Wednesday of Holy Week

Changing Rooms, DIYSOS, Real Rooms, Housecall, Home Front and other similar TV programmes have all placed DIY Home Improvement back on the map. Over the years, the like of Laurence Llewellyn Bowen have fingered many a fine fabric, and Hand Andy (and other hammer loving men) have drilled many a piece of MDF to the wall of some sad victim’s home – usually whilst they are away on holidays, and who return home to find their house transformed from dependable magnolia to See Breeze Blue, swirling turquoise and fake velvet wall coverings. Taste isn’t always the order of the day but time is. They are working against the clock!

In the gospel reading today we have a case of Changing Rooms. It looks like Jesus has already made some secret preparations. He already has his eye on a suitable room in which he will celebrate the Passover with his friends and followers. Everything has to be prepared and finalised, right down to the last detail. And so he sends his disciples away to some anonymous, unnamed person who has some suitable upstairs accommodation. ‘The Master says, “My time is near. It is at your house that I am keeping Passover with my disciples.”’ There is much to do. The Passover is at hand. They are working against the clock.

Jesus’ time has come – in fact his tie seems up. Judas Iscariot has already done his dirty work. His perilous preparations will take the Passover to a plane that the apostles had never imagined. There is intrigue in the room, and mush distaste, as Jesus predicts the unimaginable. One of his closest friends and followers will betray him. What bad taste! Within this room things are beginning to change. The disciples are distressed: disturbed by the thought that they could be the one to betray Jesus. Time is ticking by. The final moment is almost here.

They spend some time more with Jesus in the comfort - and discomfort - of this room, in this room where they are beginning to change and where their future dreams are changing too. They cannot, do not, stay there. At some stage, after supper, when all the talking is done, when they can stay no longer, they go out into darkness, following Jesus and then, in the confusion and chaos of Gethsemane, they disperse, disappear, scurry away like frightened mice. They cannot set their eyes on the unsightly sight before them. The cross is too much for them to take. But it is to this Changing Room that they return: back to the pots and pans and mess of a Passover Party, to try to pick up the pieces left after Jesus’ death. They are empty, broken, not half the men they used to be. The door is locked. Time stands still.

It is in this room, where so much has happened, where they have experienced so much change, that they will be changed further still, as news begins to reach them that Christ is risen from the dead. Confused even further by this message that slips under the door, they soon discover for themselves the risen presence of Jesus. Locked Doors cannot keep him out. Death does not do him in. His time has come.

Time is ticking by. The Passover is almost here. The holy three days, The Easter Triduum, is almost upon us. The Evening Mass of Maundy Thursday is almost here, as is the staggering, disturbing, ugly image of the cross on Good Friday. How will it change you? Do you dare to be changed? Time is ticking by. It is almost here. Salvation is upon us.

Monday in Holy Week

You may have seen it. Five contestants, who have never met one another, take it in turns to host a dinner party on five consecutive nights. They are competing for one thousand pounds, the winner determined by a series of anonymous scores given by the other contestants who have been entertained. On the final day, the winner is announced. The dinner party contestants are probably carefully chosen, thrown together by the producers, to create a bizarre and interesting mix of personalities to provide us with entertainment. The commentator is probably the most entertaining part of the show: casting snide remarks and comments about the food and the final outcome. Yes, this is Come Dine With Me: another Reality TV programme.

In the gospel reading, Jesus has been invited to dinner. Mary, Martha and Lazarus, whom Jesus had raised from the dead, have invited Jesus to ‘come dine’ with them. There is an interesting mix of personalities (Jesus, Mary, Martha, Lazarus, Judas Iscariot – amongst many other disciples – and even towards the end of the dinner party a large number of Jews who, on hearing that Jesus is being entertained, gatecrash the party. In time honoured fashion, as you may expect from such a dinner party, there are some strange goings on! This dinner party isn’t all it seems to be on the surface.

During dinner, Mary anoints the feet of Jesus with expensive perfume, and wipes them with her hair. This disjointed, deranged gesture is rather disturbing for those who are left to look on. There is surprise and disgust as the aroma fills the room. ‘What a waste! This money could have been used for the poor.’ Jesus responds to the Fagin-like musings of Judas Iscariot and takes the conversation to another level. He expresses what Mary meant in offering such a mad and carefree gesture: she is, says Jesus, preparing him for his burial. Suddenly, the dinner party atmosphere is disturbed. The smell of death fills the room.

Jesus, it seems, had been the life and soul of the party, a welcome guest, a longed for guest. Alongside him at table is Lazarus, whom Jesus had raised from the dead: a living sign of Jesus’ power to overcome death and bring life to the darkest and most deathly of situations. The atmosphere couldn’t have been more joyful. And now, suddenly, there is talk, not of life, but of dying and death and burial. Things are yet more sinister. The Chief Priests have death on their breath. They are determined to kill not only Jesus but also this Lazarus figure in whom so many people are interested and whose raising from the dead was causing too many people to follow Jesus. This just will not do. The smell of death fills the room.

There is controversy and danger, there is misunderstanding and intrigue, there is plotting and planning for death. At this Eucharist, Jesus invites us to come and dine with him. Expect to be comforted and cherished, expect to feel at home, expect to be able to get your feet under the table, and to be fed with finest food. But expect, too, to be disturbed and challenged and moved beyond all telling, as the death of Jesus is proclaimed. And yet there is more than just death here. Jesus takes the conversation to another level. He fills the air with sweetness. In all this talk of death there is confidence and trust in God. As the psalm today declares: ‘I am sure I shall see the Lord’s goodness in the land of the living. Hope in him, hold firm and take heart. Hope in the Lord!’ So, let the aroma of Jesus fill this place, as we move closer to the cross, preparing to celebrate Christ’s death and glorious resurrection. Here we dine with the Lord, here we proclaim his death and resurrection, here we are comforted and challenged. There are, as the gospel reading reminds us, six days before the Passover. So, eat up! There is much to do and a long way to travel. You’ll need all the strength you can get.

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

John, Apostle and Evangelist

Wallace and Gromit, the famous plasticine figures, have topped the viewing figures on Christmas Day, attracting 14.4 million viewers. Their latest adventure, called A Matter of Loaf and Death, featured the inventor Wallace and his dog Gromit converting their house at 62 West Wallaby Street into a bakery called ‘Top Bun’, complete with ovens, robotic kneading arms and an old fashioned windmill on the roof. But there is something sinister in the air: a dozen local bakers have all gone missing in the last year. Wallace is too in love with beauty and fellow bread enthusiast Piella Bakewell to notice, so it’s left to Gromit the dog to turn sleuth and discover what’s happening in the bread baking business.

Bread baking may not be in the mind of most people celebrating Christmas but there is a surreptitious link with the Nativity Story. Bethlehem literally means ‘House of Bread’ – very symbolic for us who know Jesus as, amongst many other things, ‘The Bread of Life.’ It’s a title that takes up the content of a whole chapter of the gospel according to John whom we celebrate today. John has no account of the nativity story in his gospel yet it is the prologue to his gospel that we proclaim at the Mass on Christmas Day with the profound declaration that ‘the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us.’ John is the one who takes Mary the mother of Jesus to his own home as his own mother after he has been given the charge to do so from Jesus on the cross.

He is the beloved disciple, one of the inner three apostles (along with Peter and James) who were closest and most intimate with Jesus, an intimacy that pervades the writings of John. It is John who leans on the chest of Jesus at the Last Supper, and it is John who races with Peter to discover the empty tomb on Easter Day. And here, in this Eucharist, we too are called to be intimate with Jesus. He invites us to sit and eat, to listen to his words, and to receive the food and drink, which is his body and blood. We are invited to become one with him, to receive Jesus. This place too, then, is the House of Bread for here we have received and will receive again Jesus the Bread of Life.

Lectionary:1 John 1: 1-4; John 20:2-8
The illustration for the homily may be found here