Week 16 Sunday (Year A)

Readings: Wisdom 12:13,16-19; Psalm 86; Romans 8:26-27; Matthew 13:24-43

In the gospel reading for today Jesus offers three agricultural metaphors for the kingdom of heaven. Perhaps, to be more precise, at least for the first of these parables, it is 'the kingdom of heaven on earth' he is talking about, in other words the Church. Good and evil grow alongside each other in this stage of the kingdom's history. The 'puritan' temptation can be strong, at times very strong, the desire to root out the evil and purify the Church, make it to be only good like the heavenly Father in whom there is no shadow of darkness but only light.

But acting on such desires is not wise, Jesus says, because inevitably rooting out the evil will lead to undermining the good also. It is as if he were to say 'leave the work of separating to those who are expert in that work', 'leave the work of discerning between good and evil to those who are equipped to make such judgements'. Here he assigns the task to the angels, they are the harvesters of the parable who separate the wheat and the chaff at the end.

We might have thought that we had ourselves gained that ability to discern through eating the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. It gives us experience of both, eating from that tree, in the first place in ourselves, and it is the confusion that this sets loose in us that makes it difficult for us to see now where to draw the line. Who are you to judge your neighbour? Who am I to judge anyone else when I cannot manage it for myself?

Best to leave judgement to God who sees more profoundly, who knows all things, and whose power, as the first reading says, is made perfect in mercy. The wisdom of the farmer in the parable is an expression of that mercy - give things time, be patient, wait. In another parable Jesus talks explicitly of the gardener's patience: 'give it another year, then we will see'. 

The second reading, from Paul's letter to the Romans, is along the same lines. God knows our weakness, not just in regard to discerning good and evil, but also in regard to praying (which may actually be simply another way of talking about the same thing). So the Spirit comes to help us in our weakness. It is the Spirit who knows thoughts and discerns intentions, and he will intercede on our behalf. The harvesting angels will be working under the supervision of the same Spirit.

The other two parables then testify to the work of the Holy Spirit in the Church. In spite of its many limitations and failures, and in spite of the evil that invariably gets entangled in its roots, it becomes a great tree in which the peoples of the earth can take refuge. The final parable is more culinary than agricultural, perhaps. The presence of the kingdom, at this stage of its history, is like yeast working its effect in flour. Small, quickly disappearing, it yet works a powerful effect in the whole thing. So holiness, wherever it is found, good people, wherever they are found, are working God's purpose out in the world.

We do not know for now where the lines are to be drawn. But we do know that holiness will make present in our world even now, however mixed in with other things it might continue to be, the kindness and patience, the mercy and even the power of God.

Week 15 Saturday (Year 2)

Readings: Micah 2:1-5; Psalm 10; Matthew 12:14-21

In response to the Pharisees making plans to have him killed, Jesus withdraws and warns people not to make him known. It is a natural reaction - lie low, head for a quiet place, and try to keep your whereabouts secret. At least for the moment it is like that.

We are told that this was to fulfil what Isaiah wrote in the first of the Servant Songs, Isaiah 42. It is not immediately obvious how withdrawing and staying hidden fulfils what we find in that passage. It talks about 'beholding' someone who will 'proclaim' something to the Gentiles, which makes it seem that he becomes a public figure again. Unless the reference to the Gentiles is the point: if Jesus takes refuge there, in pagan territory, it might be a safer place for him, at least for now.

Or perhaps it is what follows in the passage from Isaiah that is being fulfilled in Jesus withdrawing and lying low. The Servant is meek and very gentle, the essence of what we would today call non-violence. In poetry of great tenderness Isaiah tells us that he will not contend or cry out, nor will anyone hear his voice in the streets. He will not break the bruised reed or quench the smouldering wick. What is vulnerable and fragile, what is weak and tentative, he will support and sustain. It is like a first movment in the Servant's work which, in its final and climactic movement, will bring justice to victory and give the Gentiles hope.

For the moment, then, the music of Jesus' life is gentle and quiet. But already sounding within it are the darker and louder chords of what will be revealed later, when he does return to engage directly with the forces gathered against him. It can seem that those forces are the ones that are really powerful and they do wreak havoc in people's lives. The first reading from Micah describes that havoc as Amos described it last week: the accumulated fruit of our small injustices and petty lies is a disaster because once it is accepted that justice and truth may be ignored or subverted, in no matter how trivial the way, true communion between people is no longer possible.

The great struggle of the Servant of the Lord, which unfolds in the later songs of the Servant in Isaiah 49, 50 and 52-53, shows us just how powerful is the gentleness and meekness of the Servant. The scriptures bring us back to this again and again: the forces that are truly powerful will seem at first too gentle and too meek for this world, too fragile and too vulnerable for those other powers that seem really effective, really to count for something in this world, the forces that really get things done: economic, military, political, and all forms of violence and coercion.

But it is the power dwelling in the heart of the Servant, the Spirit of God, that is truly powerful, powerful beyond the boundaries of this world, even beyond sin and death. For the moment these powers will often be quiet, gentle, invisible. Perhaps - we will be tempted to think - too quiet, too gentle, too invisible. But in the end, in the dramatic and climactic final movement of the drama, it is these powers - justice and truth, love and compassion - that rise victorious. Long after tyrants and bullies are dead, the courage and goodness of their victims stands and shines. In that strength, in that light, justice is proclaimed to all the nations as all are called to hope in the name of Jesus Christ.

Week 15 Friday (Year 2)

Readings: Isaiah 38:1-6, 21-22, 7-8; Isaiah 38:10,11,12,16; Matthew 12:1-8

This is not a homily on today's readings but it might be of interest in reflecting on today's gospel reading.

Aristotle alerts us to this difficulty about knowledge, that there is nothing apart from individual things and yet knowledge is universal, drawing things into unity and identity. How there can be universal knowledge of particular things is the hardest difficulty of all, he says (Metaphysics III.4) .

The place where we see this difficulty most readily is in regard to moral action. St Thomas says that human acts are always singular and contingent, infinite in their possibilities. It is therefore impossible to frame a law which will cover all cases: 'it is impossible to institute a legal rule that will not be inadequate in some situation' (Summa theologiae II.II 120, 1). Legislators work with what generally happens but there will be cases where observing the law would be 'against the equality of justice and the common good', precisely the things laws are meant to establish and protect. Aquinas gives a couple of examples of situations where observing what the law requires would be bad: returning his sword to a lunatic, or his assets to an enemy. These are cases where following the law as it is given would be evil. The good, in such circumstances, is established and protected by ignoring the letter of the law (praetermissis verbis legis) in order to be faithful to 'the meaning of justice and to common utility'.

The virtue that enables us to make such decisions well is, in Greek, epieikeia, in Latin aequitas, in English equity. This virtue teaches us when it would be vicious to follow the letter of the law (art.cit., ad 1). It does not mean that we have become judges over the law but we are obliged to make a judgement in the particular situation in which we find ourselves (art.cit., ad 2). This virtue is needed therefore for situations of doubt, exceptional situations (art.cit., ad 3). Aristotle says that equity is a part of justice taken as a general virtue and so is higher than legal justice (Nicomachean Ethics V.10). St Thomas says that equity is thus a higher rule of human acts (superior regula humanorum actuum) than are the positive laws enacted by parliaments and monarchs (Summa theologiae II.II 120, 2). Equity is needed to moderate law which becomes cruel if it is not somehow moderated. (It is a crucial point: elsewhere St Thomas says that justice alone is cruel and must always be tempered by mercy.)

The great virtue of prudence is entirely concerned with the application of universal principles to particular situations and circumstances. It has an ancillary virtue called gnome which seems to be the basis for equity: gnome brings a perspicacity of judgement across the whole of the moral life, enabling a person to know when a higher principle takes precedence over a lower one (Summa theologiae II.II 51,4). Some of this is common sense. In England one drives on the left hand side of the road but if there is a person lying there one does not continue to drive on that side (as the law requires) and may even decide in the circumstances to drive on the right hand side: it is the reasonable thing to do thus serving the spirit of the law while ignoring its letter. Some situations will, however, be much more complex.

Does what Aristotle and Aquinas say about equity, prudence, and gnome, mean that there are no exceptionless norms governing human action? Some moral philosophers and theologians think it does, that one cannot say murder, adultery, rape and cruelty are always evil since circumstances might arise where one of these would be the right course of action. But such a view is only possible where moral norms are understood as purely legal norms, where natural law for example is understood as if it were exactly the same as positive law. There are things that the virtuous person will never do and if such a thing appears as a possible course of action he or she will immediately reject it. This is because moral norms are about more than social good or utility, they are about the values and goods without which human beings cannot begin to flourish and against which one ought never to act no matter what the circumstances.

At the same time what Aristotle and Aquinas say about equity teaches us something very important about the limits of legislation.

Week 15 Thursday (Year 2)

Readings: Isaiah 26:7-9, 12, 16-19; Psalm 102; Matthew 11:28-30

Living creatures that we are, we struggle to give birth and then bring forth nothing but wind. By contrast God's power raises the dead and by that same power the land of shades gives birth.

Chastening stuff. The gospel reading is more encouraging. Yes, the yoke is heavy and the burden is demanding but love makes it easy. Love makes all things easy. The most onerous tasks become easy when they are undertaken out of love. This is the divine power of a God who is love, a God who creates out of nothing and who can even restore the dead to life.

The yoke is used to refer to the law and its function of guiding the animal along the right path, keeping it moving in the right direction. The harness makes the animal obedient but it is an obedience imposed from outside, by another mind and another will. The new law, the gift of the Spirit, enables us to love the good so much that the work of pursuing the good and making it present no longer feels like work. It becomes a task, no matter how onerous, that is undertaken freely. Now obedience comes from within, from the mind and will of the one who acts. He is no longer like an animal needing to be kept in harness so that it stays on the right path and is more like the lover, who sees his beloved from afar, the one he wants to be with, and moving towards her he will overcome whatever obstacles lie in his path.

So much for the single yoke, the one made for one animal, and how its meaning is transformed by what Jesus says. If we think of it as a double yoke then our companion in it is Jesus himself. He asks us to take his yoke upon us, does he not? So it is the Cross, our participation in it, and when we look to see who is bearing it with us, who is our Simon of Cyrene, we see that it is Jesus himself. Once again love is making all things possible. As Isaiah says in the first reading today 'you have accomplished all we have done'. It is a key text on the mystery of grace. It is our work, of course, that remains clear. But it is not at all our work, that also remains clear. How can we say both? Augustine, the Doctor of Grace, jumps in to try to explain it but in the end gives up and says 'show me a lover, he will understand'.

This tremendous lover, Jesus, enters the land of death and sterility and he transforms it by his presence. It becomes the land of life and fruitfulness. We are called to share in this wonderful experience, this mystery of the transformation of all things by the power of the Divine Love. It is a land of peace and rest - and there is so much yet to be done by those who love Him.

Week 15 Wednesday (Year 2)

Readings: Isaiah 10:5-7, 13b-16; Ps 94; Matthew 11:25-27

A lesson in school many years ago has stayed with me ever since.

It was one of my first lessons in commerce, as it was called, or business studies, I suppose, later on. In this lesson we were told that the two most powerful words in advertising are the words 'new' and 'free'. Although that was many years ago, it seems to be still the case, judging from the frequency with which products have these words attached to them, new and free.

The good news about Jesus is new and it is free. God is ever new and always free. And so the message about Jesus, the message about God, ought to be the easiest product in the world to sell.

So what is it about children that allows them to receive this news when the learned and the clever cannot? Well, one thing, I suppose, is their openness to novelty. The Irish poet Patrick Kavanagh has a lovely phrase in his poem about Advent when he talks about the wonder there was in every stale thing when we looked at it as children. There's a sense of wonder and adventure, of possibility and hope in the life and in the eyes of the child, a wonder which too many adults, unfortunately, lose.

And in children we see great freedom. Also, we admire it, envy it perhaps, the freedom and spontaneity of the child, their ease in calling a spade a spade. They're not yet fixed in their ways.

They haven't become experienced in the world's currencies. And so there is a kind of trustingness, an openness, a readiness to learn in the child. Of course, there are dangers in this of which we've become only too aware in recent years.

But it is still something that we admire in the child, a freedom, an openness and a trust. The older folks among us become learned and clever in the ways of the world, become experienced. And it becomes more difficult then for us to receive Christ, the message of Christ, with wonder and with freedom.

Augustine, in his Confessions, has a famous passage in which he laments that it was late that he loved God. 'Late have I loved you, O beauty ever ancient and ever new.' He was converted at 32.

He's writing at the age of 45. Late have I loved you, O beauty ever ancient and ever new. So as life proceeds and many things happen, and our sense of wonder and our sense of freedom are both challenged by the experiences of life, it's crucial to remember that Jesus is talking about a spiritual childhood, a readiness, an openness, a freedom, which allows entry into the kingdom of God.

He's talking about the level of life in the spirit, as Paul speaks so eloquently about that in Romans chapter 8. Not about chronological age then, but about a disposition of the spirit, where we find a sense of wonder and freedom, not in ourselves, but in God, living a theological life, a God-centred life. God who is ever ancient, but ever new. God who is absolutely faithful and yet infinitely free.

That's the source of our freedom, of our openness to what is new, if we live a life that is theological, rooted in God, ever ancient and ever new, absolutely faithful and infinitely free. A God of surprises then. Children, of course, love surprises.

Adults tend to become apprehensive and suspicious about surprises. But we must be ready for new things as we seek to follow the way of Christ. We must be ready for new freedoms that we did not suspect, even in our maturity.

You can listen here to this homily being preached.

Week 15 Tuesday (Year 2)

Readings: Isaiah 7.1-9; Psalm 48; Matthew 11:20-24

A friend returned from a visit to the Holy Land shocked by two things. One was the way in which Christians jostle each other at the holy places. This is at its worst in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre where centuries-old feuds between different Christian groups are re-enacted in how they relate to each other in the building even today. It is good to be warned about that beforehand as otherwise it can be quite scandalising. It confirms, if confirmation is needed, that the Holy Sepulchre is not a place in which to look for the presence of Jesus!

The other thing that shocked my friend was how ordinary and how small the Holy Land is. The shock here is interesting for different reasons. The mysteries of redemption and the history of human salvation were enacted in this small and ordinary corner of the world.

One implication of this is that any small and ordinary place might have been the setting for those mysteries and that history. In fact every small and ordinary place has become the setting for those mysteries and that history. Wherever human beings are to be found these mysteries - of creation and grace, sin and redemption - are being enacted and are being enacted each day.

It means also - following today's gospel reading - that we can say 'Woe to you Sligo! Woe to you Arezzo! Woe to you Bradford! Woe to you St Louis, Missouri!' There is no need to go to any special place to find the mysteries of redemption and the history of salvation. The place in which I find myself is the Holy Land because it is a place where the Word is preached and the sacraments are celebrated. The place in which I find myself is the centre of salvation history because here too the drama of sin and the call to repentance are played out.

The text condemning Chorazin and Bethsaida was first composed by Isaiah to express delight at the fall of a tyrant, an enemy of Israel and of God's people. Jesus applies it to those quaint lakeside towns, those harmless lakeside towns we might say, in which his preaching was ineffective.

So let us not presume one way or the other. Our own ordinary place is as important as any other from the point of view of redemption or damnation. We cannot presume to stand on what has been the case up to now. It is easy to apply to our own situation, then, what Jesus says about Gentiles (not the chosen people) acceping the Word of God in Tyre and Sidon (pagan cities, modern Sodoms and Gomorrahs). Prostitutes and tax-collectors are entering before the ones who think they should be entering first.

It is familiar stuff, strongly put. By all means visit the Holy Land - there are many blessings to be received by doing so. But don't forget that everything essential that you find there is already available where you are. And if you feel that you live in a special place, special from the point of view of holiness or salvation, then think again. Your privilege, if you think you have one, means at least a more severe judgement.

Week 15 Monday (Year 2)

Readings: Isaiah 1.10-17; Psalm 50; Matthew 10.34-11.1

Even God, it seems, and especially God, gets tired of religion. It would be difficult to find a more powerful critique of religious practices than the one which God himself inspires in the prophet Isaiah in the first reading. Sacrifices and chanting, festivals and assemblies, seasonal celebrations and ordinary prayer, all the panoply of religion: it is all distasteful and unwelcome when it is done by people whose hands are full of blood. 

It is not blood from the sacrifices, however, but the blood sucked out of those who have been exploited by the people who then present themselves as religious. 'Make justice your aim', the Lord says, 'redress the wronged, hear the orphan's plea, defend the widow'.

It is a frequent refrain from the prophets of the Old Testament, taken up again in the New - 'what I want is mercy, not sacrifice' - and carried on into the life of the Christian church - in the Letter of James, for example, and in the writings of Fathers of the Church such as John Chrysostom.

Against that background it becomes easier to understand the teaching of Jesus in the gospel reading. If justice is the aim then we know from our own experience that there will be trouble. The sword of justice, the cutting edge of integrity and concern for the poor, the challenge to power and to money - this never goes down well, a mission guaranteed to bring the sword rather than peace. 

But we must listen and we must review our own treatment of the poor. There is a temptation to, once again, spiritualise it, turn it into something religious, to say that it is of course really Jesus himself who is the poorest of the poor and how am I treating him? But he calls us back to concrete decisions and actions: the good Samaritan, the Last Judgement scene. You must take up your cross and follow after him. 

You must be ready to give a disciple a cup of cold water - that sounds manageable, perhaps a reprieve when we feel guilty about our service of the poor: I have at least done one kind act for a disciple. So perhaps there is hope for us after all, if we have not lost completely a sense of compassion, however faint, for our brothers and sisters.

But the stark warning still stands: cut out the religious nonsense because it is nonsense as long as we are without compassion, as long as we are aiming at something other than justice. Only with that as our aim will we not lose our reward even if it is only small acts of kindness that we can manage.