glimpse it now and then, the power of God's love, but we need his help if we are to trust it at every step. If we are to persevere through the times of uncertainty and doubt. If we are to leave the comfort of known slavery behind and venture out towards the promised land of freedom and new life.

Week 16 Sunday (Year C)

Readings: Genesis 18:1-10; Psalm 15; Colossians 1:24-28; Luke 10:38-42

'Mammy, Jane is not helping with the dishes.' 'Daddy, Sam has left me to do it all by myself.' We can easily imagine such a scene happening in the house of Martha and Mary. Jesus found himself caught up in a very ordinary, domestic, moment. One of his hostesses was busy preparing the meal and she complained that her sister was not helping out. She was just sitting, listening to him.

The story follows a pattern which is characteristic of St Luke's gospel. Many incidents and parables, as he recounts them, involve two people between whom there was some kind of conflict or separation, e.g. the Pharisee and the publican, the prodigal son and his elder brother, the rich man and Lazarus - these are all characters we only come across in the gospel of Luke. These parables put us on the spot because almost inevitably we find ourselves identifying with one or other of the characters. Who is the 'goodie' and who is the 'baddie'? But perhaps that is too simplistic a reading and what a parable really challenges us to do is to find all its characters somewhere in ourselves, in our attitudes or actions or aspects of our character.

The two sisters, Martha and Mary, show us two ways of being with Jesus, two ways of serving him. Martha wanted to welcome him into her house in the normal way, by offering him a meal. This was her way of loving him. Mary sat and listened to what he had to say. She was keen to learn from him and this was her way of loving him.

In the Christian tradition Martha and Mary were not the only pair of women to represent action and contemplation. Leah and Rachel, wives of Jacob, were also often used in the same way. Dante, for example, in Canto 27 of his Purgatorio, introduces us to Leah who talks about the difference between herself and her rival: 'she with seeing, and I with doing am satisfied'. These two women are found on either side of Moses on the tomb of Pope Julius II, made by Michelangelo. The way they are represented there is comparable to the representation of Plato and Aristotle in Raphael's famous painting, the School of Athens, Plato (Rachel) looking towards heaven, Aristotle (Leah) looking towards the earth.

Head in the clouds and feet on the ground, we might be tempted to say. Likewise for Mary and Martha. The sisters came to symbolise two ways of living the Christian life and stand for two paths to Jesus (or two ways of travelling with him). Martha stands for those called to serve Christ in practical and concrete ways - through acts of charity, through involvement in the life of the world. Mary stands for those called to serve Christ as contemplatives - through lives dedicated to prayer, through standing back from the world.

Many of the great teachers of the Church have used Martha and Mary to stand for the 'active' and the 'contemplative' paths. But unfortunately, too many have also decided that Mary's way was better. After all, Jesus does seem to dismiss Martha's complaint when he says that 'Mary has chosen the better part'.

Meister Eckhart, the medieval Dominican theologian, is the only one I know who proposed that Martha's way was better, because it was the more mature. Is he wiser than Jesus then? No, just that he understands Jesus' remark to mean 'Mary has chosen what, for now, is best for her'. Martha is the more grown up of the two. Her union with Jesus and her understanding of him make her ready for works of compassion and service. Mary is at an earlier stage in the Christian life. She had yet to grow and more to learn, she needed to spend more time absorbing what Jesus had to teach, before she could give herself, like Martha, to the generous service of her brothers and sisters. It was Martha, then, who was further along the path to Jesus, and this, says Eckhart, is what Jesus was helping Martha to understand.

But Eckhart was the exception that proved the rule. Most Christian teachers believed that Mary was following a better way than Martha. And others (Thomas Aquinas, for example) have suggested that a mixed way would be even better, a way that combines the prayerful attention of Mary with the compassionate service of Martha. To be a teacher in the Church, for example, not just contemplating but passing to others the fruits of one's contemplation.

Perhaps such a stark choice is not really necessary, not really possible. A complete activism would be no longer human. There has to be thought and prayer to support action, there has to be reflection and evaluation afterwards if our action is to be fully human. 'Don't just do something, sit there', we might be tempted to say to someone in danger of losing themselves in unreflective action. 'Don't just sit there, do something' is what we will be tempted to say to the Marys who prolong their contemplation when the needs of charity require them to turn towards their neighbour.

Perhaps the contrast between Mary and Martha, Rachel and Leah, (Plato and Aristotle?), is one we find within ourselves. Everyone who seeks to follow Jesus must have something of each within them. How can you be a Christian without listening to Jesus who is the Word, and without seeking to be with him in prayer? How can you be a Christian without caring for your neighbour in whatever practical way is needed (last week's gospel of the good Samaritan reminded us of this)?

The story of the two sisters encourages us to think about our faithfulness to these two aspects of following Christ. Whether we are good at praying or good at serving we should work at it with all our hearts and minds. We must also, of course, take care of Christ in the needy and the poor. We must use our gifts to serve others. But we must pray so that our actions have a properly human and Christian depth, we must pray and be with the Other if we want to be truly with, and for, others.

An earlier version of this homily appeared in Sunday Letter for 18 July 2004, published by Rollebon Press, Dublin.

Week 15 Saturday (Year 1)

Readings: Exodus 12:37-42; Psalm ; Matthew 12:14-21

It was a night of watching by the Lord. This is one translation of a verse in today's first reading. It is another way of thinking about what is happening in the night. It may be the night of faith or the night of hope, the night of love or the night of birth, the night of sickness or the night of death, the night of mystical encounters or even the night of sin. Whatever the night in which human beings find themselves, it is a night of watching by the Lord. Like a parent anxious about its sleeping child, or its sick child, or its child worrying about the next day's events, so the Lord watches over Israel and pours gifts on his beloved while she slumbers.

And not just on Israel. There is the temptation to hear the story of the Exodus as a nationalist epic, a celebration for the children of Israel who are led to freedom, while the Egyptians (also children of the same God as Israel's own prophets teach us) are clobbered, routed, massacred, in the returning waters of the Red Sea. The Lord who watches over Israel, what is he to the Egyptians? It presents a difficulty, especially on Easter Night, as we sing the triumph of the Lord over the enemies of his people.

But the people leaving Egypt and seeking freedom include, we are told, 'a crowd of mixed ancestry'. That is a relief, for which of us, at this stage of the genetic melting pot that is the human race, can claim to be of pure ancestry? In Nazi Germany as in apartheid South Africa, human beings drove themselves (and each other) mad by trying to determine who was 'pure' and who was not. In each place, arbitrary criteria were eventually introduced, sub-divisions within racial categories, to try to take account of the inevitable mixing of the races. In the apartheid museum in Johannesburg the visitor learns about this and other forms of madness. How did people ever end up at the point they did? How did they begin thinking in a way that inevitably led to that? Paul Wittgenstein, a brother of the philosopher, was told that one of his children was 'Jewish' because she was born after a certain date whereas the other, a child of the same parents, was not, because she was born before that date.

That way madness lies. Instead the God of Israel, who is the God of the patriarchs Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, always described his covenant with a particular people as a promise of blessing for all the nations of the earth. Within Israel this universalist meaning and destiny of her election was sometimes lost to sight. Even still there seem to be people in all races and creeds who need to think of others as excluded by God before they themselves can feel properly included.

What do we see in regard to all this when we see Jesus? He stands in the place of Israel, that is very clear. He represents the children of Israel. He is Israel, the child of the covenant, the bearer of the promise, the one to lead the people to salvation. He is the servant of the Lord. But he is also the Egyptians since in passing through the waters of the new Red Sea, he is drowned. He places himself in the situation of the enemies of the children of Israel at the same time as he is himself Israel. And so the reconciliation becomes possible, in him and through him, the peace that is made through his blood on the cross.

This is the world's darkest night, this night of Calvary, for it seems as if in this night, as his children sleep, God is dead. But within the dark mystery of the Blessed Trinity a new kind of victory is conceived. The waters close in, the depths swallow their victim, the sun and the moon are extinguished. From this most holy night, in which Jesus passes from death to life, a new creation emerges. This victory is not won in arms or battles, this triumph is not at the price of humiliating and oppressing an enemy. The children of Israel, any crowd of mixed ancestry, the Gentiles too, have justice proclaimed to them, a new kind of justice established on a new kind of reality. The children of Israel, any crowd of mixed ancestry, Egyptians and all other Gentiles, now hope in his name, the only name given to human beings by which they might gain salvation.

Soon the Jubilee of Youth will be celebrated in Rome. Like World Youth Day it is a sacramental anticipation of the kingdom that is coming. Children of all races, more or less mixed, more or less pure, watch with the Lord in the vigils of the night. They will be praying for all humanity. They will be seeking to deepen their love for all humanity. They will be learning about the Son of David, the prophet like Moses, the new Elijah and Joshua. He steps up from the depths of darkness, from beneath the waves of sin, and shines a new light. He introduces a new dawn, leading justice to victory, and bringing, out of that deepest darkest night, a new and everlasting hope.

Week 15 Friday (Year 1)

Readings: Exodus 11:10-12:14; Psalm 116; Matthew 12:1-8

The sentence in the gospel on which comment is usually made is the last one, 'the Son of Man is Lord of the Sabbath'. It could be that the more radical statement in this passage comes a little earlier, although at this point in the ministry of Jesus its full implications are not clear, either to the Pharisees or to the disciples. Jesus says 'there is something greater than the Temple here'.

We know - because we know how this story develops - that this was the claim that would be brought against Jesus at his trial: he said he would destroy the Temple and replace it.

We can easily imagine the debates and arguments of scribes, pharisees and lawyers about the application of sabbath laws. Jesus himself appeals here to two exceptions from the history of Israel which show that those laws were not absolute. We can imagine other teachers doing the same. Jesus takes a position on the interpretation of those laws which might encourage people to think of him as liberal rather than rigid in his interpretation of them. But there is nothing there to provoke wrath and fury.

His comment about the Temple is more radical, and is seen as such when its implications begin to sink in. The Temple was the place of prayer, sacrifice, and the presence of God. 'There is something greater than the Temple here', Jesus says, meaning himself. So he is claiming to be the new place of prayer, of sacrifice and of the presence of God. When we think about prayer or sacrifice now we cannot do it without reference to Jesus, without reference to his prayer and to his sacrifice. Any prayers or sacrifices we might imagine can only be made now 'through him, and with him, and in him'.

Similarly for the presence of God. If we wonder now where God is to be found the answer is 'in Jesus'. This is the place of God's presence in the world. What about creation, history, my neighbour, other people, the presence of God in my heart and soul? Yes, God is present in all these places, but once again we cannot understand that presence, we cannot appreciate it, except with reference to God's presence in Jesus, to what God did in the body of Jesus Christ once and for all. And the way in which God has called all men and women to find Him there.