A survey for the Mental Health Foundation has suggested that people are growing more and more anxious. A poll of 2,000 adults found 77% found the world more frightening than in 1999. The charity described a "culture of fear" in which the media and politicians fuelled a sense of unease. But one sociologist has said the campaign could become a "self-fulfilling prophecy" making people even more anxious. The report, In the Face of Fear, found more than a third of people say they get frightened or anxious more often than they used to. One of the reasons for the increased fear was the economic climate but the charity said it believed there were other factors at play. The report said "worst-case-scenario language" sometimes used by politicians, and others around issues such as knife-crime, MRSA, bird-flu and terrorism can also have a detrimental effect on people's wellbeing.
In the gospel, Mary Magadalene is faced with fear. The world is or must be a scary place for her. She has witnessed the most awful thing happening. Her hopes dashed, her heart broken, she stands at the place of death and weeps. She has every right to be scared it seems. And she too is guilty of using ‘worst case scenario language.’ ‘They have taken my Lord away,’ she says, ‘and I don’t know where they have put him.’ How on earth can things get better? All she has in the gardener to confide in. ‘Woman, why are you weeping?’ he asks. ‘Who are you looking for?’ Maybe the gardener can help. ‘If you have taken him away,’ she replies, ‘please tell me where you have put him and I will go and remove him.’ And then one word from Jesus as he speaks her name. Then, and only then, does her fear fall away. Then and only then does her anxiety subside. Then and only then does she recognise Jesus.
We do live in a world in which there appears to be so much to be fearful about. Society changes, as it always changes, and very rarely do we think it changes for the better. We worry about so many things. We get anxious about so many factors. We know, from experience, that being a Christian, believing in Jesus, following Jesus, does not mean an easy life, a comfortable life, or a life that is cushioned from the tragedies and turmoil that come our way. Sometimes, in the midst of our fear, when we are close to tears or standing at the place of death, it may be difficult to see Jesus in the mess that we have found ourselves. But he is there, calling our name. His words lift us from the depths of despair and we, like Mary, are messengers, telling others what we have seen and heard.
Readings: Acts 2:36-41; John 20:11-18
Tuesday 14 April 2009
Monday 13 April 2009
Easter Monday
So there’s a bit of bother at Downing Street. David Cameron wants an apology from the Prime Minister concerning the recent e-mail slurs that an adviser, David McBride, had sent, back in January. He quit his job after his unfounded claims about Mr Cameron and shadow Chancellor George Osborne became public knowledge. Mr Cameron is said to be ‘absolutely furious’ about what he claims are blatant lies made about the Tory Party. The Tory Party want an investigation and a guarantee that such material will never be written again from Downing Street. Lies, slurs, dirty tricks, dirty words, stories and tales. Another day in politics!
The gospel reading today is filled with a slur too. The news that the tomb of Jesus is empty and the claims that he has risen from the dead provoke the chief priests and elders to begin their own slur campaign, and the news soon goes around that the disciples of Jesus have stolen the body. There are bribes involved, and a considerable amount of money crosses hands. Not so much Cash for Questions or Cash for Honours but Cash for Lies. This is the beginning of conspiracy. For there have always been people who deny what we believe about Jesus, and there have always been people who, beginning from the very day of resurrection, have denied the resurrection of Christ from the dead. After all, it is a bold claim, a courageous claim, a dangerous claim. Yet is a claim that we continue to make. It is the central tenet to our faith. Without the Resurrection, our Faith would be very different indeed.
In the reading from the Acts of the Apostles, on the Day of Pentecost, fifty days after that Day of Resurrection, Peter speaks boldly in the streets of Jerusalem. ‘God raised this man Jesus to life, and all of us are witnesses to that,’ he says. He and the others disciples have been transformed from a timid, hopeless, broken hearted group of individuals who hide themselves in fear – to bold, hopeful, courageous people, filled with the Spirit of God, who cannot hold themselves back in sharing the message of Christ raised from the dead. And so we must move on too. For our lives are changed now. There is no looking back. As the apostles move on to Galilee, where Jesus will meet them, we too must move on, for the Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!
Readings: Acts 2:14. 22 -33; Matthew 28:8-15
The gospel reading today is filled with a slur too. The news that the tomb of Jesus is empty and the claims that he has risen from the dead provoke the chief priests and elders to begin their own slur campaign, and the news soon goes around that the disciples of Jesus have stolen the body. There are bribes involved, and a considerable amount of money crosses hands. Not so much Cash for Questions or Cash for Honours but Cash for Lies. This is the beginning of conspiracy. For there have always been people who deny what we believe about Jesus, and there have always been people who, beginning from the very day of resurrection, have denied the resurrection of Christ from the dead. After all, it is a bold claim, a courageous claim, a dangerous claim. Yet is a claim that we continue to make. It is the central tenet to our faith. Without the Resurrection, our Faith would be very different indeed.
In the reading from the Acts of the Apostles, on the Day of Pentecost, fifty days after that Day of Resurrection, Peter speaks boldly in the streets of Jerusalem. ‘God raised this man Jesus to life, and all of us are witnesses to that,’ he says. He and the others disciples have been transformed from a timid, hopeless, broken hearted group of individuals who hide themselves in fear – to bold, hopeful, courageous people, filled with the Spirit of God, who cannot hold themselves back in sharing the message of Christ raised from the dead. And so we must move on too. For our lives are changed now. There is no looking back. As the apostles move on to Galilee, where Jesus will meet them, we too must move on, for the Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!
Readings: Acts 2:14. 22 -33; Matthew 28:8-15
Friday 10 April 2009
Maundy Thursday
Rosie Mason has one of the world's oddest job titles and is employed for just one day each year. Mrs Mason, 55, from Leicester, is the Queen's supplier of Nosegays - the sweet-smelling bouquets carried by royals as she hands out the Maundy Money today. Monarchs have been handing out gifts on Maundy Thursday since the 13th Century. In centuries past, the sovereign would give money to the poor and wash recipients' feet on. The nosegay's role was to ward off unpleasant smells. Foot-washing ended with James II in the 17th Century but the tradition of making the posies remains "It has to be one of the world's oddest job titles," said Mrs Mason. “The nosegays are only carried at the Maundy service so I only work on them for one day every year," she said, adding that her work as a florist keeps her busy the rest of the time. But her job as the Queen’s Supplier of Nosegays is just for once a year!
Tonight the smell of feet will fill the air and there is no bouquet of flowers in sight to ward off unpleasant smells. How disgusting, how unappetising, how coarse, how common! Why, in the midst of our eating and drinking, would we dare to break with etiquette, why dare to break social norms and acceptable behaviour, and get our feet out? Why? Because on the night he gathered with his friends in an upstairs room, Jesus left the table and taking bowl and water and wearing a towel around his waist, bends to the feet of his disciples and washes their feet in a gesture that is so out of the ordinary it takes even his disciples by surprise. ‘What are you doing?’ ‘You will never wash my feet.’
But this is not a one-off. This is not an isolated gesture, it’s not a party trick, or a novelty, neither is it a once a year event, a gesture to look back on, smile at, gasp about or be lost in melancholy moments. Jesus is very clear about what he is doing and why he is doing it. ‘Do you understand what I have done to you?’ he asks. ‘You call me Master and Lord, and rightly so; so I am. If I, then, the Lord and Master have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have given you an example that you may copy what I have done to you.’
The command is there to continue what he has done, to copy his example, to carry on his work, to fulfil his command. The mandate has been set before us. It’s what we must do! And not just once a year either! The command to wash one another’s feet is one that should characterise our lives, it is one that should fill our lives, so that we become a stooping people: stooping low to serve, showing no partiality, no picking and choosing, no turning of our backs. I can’t decide to wash the feet of someone ‘respectable’ who looks as though their feet are clean but ignore the man I passed on Bute Street today, half cut, looking half human, gobbing in the street, staggering on his way, the smell clinging to his clothes. But that is the challenge, that is where Jesus wants us to be. Serving whoever comes our way. How difficult, how challenging – yet also how wonderful and beautiful it is too. It also means, of course, that there can be no picking and choosing of who serves us. Sometimes it is as difficult to have your feet washed as it is to wash the feet of someone else. Peter discovered that. ‘Not me, Lord.’
There is a story told by a Methodist Minister of fifty years of a dream he once had. He thought he was a tourist in heaven and wandered into the museum of that holy city. There was some old armour there, much bruised with battle. Many things were conspicuous by their absence. I saw nothing of Alexander’s nor of Napoleon’s There was no Pope’s ring, not even the inkpot that Luther is said to have thrown at the Devil, nor Wesley’s seal and keys…I saw a widow’s mite and the feathers of a little bird. I saw some swaddling clothes, a hammer and three nails and a few thorns. I saw a bit of fishing net and the broken oar of a boat. I saw a sponge that had once been dipped in vinegar, and a small piece of silver…Whilst I was turning over a common drinking cup which had a very honourable place, I whispered to the attendant, “have you not got a towel and a basin among your collection?’ ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not here. You see they are in constant use’
Read the gospel of John and you will find no account of the institution of Eucharist: it appears to be substituted by the washing of feet - because in a way, they are the same thing: an example of Jesus’ giving of himself to us. And if we too gather regularly at the Mass, to do as Jesus has commanded us to do – for that is why we do it – then we too should be filled with the courage and compassion to wash the feet of others, willingly, lovingly, regularly. We are servants of one another.
Oh yes, this night is a once in a year event, but the things that happen this evening, and all through the next few days are ‘Through the Year,’ Through our Lives’ things. For yes, there will be times when we will feel so intimate with Jesus, so close, so loving as though reclining at table with him, enjoying his company. There will be times when we will be aghast at the things he says. There will be times when we will want to argue or remonstrate, when we may want to take another way, a different way. There will be times when we will have our Gethsemane moments, when we will struggle like Jesus with what God wants us to do. There will be times when we will like Jesus, be left alone. There will be times, too, when, like the apostles, we will fear and fall away and distance ourselves from Jesus and even, at times, abandon or betray or disown him – God forbid. There will be times when we will feel as if we are put on trial, or like the apostles as though events are running away from us, as though they are out of our control and all we can do is stand by and watch. There will be times when we will experience our Golgotha moments of darkness and destitution, and our Holy Saturday moments too of waiting and waiting and feeling helpless and hopeless and not knowing what to do or where to turn and we will not be able to move on or move anywhere, when we will want to lock ourselves away. And there will be times too when we will be filled with the joy of the resurrection, with the joy of the empty tomb, of the unbelievable joy that Christ brings.
But tonight, tonight, of all nights, we will have our feet washed, and we will watch and wait with Jesus, and we will receive from Jesus’ hands the bread and wine, his body and blood, the gift of himself. And we will be challenged to move on from this night and take what we receive in this Mass, on this night, into our lives. Are you brave enough, foolish enough, are you trusting enough to move on? Are you inquisitive enough and thirsty enough to find out more and experience more and grow closer to Jesus? Do you dare to come close? And do you dare to have your feet washed? And do you dare to wash the feet of others?
On his death bed, St Francis said, ‘Let us now begin to serve the Lord for up to now we have done nothing.’ In serving the Lord we are called to serve one another.
So let us begin.
Tonight the smell of feet will fill the air and there is no bouquet of flowers in sight to ward off unpleasant smells. How disgusting, how unappetising, how coarse, how common! Why, in the midst of our eating and drinking, would we dare to break with etiquette, why dare to break social norms and acceptable behaviour, and get our feet out? Why? Because on the night he gathered with his friends in an upstairs room, Jesus left the table and taking bowl and water and wearing a towel around his waist, bends to the feet of his disciples and washes their feet in a gesture that is so out of the ordinary it takes even his disciples by surprise. ‘What are you doing?’ ‘You will never wash my feet.’
But this is not a one-off. This is not an isolated gesture, it’s not a party trick, or a novelty, neither is it a once a year event, a gesture to look back on, smile at, gasp about or be lost in melancholy moments. Jesus is very clear about what he is doing and why he is doing it. ‘Do you understand what I have done to you?’ he asks. ‘You call me Master and Lord, and rightly so; so I am. If I, then, the Lord and Master have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have given you an example that you may copy what I have done to you.’
The command is there to continue what he has done, to copy his example, to carry on his work, to fulfil his command. The mandate has been set before us. It’s what we must do! And not just once a year either! The command to wash one another’s feet is one that should characterise our lives, it is one that should fill our lives, so that we become a stooping people: stooping low to serve, showing no partiality, no picking and choosing, no turning of our backs. I can’t decide to wash the feet of someone ‘respectable’ who looks as though their feet are clean but ignore the man I passed on Bute Street today, half cut, looking half human, gobbing in the street, staggering on his way, the smell clinging to his clothes. But that is the challenge, that is where Jesus wants us to be. Serving whoever comes our way. How difficult, how challenging – yet also how wonderful and beautiful it is too. It also means, of course, that there can be no picking and choosing of who serves us. Sometimes it is as difficult to have your feet washed as it is to wash the feet of someone else. Peter discovered that. ‘Not me, Lord.’
There is a story told by a Methodist Minister of fifty years of a dream he once had. He thought he was a tourist in heaven and wandered into the museum of that holy city. There was some old armour there, much bruised with battle. Many things were conspicuous by their absence. I saw nothing of Alexander’s nor of Napoleon’s There was no Pope’s ring, not even the inkpot that Luther is said to have thrown at the Devil, nor Wesley’s seal and keys…I saw a widow’s mite and the feathers of a little bird. I saw some swaddling clothes, a hammer and three nails and a few thorns. I saw a bit of fishing net and the broken oar of a boat. I saw a sponge that had once been dipped in vinegar, and a small piece of silver…Whilst I was turning over a common drinking cup which had a very honourable place, I whispered to the attendant, “have you not got a towel and a basin among your collection?’ ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not here. You see they are in constant use’
Read the gospel of John and you will find no account of the institution of Eucharist: it appears to be substituted by the washing of feet - because in a way, they are the same thing: an example of Jesus’ giving of himself to us. And if we too gather regularly at the Mass, to do as Jesus has commanded us to do – for that is why we do it – then we too should be filled with the courage and compassion to wash the feet of others, willingly, lovingly, regularly. We are servants of one another.
Oh yes, this night is a once in a year event, but the things that happen this evening, and all through the next few days are ‘Through the Year,’ Through our Lives’ things. For yes, there will be times when we will feel so intimate with Jesus, so close, so loving as though reclining at table with him, enjoying his company. There will be times when we will be aghast at the things he says. There will be times when we will want to argue or remonstrate, when we may want to take another way, a different way. There will be times when we will have our Gethsemane moments, when we will struggle like Jesus with what God wants us to do. There will be times when we will like Jesus, be left alone. There will be times, too, when, like the apostles, we will fear and fall away and distance ourselves from Jesus and even, at times, abandon or betray or disown him – God forbid. There will be times when we will feel as if we are put on trial, or like the apostles as though events are running away from us, as though they are out of our control and all we can do is stand by and watch. There will be times when we will experience our Golgotha moments of darkness and destitution, and our Holy Saturday moments too of waiting and waiting and feeling helpless and hopeless and not knowing what to do or where to turn and we will not be able to move on or move anywhere, when we will want to lock ourselves away. And there will be times too when we will be filled with the joy of the resurrection, with the joy of the empty tomb, of the unbelievable joy that Christ brings.
But tonight, tonight, of all nights, we will have our feet washed, and we will watch and wait with Jesus, and we will receive from Jesus’ hands the bread and wine, his body and blood, the gift of himself. And we will be challenged to move on from this night and take what we receive in this Mass, on this night, into our lives. Are you brave enough, foolish enough, are you trusting enough to move on? Are you inquisitive enough and thirsty enough to find out more and experience more and grow closer to Jesus? Do you dare to come close? And do you dare to have your feet washed? And do you dare to wash the feet of others?
On his death bed, St Francis said, ‘Let us now begin to serve the Lord for up to now we have done nothing.’ In serving the Lord we are called to serve one another.
So let us begin.
Wednesday 8 April 2009
Wednesday in Holy Week
Do you have trouble with sprouts? Are you averse to cabbage or swede or tinned tomatoes or sweetcorn? Do you remember pushing the plate away as a child or refusing to eat your greens? A new survey has revealed that the memories of our childhood eating habits have a huge impact on our tastes in later life. Almost half of the people questioned in the survey admitted not trying the food in adult life that gave them their earliest ‘bad flavour’ memory. A Smell expert from Cardiff University said that flavour was actually a mixture of two senses - taste and smell - and in many people these were inherently conservative. "We spend our formative years being fed with things that are sweet and quite bland,’ he said. ‘Once we have established what foods we need to survive, why change it? We often don't want to take that risk.’ In other words, why be left with a bad taste in our mouth?
The meal in tonight’s gospel reading is, of course, a well known one. The room has been carefully chosen, the table prepared, and the food determined by Jewish ritual. Imagine the tastes and the smells. Imagine the scene. That carefully chosen upstairs room is the place that Jesus shares the Passover with his disciples. And in the midst of this traditional fare, this important celebration, this cultural ritual of the Jewish people, Jesus gives it a new meaning. He takes bread, he takes wine and offers the food to his disciples as his body and blood. The food he gives is the gift of himself and an eloquent image of his self giving love. What better food could we wish for?
Yet this meal will leave a bad taste in the mouth. Already Judas Iscariot has been planning the betrayal of Jesus. And whilst they are eating, Jesus tells them so…but only in a manner of speaking. In saying that one of them will betray him, the disciples reveal their own insecurities, their own self-doubt. They shock themselves into thinking that they could be the one to let Jesus down, to hand Jesus over, the one for whom it would be better that he had never been born. ‘Not I, Lord, surely?’ Are they…is any one of them…capable of betraying Jesus? And so their distress fills the air. There is a bad taste in their mouth. Jesus says that someone who has dipped his hand in the same dish, someone who has sat at the same table, someone who has enjoyed the same meal with him, will slip out into darkness. ‘Better that he had never been born.’ How final, how severe, how awful.
Yet, this is the meal to which they will return again and again. This is the meal that we share so often: for Jesus has ordered it to be so. Their memories of Jesus betrayal, suffering and death will always be associated with this meal, they will never shake that memory, the taste of death, the smell of betrayal. But it will also be the meal that will assure them of his risen presence. And so we, when we break bread and drink the cup, call to mind the Lord’s death. It is bitter sweet. For although it comes through pain and suffering, it comes with the reward of Christ’s risen life.
I hope you enjoy your food.
Readings: Isaiah 50:4-9; Matthew 26:14-25
The meal in tonight’s gospel reading is, of course, a well known one. The room has been carefully chosen, the table prepared, and the food determined by Jewish ritual. Imagine the tastes and the smells. Imagine the scene. That carefully chosen upstairs room is the place that Jesus shares the Passover with his disciples. And in the midst of this traditional fare, this important celebration, this cultural ritual of the Jewish people, Jesus gives it a new meaning. He takes bread, he takes wine and offers the food to his disciples as his body and blood. The food he gives is the gift of himself and an eloquent image of his self giving love. What better food could we wish for?
Yet this meal will leave a bad taste in the mouth. Already Judas Iscariot has been planning the betrayal of Jesus. And whilst they are eating, Jesus tells them so…but only in a manner of speaking. In saying that one of them will betray him, the disciples reveal their own insecurities, their own self-doubt. They shock themselves into thinking that they could be the one to let Jesus down, to hand Jesus over, the one for whom it would be better that he had never been born. ‘Not I, Lord, surely?’ Are they…is any one of them…capable of betraying Jesus? And so their distress fills the air. There is a bad taste in their mouth. Jesus says that someone who has dipped his hand in the same dish, someone who has sat at the same table, someone who has enjoyed the same meal with him, will slip out into darkness. ‘Better that he had never been born.’ How final, how severe, how awful.
Yet, this is the meal to which they will return again and again. This is the meal that we share so often: for Jesus has ordered it to be so. Their memories of Jesus betrayal, suffering and death will always be associated with this meal, they will never shake that memory, the taste of death, the smell of betrayal. But it will also be the meal that will assure them of his risen presence. And so we, when we break bread and drink the cup, call to mind the Lord’s death. It is bitter sweet. For although it comes through pain and suffering, it comes with the reward of Christ’s risen life.
I hope you enjoy your food.
Readings: Isaiah 50:4-9; Matthew 26:14-25
Tuesday 7 April 2009
Tuesday in Holy Week
There is a well-known saying, ‘The road to hell is paved with good intentions.’ It’s a very powerful saying. All of us, at times, are guilty of intending to do so many good things, to have a good heart, with good thoughts and good plans but capable too of putting them off and never getting them done. ‘The intention was there, I intended to do it, I just never got around to it.’
Peter too is in a similar place. His heart is good, his heart is brave, his heart is filled with good intentions. And when he hears Jesus speaking about moving on to a place they cannot follow Peter declares from his heart that he will follow Jesus where ever he goes. And more than that - Peter says, from the heart, that he would lay down his life for Jesus. And he means it. That is his intention. Perhaps hearing Jesus speak on so many occasions about laying his own life down, Peter had immersed the words for himself, he had adapted the values and vision of Jesus; the sayings and turn of phrase were on his lips and in his heart. Little did Peter know that his good intentions would also bring him to his own experience of hell: of darkness and destitution, of tears and pain and separation from the one he loves.
‘Before the cock crows three times, you will disown me three times,’ says Jesus to Peter. How awful, how terrible, how rude of Jesus to belittle Peter’s intentions, to put him down even before he has had the chance to prove his passion or deliver the goods. Yet Jesus sees into his heart, and he knows that his intentions are good. But Jesus knows, too, that he will have to go through this one all on his own.
Already the intentions of another have been planted and they are beginning to come to fruition. Who knows what’s going through Judas’s mind. The Gospel writer paints him in no uncertain language as a thief, and from the time he slips out of the room on the night that Jesus shares a meal with his friends he will forever be known as the one who betrayed Jesus. And Jesus sees into his heart too. ‘What you are going to do, do quickly,’ says Jesus to Judas. Yet Jesus has chosen him too, just as he had chosen Peter and Andrew and James and John and the other odd collection of men, all filled with good intentions.
Meanwhile, we are left reclining with Jesus at table, listening in on the conversation of Jesus with his friends and followers, seeing into their hearts. And Jesus sees into our hearts too. He knows how strong and full of courage we are, how faithful we are, how fascinating and loyal, how filled with good intentions we are. And he knows too how weak and feeble, how so easily distracted, how dull, how misunderstanding, how hot and cold, how confused and confusing we all are at times.
And Jesus moves on, moves closer and closer, closer to the cross. And we too follow, sometimes from a distance, a safe distance, a dangerous distance. We are, of course, unlike those disciples, blessed with hindsight. Yet, we too are looking forward, moving on, and none of us knows what lies around the corner, and where our good intentions will take us. All we know is that Jesus is there as he is here, that what he has done and continues to do is borne from love. He is committed to his people. He never lets us down. He makes up for what we lack, and gives us all we need. And there is plenty of room for forgiveness.
Readings: John 13:21-33. 36-38
Peter too is in a similar place. His heart is good, his heart is brave, his heart is filled with good intentions. And when he hears Jesus speaking about moving on to a place they cannot follow Peter declares from his heart that he will follow Jesus where ever he goes. And more than that - Peter says, from the heart, that he would lay down his life for Jesus. And he means it. That is his intention. Perhaps hearing Jesus speak on so many occasions about laying his own life down, Peter had immersed the words for himself, he had adapted the values and vision of Jesus; the sayings and turn of phrase were on his lips and in his heart. Little did Peter know that his good intentions would also bring him to his own experience of hell: of darkness and destitution, of tears and pain and separation from the one he loves.
‘Before the cock crows three times, you will disown me three times,’ says Jesus to Peter. How awful, how terrible, how rude of Jesus to belittle Peter’s intentions, to put him down even before he has had the chance to prove his passion or deliver the goods. Yet Jesus sees into his heart, and he knows that his intentions are good. But Jesus knows, too, that he will have to go through this one all on his own.
Already the intentions of another have been planted and they are beginning to come to fruition. Who knows what’s going through Judas’s mind. The Gospel writer paints him in no uncertain language as a thief, and from the time he slips out of the room on the night that Jesus shares a meal with his friends he will forever be known as the one who betrayed Jesus. And Jesus sees into his heart too. ‘What you are going to do, do quickly,’ says Jesus to Judas. Yet Jesus has chosen him too, just as he had chosen Peter and Andrew and James and John and the other odd collection of men, all filled with good intentions.
Meanwhile, we are left reclining with Jesus at table, listening in on the conversation of Jesus with his friends and followers, seeing into their hearts. And Jesus sees into our hearts too. He knows how strong and full of courage we are, how faithful we are, how fascinating and loyal, how filled with good intentions we are. And he knows too how weak and feeble, how so easily distracted, how dull, how misunderstanding, how hot and cold, how confused and confusing we all are at times.
And Jesus moves on, moves closer and closer, closer to the cross. And we too follow, sometimes from a distance, a safe distance, a dangerous distance. We are, of course, unlike those disciples, blessed with hindsight. Yet, we too are looking forward, moving on, and none of us knows what lies around the corner, and where our good intentions will take us. All we know is that Jesus is there as he is here, that what he has done and continues to do is borne from love. He is committed to his people. He never lets us down. He makes up for what we lack, and gives us all we need. And there is plenty of room for forgiveness.
Readings: John 13:21-33. 36-38
Monday in Holy Week
There appears to be a rather simple yet ingenious trend at the moment to get people to read. There is now a large growing number of short books called Easy Reads, written by famous authors and celebrities, usually costing just a few pounds, and short enough not to be too daunting for the timid or casual reader. And so there is a challenge on the writer’s part to be economical with words: to give a good read and to encourage people to go on reading.
Tonight’s gospel reading is relatively short. It’s certainly not as long and demanding as the reading of the Passion at yesterday’s Mass and which will be read again on Good Friday. Yes, tonight’s gospel is rather short especially when you consider how much it contains: not one word or image is wasted.
The scene is set at Lazarus’ house: the one whom Jesus had raised from the dead. There is a dinner – what thoughts fill our minds with the image of them reclining and relaxing and sharing in a meal as they talk the night away: a mix of formality and informality. There is the rather ungainly and perhaps embarrassing incident of Mary anointing Jesus’ feet and…then…wiping them with her hair? There is the description of the scent filling the room. There is the squabbling over money, Jesus’ blunt and challenging talk about his impending death and burial, the loaded aside about Judas Iscariot as the one who was to betray Jesus, calling him a thief, explaining how he dipped his hand into the common fund; the snapping of Jesus to leave this woman alone, the plotting of the chief priests to kill both Lazarus and Jesus, the crowds gathering at the doors to see the one who had raised a man from the dead. The gospel reading tonight is dark and rich, it is both colourful and blood curdling. It is sombre, surreal, fragile and beautiful, and it draws us, it fills us with the scent of Jesus, and gives an idea of what this Holy Week may mean. It has been chosen, perhaps, to encourage us to go on, it draws us on, to find out more, to experience more.
And so the scene is set for the rest of the week. The characters and individuals are taking their place in the great drama that is to be unfolded. The ebullient and beautiful gestures, the gnashing of teeth, the murderous plots, the jealousy, the anxiety, the scent of death filling every scene, and Jesus moves on, in his own time, in his own way, closer and closer, closer to the cross.
Tonight we sit at table with Jesus. A dinner is prepared. There is the scent of something in the air, the scent of death hanging over us, and the scent too of something beautiful: the fragile task of preparing to celebrate Jesus’ death and burial. There is the scent also of resurrection in the air. We are after all in the presence of the risen Lord. And yet we too are moving closer and closer to the cross. The Mass tonight is short, the gospel reading is short, the homily too is short (you may be pleased to hear) and all the time we are being drawn in, called on, encouraged to move closer, to discover again, to discover anew, to discover for ourselves the undying love of God who loves us to death.
Readings: Isaiah 41:1-7; John 12:1-11
Tonight’s gospel reading is relatively short. It’s certainly not as long and demanding as the reading of the Passion at yesterday’s Mass and which will be read again on Good Friday. Yes, tonight’s gospel is rather short especially when you consider how much it contains: not one word or image is wasted.
The scene is set at Lazarus’ house: the one whom Jesus had raised from the dead. There is a dinner – what thoughts fill our minds with the image of them reclining and relaxing and sharing in a meal as they talk the night away: a mix of formality and informality. There is the rather ungainly and perhaps embarrassing incident of Mary anointing Jesus’ feet and…then…wiping them with her hair? There is the description of the scent filling the room. There is the squabbling over money, Jesus’ blunt and challenging talk about his impending death and burial, the loaded aside about Judas Iscariot as the one who was to betray Jesus, calling him a thief, explaining how he dipped his hand into the common fund; the snapping of Jesus to leave this woman alone, the plotting of the chief priests to kill both Lazarus and Jesus, the crowds gathering at the doors to see the one who had raised a man from the dead. The gospel reading tonight is dark and rich, it is both colourful and blood curdling. It is sombre, surreal, fragile and beautiful, and it draws us, it fills us with the scent of Jesus, and gives an idea of what this Holy Week may mean. It has been chosen, perhaps, to encourage us to go on, it draws us on, to find out more, to experience more.
And so the scene is set for the rest of the week. The characters and individuals are taking their place in the great drama that is to be unfolded. The ebullient and beautiful gestures, the gnashing of teeth, the murderous plots, the jealousy, the anxiety, the scent of death filling every scene, and Jesus moves on, in his own time, in his own way, closer and closer, closer to the cross.
Tonight we sit at table with Jesus. A dinner is prepared. There is the scent of something in the air, the scent of death hanging over us, and the scent too of something beautiful: the fragile task of preparing to celebrate Jesus’ death and burial. There is the scent also of resurrection in the air. We are after all in the presence of the risen Lord. And yet we too are moving closer and closer to the cross. The Mass tonight is short, the gospel reading is short, the homily too is short (you may be pleased to hear) and all the time we are being drawn in, called on, encouraged to move closer, to discover again, to discover anew, to discover for ourselves the undying love of God who loves us to death.
Readings: Isaiah 41:1-7; John 12:1-11
Tuesday 3 March 2009
St David, Bishop and Patron of Wales
The headline said it all. ‘Wales and World honour St David.’ A quick read through the article on the BBC’s News website gave a colourful collection of various things that happened around the world to honour St David: from free entry to the Botanical Gardens of Wales near Carmarthen inviting hundreds of people to turn up in traditional Welsh dress and break the wordld record for the largest gathering of people in welsh dress. The St David’s Day marches went off in Cardiff and elsewhere, the Mayor of London raised the Welsh flag over the city for two days and wished every one a happy St David’s Day, Chester Zoo offered free entry to anyone with the name ‘David’ and across the waters in Chicago, the iconic Wrigley Building was lit up on St David's Day evening in the red, green and white of the Welsh flag, while Sir Tom Jones performed in concert in Boston. Meanwhile the Welsh Rugby team lose to France slashing our Grand Slam hopes! Yes, Wales and the World have been honouring St David.
Or have they? Did all of those celebrations – and many more like them – really honour St David? They certainly celebrated St David’s Day, they definitely celebrated the nation of Wales and what it may mean to be Welsh – but I suspect that honouring of St David came a very distant second – a bit like the Welsh Rugby team on Friday night. Of course, David is the patron saint of Wales and the day we celebrate any nation’s patron saint often gets assuaged by a celebration of what it means to be a member of that nation…and that is, or should be, all well and good. But if we were to honour St David – truly honour him – what would we do? And who would we be honouring anyway?
Little historical fact is known about St David: there are anecdotes and stories and tales to tell, which provide interesting material. But in honouring St David we would, first and foremost, be honouring a man of faith: a man who strived for holiness, a man who worked so hard to try to live the life that God wanted him to live. A man who attempted to place Christ at the heart of all he did and said. In honouring St David we would, first and foremost, be following his well-known call (to us, at least) to ‘Be joyful’ and ‘Keep the Faith’ - not a bad catchphrase to have and certainly a good one to live by. We would be honouring a man who worked hard for the sake of the gospel, who embraced the gospel whole-heartedly and who by his leadership and inspiration enabled the gospel to grow among the people of Wales. ‘Do the little things that you have seen me do and heard about,’ he said. So it seems that if we wish to honour St David we don’t need to do very much at all. It seems that we only have to do the little things that David himself has done. And what are those little things? Are they rasing the welsh flag, eating welsh cakes or wearing daffodils? As fun as they are and as much as I like doing all of those things they are not the things that really matter. We need to look for the small things that we can do that will share the gospel with those with whom we live, to bring the compassion and love and healing of Christ to those whom we meet from day to day. And no matter what comes our way, or what way we take, to be joyful and to keep the faith of Christ.
Or have they? Did all of those celebrations – and many more like them – really honour St David? They certainly celebrated St David’s Day, they definitely celebrated the nation of Wales and what it may mean to be Welsh – but I suspect that honouring of St David came a very distant second – a bit like the Welsh Rugby team on Friday night. Of course, David is the patron saint of Wales and the day we celebrate any nation’s patron saint often gets assuaged by a celebration of what it means to be a member of that nation…and that is, or should be, all well and good. But if we were to honour St David – truly honour him – what would we do? And who would we be honouring anyway?
Little historical fact is known about St David: there are anecdotes and stories and tales to tell, which provide interesting material. But in honouring St David we would, first and foremost, be honouring a man of faith: a man who strived for holiness, a man who worked so hard to try to live the life that God wanted him to live. A man who attempted to place Christ at the heart of all he did and said. In honouring St David we would, first and foremost, be following his well-known call (to us, at least) to ‘Be joyful’ and ‘Keep the Faith’ - not a bad catchphrase to have and certainly a good one to live by. We would be honouring a man who worked hard for the sake of the gospel, who embraced the gospel whole-heartedly and who by his leadership and inspiration enabled the gospel to grow among the people of Wales. ‘Do the little things that you have seen me do and heard about,’ he said. So it seems that if we wish to honour St David we don’t need to do very much at all. It seems that we only have to do the little things that David himself has done. And what are those little things? Are they rasing the welsh flag, eating welsh cakes or wearing daffodils? As fun as they are and as much as I like doing all of those things they are not the things that really matter. We need to look for the small things that we can do that will share the gospel with those with whom we live, to bring the compassion and love and healing of Christ to those whom we meet from day to day. And no matter what comes our way, or what way we take, to be joyful and to keep the faith of Christ.
Thursday 22 January 2009
Thursday, Second Week in Ordinary Time, Year B
There has been some conflict in Georgia lately – thankfully not the sort we saw some months ago - but a conflict between the Head of the Georgian Orthodox Church and a TV show called Top Ten Best Georgians. The programme is modelled on the BBC’s 100 Top Britons. In Georgia voting by more than 300,000 viewers has put one of Georgia's most widely celebrated medieval kings - now known to the Church as Saint David the Builder- into the Top 50. A further 13 saints has also made it on to the shortlist. At once the Georgian Orthodox Church protested that saints should never have been part of the contest because it was, in their words, unjustified to make the public put them in rank order. The TV channel that airs the show is still trying to decide how to respond. It is rare for anyone in a position of authority - even leading politicians - to oppose the view of the Georgian patriarch. The programme editors say that they will not be hurried into a decision and recording for the next edition will go ahead on Thursday. Will the saints be allowed in to the Top Ten? We shall have to wait and see!
Meanwhile, in the Letter to the Hebrews there is no question about rank. The letter writer, keen to express to the Jewish Community to whom he is writing that Jesus is the expected Messiah, talks about Jesus as the ideal high priest, above and beyond any high priest who has ever been before: ‘Holy, innocent and uncontaminated, beyond the influence of sinners, and raised up above the heavens…we have seen that he has been given a ministry of a far higher order, and to the same degree it is a better covenant of which he is the mediator, founded on better promises.” In the gospel reading Jesus is proving more popular then ever. People are gathering to him in great numbers, and they are coming to him from all over the place: from Judaea, Jerusalem, Idumaea, Transjordania and the region of Tyre and Sidon, and in great numbers. In fact there are so many people that Jesus has to arrange for a boat to be at the ready to save him being crushed by the crowds. There is no question in their minds as to the one who really matters.
Today we remember and thank God for St Vincent, a deacon and martyr of the Church who was killed in the persecutions of Diocletian in the early fourth century. Our society and culture, of course, is very different from that of fourth century Rome and of 21st century Georgia. There are those, of course, who would wish us Christians no harm, there are those who couldn’t care less or who never think about what is important to us, there are others who are curious or questioning or inquisitive, and there is also a number of people who are actively antagonistic towards Christ and his Church. In whatever way we are met by those around us, we still believe that Jesus is the Christ, whose ‘power to save is utterly certain, since he is living for ever to intercede for all who come to God through him.’ It doesn’t make us better than anyone else, it doesn’t make one Christian better than any other: we all fail at times - and where indeed would you begin in ranking any of us anyway. But we are all in this together, and whether or not we are popular for choosing the life we choose it matters not. The one who really counts and the one who really matter is Jesus. Conflict over!
Readings: Hebrews 7:25 - 8:6, Mark 3:7-12
The illustration for the homily may be found here
Meanwhile, in the Letter to the Hebrews there is no question about rank. The letter writer, keen to express to the Jewish Community to whom he is writing that Jesus is the expected Messiah, talks about Jesus as the ideal high priest, above and beyond any high priest who has ever been before: ‘Holy, innocent and uncontaminated, beyond the influence of sinners, and raised up above the heavens…we have seen that he has been given a ministry of a far higher order, and to the same degree it is a better covenant of which he is the mediator, founded on better promises.” In the gospel reading Jesus is proving more popular then ever. People are gathering to him in great numbers, and they are coming to him from all over the place: from Judaea, Jerusalem, Idumaea, Transjordania and the region of Tyre and Sidon, and in great numbers. In fact there are so many people that Jesus has to arrange for a boat to be at the ready to save him being crushed by the crowds. There is no question in their minds as to the one who really matters.
Today we remember and thank God for St Vincent, a deacon and martyr of the Church who was killed in the persecutions of Diocletian in the early fourth century. Our society and culture, of course, is very different from that of fourth century Rome and of 21st century Georgia. There are those, of course, who would wish us Christians no harm, there are those who couldn’t care less or who never think about what is important to us, there are others who are curious or questioning or inquisitive, and there is also a number of people who are actively antagonistic towards Christ and his Church. In whatever way we are met by those around us, we still believe that Jesus is the Christ, whose ‘power to save is utterly certain, since he is living for ever to intercede for all who come to God through him.’ It doesn’t make us better than anyone else, it doesn’t make one Christian better than any other: we all fail at times - and where indeed would you begin in ranking any of us anyway. But we are all in this together, and whether or not we are popular for choosing the life we choose it matters not. The one who really counts and the one who really matter is Jesus. Conflict over!
Readings: Hebrews 7:25 - 8:6, Mark 3:7-12
The illustration for the homily may be found here
Sunday 18 January 2009
Second Sunday of Ordinary Time, Year B
‘What’s occurring?’ If you’re a Gavin and Stacey fan you’ll know where that catchphrase comes from, and you will no doubt be looking forward to the Third Series. The series hasn’t been written yet, but Ruth Jones (who plays Nessa in the series) and her co-writer James Cordon are soon to sit down and get the scripts on paper. Speaking at the Royal Court's Young Writers Festival she said the pressure is on but the scripts should be finished by the end of March. She also talked about what it feels like to write. 'With acting you are a little bit protected,' she said, 'you have other actors with you, as well as the writer and the director. But when you've written something it's such a fragile and lonely process. You are never quite sure how it's going to be perceived.’ She refused to give any hints as to what happens to the characters but she said, ‘We've always known how it's going to end, it's a good thing to know where you're heading to.’
That’s not bad advice for life, really, is it? And it’s not bad advice for us in our Christian discipleship: to have some kind of direction in life, to know where we’re heading. That’s not to say that we won’t experience unexpected events or circumstances, or that we won’t get confused along the way, that we won’t feel fragile or lonely at times, or worry about how we are perceived by others. It doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t be willing to be led in certain directions if that is where God is leading us. But ultimately our direction is or should be towards God. (Sometimes, of course, we veer away from God: it’s so easily done and before we know it we can find ourselves a little lost and off track and far away from God. But Jesus never abandons us, and it’s never too late to get back on track, to look to where we are heading).
I love the image in the gospel reading of Jesus taking those followers home to where he lives. They are searching and seeking for the Messiah, they have been waiting for him, and now they think they have found him. And so they go out to see. They follow Jesus, and Jesus (aware that they are following him) turns around and asks them, ‘What do you want?’ (Maybe Nessa would have another turn of phrase: ‘What’s occurring?’) ‘Rabbi, where do you live?’ they ask. It doesn’t actually answer his question. Or does it? They haven’t directly said what they want, but they obviously want to know more about Jesus: they want to know where he lives. Maybe they are waiting for an invitation. Maybe they are too timid or fragile or scared to ask directly, ‘Can we spend more time with you? Can we talk with you? Can we be with you? Can we follow you? Can we come home with you?’ Jesus answers them, ‘Come and see.’ It’s an invitation for them to come and see for themselves. And so they go home with him. They spend the rest of the day with him at home with Jesus.
Apart from being extremely funny, Gavin and Stacey is about relationships, it’s about falling in love and being in love, it’s about the ups and downs of life, of being together and trying to find your way through it all. The Gospel reading today is quite obviously about discipleship, about following. But discipleship is also about a relationship: it’s about wanting to be with Jesus, to be where Jesus is, to live as Jesus wants us to live, to love as Jesus loves us. When we follow Jesus there is (or should be) a sense of feeling at home, of being at home with Jesus. Yes, there is and always will (and always should) be a sense of awe and wonder (as in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe when Mrs Beaver says about Aslan the Lion ‘If there’s anyone who can appear before Aslan without their knees knocking, they’re either braver than most or else just silly.’) But there’s also an intimacy, a closeness, an intimate friendship. In the first reading, Samuel is called whilst he is lying down, trying to get some sleep. It’s a very homely image, a nice domestic scene. The voice he hears is so intimate, so close, so familiar, that he thinks it is Eli calling him in the night. It is, of course, God.
We too are called to be close and intimate with Jesus, called to have a warmth about our faith, called to be be and feel at home with Jesus. It doesn’t mean being over familiar, or flippant or casual. Perhaps we could call it having an intimate or familiar holiness. Here in this Eucharist we are gathered around the table of the Lord. How intimate is that? But more than that, he gives himself as food and drink. Henri Nouwen said, ‘The Eucharist is the most ordinary and divine gesture imaginable.’ And I think I read somewhere that Mother Teresa once said of receiving communion, ‘I’m not sure which is the case: that I receive Jesus in communion, or he receives me.’ It is, of course, both. Through sacrament and prayer, through reading the Bible, through discovering Jesus at home and in every part of our lives, we really can and should feel at home with Jesus. And, of course, be able to take Jesus home with us!
Readings: 1 Samuel 3:3-10.9; 1 Corinthians 6:13-15. 17-20; John 1:35-42
The homily illustration may be found here
Saturday 17 January 2009
First Week in Ordinary Time, Saturday
Lionel Bart's musical Oliver has become the fastest selling stage show in the West End. Part of the new attraction of the musical is that it stars the winner of the BBC Talent show ‘I’ll do Anything,’ Jodie Prenger, as Nancy but the other attraction, of course, is that it stars the comedy actor Rowan Atkinson as Fagin. The character of Fagin is a colourful and well-known one and has been played so well by many talented performers over the years. One reporter said, ‘What is a revelation is that Atkinson can not only hold a tune but can make you feel sympathetic towards this scoundrel.’
In the gospel reading we have a scoundrel in our midst, a tax collector. Matthew by name. He, like many if not most tax collectors of the day was looked upon as a devious character who colluded with the occupying authorities and who, from time to time, would pick a pocket or two. The people just cannot believe that Jesus is bothering to bother with him. And not only is Matthew called, invited, beckoned (choose your own word) to follow Jesus, he invites him to his house for dinner. ‘Why does he eat with tax collectors and sinners?’ they ask. Jesus is spending time with scoundrels. The onlookers don’t like it. They think it's time he reviewed the situation. Yet Jesus is full of sympathy and, more than that, with compassion for these scoundrels. He overhears the remarks. ‘I did not come to call the virtuous,’ he said ‘but sinners.’
We are often on both sides of that story. There are times when we may be surprised that we are called by Jesus, or that he (or anyone else for that matter) would bother to bother with us. And there are other times when we look on and wonder why anyone would want to waste their time spending time or giving time to those we may consider being far from perfect and who don’t fit into our idea of what’s acceptable or tidy. But Jesus has indeed come to call sinners, and that includes you and me. Jesus does not dish out meagre portions of his love and compassion. He lavishes it upon us. As the letter writer to the Hebrews says: ‘Let us be confident, then, in approaching the throne of grace, that we shall have mercy from him and find grace to help in time of need.’ So here we are to dine with Jesus, and what gifts he lavishes upon us in the Eucharist. So, sit up, eat up, get your feet under the table, there is plenty to go around…even for us scoundrels!
Readings: Hebrews 4:12 -16; Mark 2:13-17
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/7830126.stm
St Antony, Abbot
Today is the memorial of St Antony, Patriarch of Monks, St. Antony (251-356) retired to the desert when he was eighteen years old. He was the first abbot to form a stable rule for his family of monks. His talents at spiritual direction were famous, and many people travelled to the desert to seek his advice
Saturday 10 January 2009
Saturday after Epiphany
If the Credit Crunch has got you counting your pennies then you should take a note out of Ieuan Butler’s book. The 42 year old from Pembrokeshire has been voted Britain’s ‘tightest man’ in a TV Show on Channel 4. He has worn the same work boots for seven years and his trainers since 1987. But he has only £18,000 left on his mortgage and has put one child through university and two through college. He said: "A lot of people can learn from me the way the current climate is. Money's hard to come by." He never goes to the pub and does not visit the cinema, instead preferring to wait until DVDs are reduced to £2. To top it all, he plans on getting married soon: on a budget of £500 compared to the average £18,500 that most couples spend, because it will be on a beach and people will be asked to bring a bottle. His wedding will be for just 40 close family and friends, with a small buffet, a few drinks, plus any bottles they bring. He said: ‘People come to the wedding for the bride and groom and their happy day. It's not all about the food and alcohol.’
Well, that’s much the same message that John the Baptist brings in the gospel reading today. He isn’t greedy for more than he needs. ‘A man can lay claim only to what is given him from heaven,’ he says. John compares himself to the bridegroom’s friend who is glad when the groom arrives. After all, it’s the groom and his bride that people have come to see, not the best man. He’s not there to steal the show, or take all the attention. In fact, as soon as Jesus appears on the scene John the Baptist is happy to stand back and allow Jesus to take the limelight. ‘He must grow greater, I must grow smaller,’ he says. John the Baptist is cutting back, he is reducing his own significance, beginning to draw back into the shadows. When Jesus arrives it is John the Baptist’s happy day.
The Credit Crunch has made lots of us careful about how we spend our money and maybe lots of people are doing without some of the luxuries and only concentrating on what’s really important in life, on the basic necessities. It may mean that some people are not so happy. But Credit Crunch or not, in times of affluence or penny pinching, when things are going well or we are struggling to make ends meet only one thing is important. John the Baptist points us towards what’s important: to the one who completes our joy and makes us truly happy, the one who gives us all we need.
Readings: 1 John 5:5-13; Luke 5:12-16
The illustration for the homily may be found here
Well, that’s much the same message that John the Baptist brings in the gospel reading today. He isn’t greedy for more than he needs. ‘A man can lay claim only to what is given him from heaven,’ he says. John compares himself to the bridegroom’s friend who is glad when the groom arrives. After all, it’s the groom and his bride that people have come to see, not the best man. He’s not there to steal the show, or take all the attention. In fact, as soon as Jesus appears on the scene John the Baptist is happy to stand back and allow Jesus to take the limelight. ‘He must grow greater, I must grow smaller,’ he says. John the Baptist is cutting back, he is reducing his own significance, beginning to draw back into the shadows. When Jesus arrives it is John the Baptist’s happy day.
The Credit Crunch has made lots of us careful about how we spend our money and maybe lots of people are doing without some of the luxuries and only concentrating on what’s really important in life, on the basic necessities. It may mean that some people are not so happy. But Credit Crunch or not, in times of affluence or penny pinching, when things are going well or we are struggling to make ends meet only one thing is important. John the Baptist points us towards what’s important: to the one who completes our joy and makes us truly happy, the one who gives us all we need.
Readings: 1 John 5:5-13; Luke 5:12-16
The illustration for the homily may be found here
Thursday 8 January 2009
Thursday after Epiphany
A story to make you smile. Two young elopers from Germany have been stopped by police from running away to Africa to tie the knot. Guards at the Hanover Railway Station were suspicious of the two young elopers who had sneaked away from their parents’ homes in the early hours of the morning and were waiting for a train to the airport. They were “very much in love” said a spokesman and wanted to go to Africa because “it is warm.” However, being aged only 5 and 6yrs of age, and accompanied by the girl’s 7 yr old sister as a witness, they didn’t get as far as they wanted. The police were called and they convinced the young children that they wouldn’t get very far without tickets. They were later reunited with their parents. The story is a rather cute one of course with a happy ending, although it could have ended disastrously and dangerously. Thank goodness they are safe. At only five or six I would imagine they have a lot to learn about love and romance and getting married. For now, they have to be put their plans on hold. They will have to wait some time before they tie the knot!
The reading from the first letter of St John, at first glance, seems to be tying us up in knots. But the letter tells a love story – the story of God who is not just loving or loveable but is love itself and who is very much in love with the people he has created. His love was revealed, says St John, when he sent his Son into the world so that we could have life through him. The reason we love one another and the reason we know what love is, is because God has loved us first. And if we say we love God the proof of that will be in how we love one another. But now we really do seem to be getting all wrapped up in knots, and love is sounding quite complicated. So much for tying the knot!
A crucifix was recently removed from the outside of a Church in Horsham, Sussex. It was removed because many people thought it was a rather scary and frightening image and, it is said, put off people going to Church. I’m not sure how the work of art worked for people. But the image, as scary as it is, is one that reveals the love of God as proclaimed in the letter of John. It may not be totally understood by people who don’t understand the Christian story. It may not connect with people who are looking for a happy ending and don’t know what the ending of the crucifixion story is. But like it or not, the work of art demonstrates the love of God as told by John in his letter. The crucifixion is not cute or tidy because love and life is not cute and tidy. But in the midst of our untidy life it’s nice to have a news story that makes us smile. Need something else to make you smile? We don’t have to wait for God to tie the knot. He’s already done that in Christ.
Readings: 1 John 4:19-5:4; Luke 4:14-22
The illustrations of the homily may be found here and here
The reading from the first letter of St John, at first glance, seems to be tying us up in knots. But the letter tells a love story – the story of God who is not just loving or loveable but is love itself and who is very much in love with the people he has created. His love was revealed, says St John, when he sent his Son into the world so that we could have life through him. The reason we love one another and the reason we know what love is, is because God has loved us first. And if we say we love God the proof of that will be in how we love one another. But now we really do seem to be getting all wrapped up in knots, and love is sounding quite complicated. So much for tying the knot!
A crucifix was recently removed from the outside of a Church in Horsham, Sussex. It was removed because many people thought it was a rather scary and frightening image and, it is said, put off people going to Church. I’m not sure how the work of art worked for people. But the image, as scary as it is, is one that reveals the love of God as proclaimed in the letter of John. It may not be totally understood by people who don’t understand the Christian story. It may not connect with people who are looking for a happy ending and don’t know what the ending of the crucifixion story is. But like it or not, the work of art demonstrates the love of God as told by John in his letter. The crucifixion is not cute or tidy because love and life is not cute and tidy. But in the midst of our untidy life it’s nice to have a news story that makes us smile. Need something else to make you smile? We don’t have to wait for God to tie the knot. He’s already done that in Christ.
Readings: 1 John 4:19-5:4; Luke 4:14-22
The illustrations of the homily may be found here and here
Monday 5 January 2009
Monday after Epiphany
In what makes rather depressing reading the Prince's Trust (set up by Prince Charles in 1976 to help young people develop skills and move into work, education or training) has published a report based on interviews with 16 to 25-year-olds. The trust said the survey revealed an "increasingly vulnerable generation" without family support. More than one in 10 young people in Wales claimed life was "meaningless", with many feeling stressed. They are then, so often, a people who walk in darkness, the darkness of depression and despondency.
The Gospel Reading today looks back to an older prophecy from Isaiah. "The people that lived in darkness has seen a great light; on those who dwell in the land and shadow of death a light has dawned." In the gospel we see Jesus begin his preaching with the message of the Kingdom of God. Repent, he says. Turn your life around. The Kingdom of God is close at hand. The message he brings is one of good news, one that is symbolised by the curing of all kinds of sickness and disease and painful complaints of one kind or another. How we could do with that today. With more and more people, and more and more young people, saying how depressed or down they often feel, and how they feel that life is meaningless, how we could do with the good news of the kingdom of God, close at hand, tansforming lives, helping them look upwards to a dawning light.
Yet that is exactly what Jesus offers. We must, of course, be careful not to preach quick fix solutions or overnight miracles. But the kingdom of God is close at hand, and the message that Jesus preached is the message that we carry too. In Jesus, we find meaning to life. Yes, it is difficult at times. It is sometimes hard work, and often confusing. But Jesus' message is one of love, in which all are valued by God. We have in our midst "a vulnerable generation," and one that is so often dismissed and bad mouthed. But we see (don't we?) the value and worth of young people? We see (don't we?) the wonder and beauty of what it means to be alive and to know Jesus. How they could do with the good news of the kingdom of God, close at hand, tansforming lives, helping them look upwards to a dawning light. It's up to us to show them.
Readings: 1 John 3:22-4:6; Matthew 4.12-17. 23-25
You can read the illustration of the homily here
The Gospel Reading today looks back to an older prophecy from Isaiah. "The people that lived in darkness has seen a great light; on those who dwell in the land and shadow of death a light has dawned." In the gospel we see Jesus begin his preaching with the message of the Kingdom of God. Repent, he says. Turn your life around. The Kingdom of God is close at hand. The message he brings is one of good news, one that is symbolised by the curing of all kinds of sickness and disease and painful complaints of one kind or another. How we could do with that today. With more and more people, and more and more young people, saying how depressed or down they often feel, and how they feel that life is meaningless, how we could do with the good news of the kingdom of God, close at hand, tansforming lives, helping them look upwards to a dawning light.
Yet that is exactly what Jesus offers. We must, of course, be careful not to preach quick fix solutions or overnight miracles. But the kingdom of God is close at hand, and the message that Jesus preached is the message that we carry too. In Jesus, we find meaning to life. Yes, it is difficult at times. It is sometimes hard work, and often confusing. But Jesus' message is one of love, in which all are valued by God. We have in our midst "a vulnerable generation," and one that is so often dismissed and bad mouthed. But we see (don't we?) the value and worth of young people? We see (don't we?) the wonder and beauty of what it means to be alive and to know Jesus. How they could do with the good news of the kingdom of God, close at hand, tansforming lives, helping them look upwards to a dawning light. It's up to us to show them.
Readings: 1 John 3:22-4:6; Matthew 4.12-17. 23-25
You can read the illustration of the homily here
Sunday 4 January 2009
Epiphany of the Lord
Yesterday I made a rather embarrassing mistake. A friend dropped me off outside Tescos and, when I returned outside armed with my small bag of shopping, she had moved the car to the other side of the road. Unfortunately, I didn't notice until I climbed into the car parked in its place. Well, both cars were silver - it was an easy mistake to make! Im not really interested in cars and can't tell one model or make from the other! One car that I would take notice of, though, was the 1937 classic Bugatti car found in someone's lock up garage a year after they had died. Owned by reclusive Newcastle doctor Harold Carr it has stood in the garage, away from the public eye, along with a classic Aston Martin and a Jaguar E-type. The car is valued at £3m and will be sold next month by Bonham's in Paris. James Knight, international head of Bonhams' motoring department, said: "I have known of this Bugatti for a number of years and, like a select group of others, hadn't dared divulge its whereabouts to anyone. It is absolutely one of the last great barn discoveries.'
Over the last few weeks we have been celebrating a great barn discovery, the discovery of something valuable and precious: the birth of Jesus, the Word made flesh,Son of God and Son of Mary, born in a barn, who has come to share his love and show us how to live, to save us and lead us home. Today, we celebrate the discovery of the same thing, not in a stable but in a house, where wise men who have travelled from the east come in search of the new born king. Today the light of day has been cast on the barn. It's a discovery for all the world to see, and all the world can decide whether or not they think it is valuable or precious. But this is not the discovery of something old (although the God who reveals himself in Christ has existed before time began and it was through Christ that the world was created) but the beginning of something new, the beginning of our salvation. God in Christ has revealed himself to the world, he has placed himself in the public gaze, he has come to us at our level, for all the world to discover.
The wise men symbolise all who seek the Lord, all who wish to discover what’s important. They represent all who wish to discover the meaning of life, no matter what their race, religion, language or colour. Like them we too are seekers. We are people who look for meaning in life, people who want to get to grips with what it's really all about, people who look to God as the one who makes sense of who we are and what we are, people who are seeking to love and know Jesus more each day. There are lots of other people who are seeking and searching. We, too, as fellow seekers are called to encourage them in their journey, and to encourage each other as we grow closer to God in Christ. We are called to welcome all who come in the name of the Lord. The great barn discovery, then, is for you and for me, for us and for them. In terms of great barn discoveries it is the first and the last, and the only one that really matters!
Readings: Isaiah 60:1-6, Ephesians 3:2-3. 5-6; Matthew 2:1-2
The illustration for the homily may be read here
Thursday 1 January 2009
Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God
I’m not certain how politically correct it is, in this day and age, to refer to Housweives but in a recent survey it emerged that Housewives would be paid more than the average worker if they received the going rate for their household chores. A poll of 4,000 housewives for a networking website (alljoinon.com) suggested that the average mum worked for nearly nine hours a day every day. The website said a housewife would earn almost £30,000 a year if she was employed to do all the same errands. The average annual UK wage is £23,700, according to official figures. Some 71% of those polled agreed that successfully running the family home was a full-time job.
Certainly family life has changed in the last few decades: roles have been changed, some households are one-parent families, in others the wife is the main earner, in others - jobs are equally shared. Today, as we celebrate and bless God for Mary it’s worth thinking about how much she is worth. Not what she is worth in terms of an imagined salary for her household chores -but what she succeeded in doing, and how we have benefited from what she has done. It is through Mary’s response to God that Jesus comes into the world.
Would Mary have looked upon what she was doing as a chore? I imagine there were some things that she found confusing or difficult, some things that were hard work or demanding. I imagine that running the family home would, at times, have a rather bizarre touch to it. But Mary had accepted God’s way for her life. The household of which she is a part, is a household that is centred on God. In the gospel reading we see, just after the birth, those strange shepherd visitors who arrived at the door of the stable and who come to see her child. Everyone who heard what they had to say are astonished. But Mary treasures all these things and ponders them in her heart. She holds them dear. There is, in Mary’s life, a treasure beyond all imagining. Her worth comes not from some imagined salary or the hours of work she puts in, but from God who has filled her with grace and invited her to participate in his plans for the world. So we Hail Mary, generation after generation, we call her blessed, for in giving her life over to God, God gives Jesus to us.
Readings: Numbers 6:22-27; Galatians 4:4-7; Luke 2:16-21
The illustration for the homily may be found here
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