Week 4 Friday (Year 2)

Readings: Sirach 47:2-11; Psalm 18; Mark 6:14-29

There is a hollow ring to Herod's vow. He piles up oaths, vows and promises: he will not break his word to the daughter of Herodias. But it is a false integrity, at the service of wickedness. He seems decisive, but only when in his cups. In the bigger picture Herod is fearful, perplexed, and split. He seems to be powerful but in fact is lost.

John the Baptist by contrast seems to be powerless but in fact is secure. He is an outsider (his odd way of life in the wilderness) but he knows what justice requires. His integrity is at the service of goodness. He knows how essential it is that vows, oaths, and promises, should be reliable, not the kind of promise a drunken Herod now makes to Salomé but the kind of promise on which marriage is established.

Not that John the Baptist necessarily saw the bigger picture. He is sustained by his faith in God and his confidence that in defending justice he is serving God. His job is to do what he knows to be right and leave the final outcome to God. So it was also with Jeremiah, Stephen, Thomas More, and countless other persecuted believers and martyrs. They entrust themselves to God, do what they know to be right even at the cost of their lives, and leave the final outcome to God.

Week 4 Thursday (Year 2)

Readings: 1Kings 2:1-4, 10-12; 1 Chronicles 29:10-12; Mark 6:7-13

A first meaning of Jesus' instruction seems obvious: take nothing for the journey because you are to move freely and quickly. There is an urgency in the work you must do. You need to be unhampered, uncluttered, in order to do it effectively.

Another meaning sees this simplicity, even poverty, as essential for the credibility of a teacher or preacher. The Cynics, philosophers of the ancient world, supported their words with a lifestyle of dramatic simplicity and austerity. In the time of Saint Dominic, the Cathars of southern France lived lives of similar poverty and asceticism. Dominic realised that if Catholic preachers were to have any hope, they would have to embrace similarly poor and penitential ways. The credibility of their message depended on it. And was it not, in any case, simply returning to the simplicity of the first apostolic missions?

There is a danger in this of course: 'my guru is more ascetic than your guru'. Monastic communities were not always free of this kind of rivalry, as if asceticism were some kind of end in itself. What's the poverty for? what's the simplicity about?

The only acceptable answer in a Christian context is that it is in order to come closer to Christ, to imitate him more completely in how we live and work. The apostles are being formed for their mission. Christ instructs them not just through his words but through his lifestyle. Like him, they are to preach repentance, cast out demons, and anoint people with oil in order to heal them.

We may think that these things can still be done from a position of wealth and power. But the teaching and practice of Jesus, and the experience of the Church, says the opposite. A moment's reflection confirms that our own most convincing teachers of the gospel impressed us by their simplicity, their sincerity, their non-attachment to wealth or power. Their freedom in the service of truth enabled them to teach, and reconcile, and heal, as they did.

Christian simplicity needs to be physical and material, not just an idea or a notion. On the other hand it is never an end in itself. It serves the preaching of the Word, prepares the way for the power of the Word to show itself, and follows inevitably on our repentance and our acceptance of the Word.

We know from the other gospels that this experience of simplicity and its effectiveness filled the apostles with joy.

Week 4 Wednesday (Year 2)

Readings: 2 Samuel 24:2, 9-17; Psalm 32; Mark 6:1-6

Jesus comes to his own country, literally to his 'fatherland', to what belongs to his father. The word is used twice in this short gospel passage (vv.1,4). And perhaps this is the root of the problem in his own country: what he has come to is not, truly, his fatherland. They think they know him, that he belongs to them, that they have made him. They say they know his mother, his brothers, his sisters. Notice that they do not mention his father. Is this because they do not know who his father is? In a deeper sense, of course, that is precisely the problem: they do not know who his Father is. They do not know where he has come from, his origin, his nature. He does not belong to them in the way they think he does. In Luke's gospel, as an adolescent, he says to his mother, 'did you not know that I must be about my father's business, in my father's house, in my (true) fatherland?'

They know he is a carpenter, a tekton. They know what his job is, therefore, what he is meant to produce. So where do these mighty works come from? He is a craftsman, skilled with his hands, not a teacher. Whence comes the wisdom that shines in his words as in his actions? One of their own, yet they do not know him. They are unsettled, tripped up by him (the literal meaning of  'scandalised'). A familiar face, and yet he is a stranger to them. He is a craftsman, yes, a poet, author, and master, but they fail to put two and two together. Who is the author of these mighty works he does, works that renew, heal and re-create broken humanity? It cannot be him, they say, because we know who he is, and where he belongs, and what is to be expected of him.

Jesus has come to reveal his Father to them. That means he has come to introduce them to their true homeland (their true fatherland). He is present with them as the witness of the Father, teaching them marvellous things, and as the Father's instrument in a work of re-creation. In the chapters just before this one we have seen his power over all the levels of creation. His own people fail to see that he is indeed a tekton, a craftsman and more, the one through whom all things were made. It is too much to expect that they would understand so much, so quickly. The Church took a long time to realise all it has about the nature and person of Jesus. And we continue to explore His mystery centuries later.

The sad thing is that his own country, his own kin, his own house, has the power to disempower him, to block the marvellous teaching and the wonderful works. We might be tempted to think, 'well that was them and we are we and he belongs to us in a different way'. That would be to make him a citizen of our fatherland rather than agreeing to follow him into his Fatherland. We must keep alert to the temptation of thinking that now it is we (and we alone) who are his own country, his own kin, his own house. It seems like a sure road to misunderstanding him, a way of failing to grasp his teaching, in fact a way of tripping ourselves up because of him and, in the process, placing the obstacle of faithlessness in the path of his saving power.

Presentation of the Lord -- 2 February

Readings: Malachi 3:1-4; Psalm 24; Hebrews 2:14-18; Luke 2:22-40

In celebrating the birth of the Word as a man, we are celebrating a new kind of knowledge, a new light, a new understanding of human life, that has come into the world with him. He is God's eternal wisdom. But this is not just an intellectual change, a new piece of information: it is a new praxis, a new possibility for living, for this new light is a new life and a new love.

In some ways it is an old commandment, the wisdom he brings, the original commandment, since the law given through Moses is already a revelation of this same wisdom. But in other ways this is a new commandment, because of Christ's birth, since now the true light is already shining.

It is not just that God gives us a new and more attractive example of good living. It is not just that God gives us a more compelling motive for good living. God has done a new deed, acted in a new way, and thereby given Himself to the world as never before, establishing in a moment of the world's history a new beginning and a new destination for humanity.

The presentation of Jesus in the Temple shows very clearly how this change comes about. Everything is done in accordance with the law of the Lord - this is stressed, more than once. But everything is done also by the prompting of the Spirit who rests on Simeon, reveals new things to Simeon, and prompts him to come to the Temple to meet God's new act, the salvation that will enlighten the pagans, and the glory of Israel - a glory long promised to Israel but whose realisation is in a way nobody could ever have anticipated.

So the Spirit manages the change from the old to the new, working in these good people, Elizabeth, Joseph, Anna, Simeon, and, above all, Mary. So the new commandment - that we can only be sure of understanding things truly if we love our brother - is planted in a soil well prepared by fidelity to the original commandment.

The Word made flesh is, as Thomas Aquinas puts it, 'the word that breathes love'. It is not just that love is the meaning of this word. Love is the power and the life of this word. Love is the reality of this word. He is a word that is only understood and only received where there is love, where people are living the same kind of life as Christ lived.

This new light, the Word of life, the Word breathing love, is destined to encounter opposition, difficulty, and rejection. All who follow him must be ready for a struggle. But where they have received him, and given the Word a home, they can walk without fear of stumbling. These are people who have come to know Christ and so live as he did. They live in the light. Their lives are established on the Word of life. They love their brothers and sisters. These are the people we call 'saints' and it is in them that we see perfectly clearly that knowing God and loving humanity are one and the same reality.

Week 3 Saturday (Year 2)

Readings: 2 Samuel 12:1-7a,10-17: Ps 50; Mark 4:35-41

In Mark's account of the calming of the storm the disciples are afraid only after Jesus has stopped the storm and calmed the sea. What frightens them is not the storm: we can take it that as fishermen (some of them) they would have been familiar with storms on the lake. What frightens them is the divine power working through Jesus: in the Bible the One who commands the seas and sets limits to the waters and controls the winds is the Creator and Lord. This is why they are 'frightened with a great fear', filled with awe.

The forces of nature obey their Lord as the demons have obeyed him, as illnesses have obeyed him, as the Gadarene pigs will obey him (next Monday's gospel). All creatures are obedient. That is, they hear the voice of the Lord, they 'understand' it somehow, and they respond to it.

So what about the human creature? 'Have you no faith?', Jesus asks the disciples. Faith is the distinctively human response, the distinctively human obedience, to the Word of God. Having ears do you not hear? Having eyes do you not see? Having minds do you not understand? So what then about your faith, your free decision to assent to the truth of what you hear and see and understand?

Jesus is engaged in the work of establishing and sustaining faith in the disciples. We know from personal experience that there are moments when we must, once again, choose to believe. There are situations and events that present us very clearly and very directly with Jesus' question: 'have you no faith?' Even when we 'practice our faith' every day, we are still faced with these moments of decision and choice.

It is sometimes suggested that people are religious because religion offers comfort and consolation. Well it may, at times, but more often it seems to offer discomfort and perplexity. More often it brings us back to our freedom, or lack of it, and how we are exercising that freedom. Freedom is a great gift. Without freedom there would be no responsibility, no credit, no friendship, no love, no faith, no poetry; there would be no blame, no sin, no morality; artistic creativity would mean nothing.

When the prophet Nathan exposes his sin to him, King David, to give him credit, does not attempt to justify his actions. He does not seek refuge in excuses or mitigating circumstances, nor does he try to blame Bathsheba or anybody else. He simply says, 'I have sinned against the Lord'. There is something noble in this free admission of guilt. Just as we see human freedom in the confession of faith in God, so we see human freedom in the confession of sins. It is one reason why confession is good for the soul: we are acting nobly when we confess our sins.

On the other end of the spectrum is the freedom of Mary in the moment of the Annunciation, one of the central icons of the human participation in the work of salvation. 'Let it be done to me according to your word', Mary says, aligning her freedom with the will of the Heavenly Father. We celebrate her today, Saturday, and it is for this above all that we celebrate her. At the heart of her vocation, of her grace, is this free response to God's Word, this act of faith and love. In this she is a supreme model of the human being listening, understanding, and freely assenting.

'Who then is this whom even wind and sea obey?'

You will find here another version of this homily.

Week 03 Friday (Year 2)

Readings: 2 Samuel 11:1-10, 13-17; Psalm 50; Mark 4:26-34

These two parables are quite like the seeds that they're about.

They're very short, but they have borne much fruit in the history of Christian reflection on the Gospels. For example, that first parable about the blade and the ear, and the full grain in the ear, has often been used as a parable for the history of salvation, for God's dealings with the people over time, dealing with them first in one way, then in a more developed way, in a further way, through the prophets, through the apostles, of course with the coming of Christ, and on towards the Last Judgement. It can also be used as a parable for individual spiritual journeys, people looking back across time, and seeing, hopefully, some development in their understanding of Christ, and their participation in the life of the Church, seeing how grace works in the soul, first the blade, then the ear, then the full grain in the ear.

The second parable about the mustard seed is even more famous, and has been used more. The mustard tree is the Church, that shrub that sends its branches out, large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade. Often this is how it has been understood as referring to the Church, the community of those who believe in Christ, who are to be found in all parts of the world.

That life which continues to flow, which continues to build up the Kingdom of God in those who believe, takes its origin from the beginnings with Christ, and his teaching and his life with the apostles. And we know what a substantial tree it has become, how it has reached out to find its way to every place and to every time. Or the seed is faith.

The seed is faith, just as the mustard seed is the smallest of all seeds. The gift of faith can seem like a very fragile thing, something that might easily be overwhelmed, something that might easily be crushed. And yet the paradox, as many of the fathers of the Church point out, is that precisely when it is crushed, it becomes powerful.

When it is bruised, the seed grows. The seed becomes the bush, the tree, sending out its branches, becoming shelter and food and shade for the birds of the air, welcoming all people to itself. Or the seed is Christ.

The seed is Christ himself, crushed. But in being crushed, coming to life, bringing new life, seasoning the earth, seasoning humanity, preserving human life, doing all those things that a mustard seed will do, bringing a flavour, bringing a challenge, bringing preservation, bringing new life. So, these little seeds of parables, which are dropped for us by the Church today, have themselves turned into substantial trees, substantial shrubs, and they continue to inform the reflection and the understanding of Christians, thinking about Christ as the seed, or faith as the seed, or the Church as the mustard tree, or the history of God's dealings with his people, as a community and as individuals, and how grace grows slowly, quietly, in hidden ways, bringing, please God, bringing a maturity in faith and hope and charity.

Week 3 Thursday (Year 2)

Readings: 2 Samuel 7:18-19; Psalm 131/132; Mark 4:21-25

It is a privilege to be admitted to the prayer of another person and this is what happens with the first reading today. We are allowed to eavesdrop on King David as he prays. He gives thanks to God for what He has done already for David and asks God's blessing for the future. In a few simple words we find the foundation of faith and hope in David's thoughts: 'you are God .. your words are true ..you have made this generous promise to your servant'. Such simple convictions establish and express the virtues of faith and hope.

So what about charity? That God is love and that He wishes to share the love that God is with all people? We must await a Son of David who will appear in that long time that lies ahead and of which King David also speaks in that prayer.

Another way of approaching this is to point to the name David gives God here: 'your name will be forever great .. 'the Lord of Hosts is God of Israel'. The 'Lord of Hosts' or 'God of Armies': we still call God by this name, every day, in the Eucharist. He is the Lord, God of Hosts, Deus Sabaoth. But we know now that he is also Saviour, Redeemer, Mercy, Friend, Bridegroom, Father, Servant, even Slave, of His people, Abba, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Jesus, the Son of David and the Son of God.

This is the mystery hidden from before all time, and later revealed, that 'God is Love'. In these subsequent revelations God is faithful to His promise and answers the prayer of David. God sustained and blessed the House of David and gave him a kingdom that continued. But in the longer term God has done this in a way that completely transcends King David's expectations.

When he prayed for the blessing of his house into the long distant future, there is no way that David could have known the nature of the Son of David who was to come. But a Son of the House of David has revealed to us that God is Love. Jesus has taught us that the Father's intention was not simply to establish a terrestrial house or dynasty for King David, and so give glory to God's name as Lord of Hosts. The far-reaching intention of God was to enable the House of David, and all the people of Israel, and all the nations of the earth, to share God's own life of love, in a heavenly kingdom, forever. And to give glory forever to the name that is above all other names, Jesus, Son of David, Son of God.