Who are you looking for?

Who are you looking for?  (Good Friday Homily)

Three times this question comes at the beginning of today’s passion. Three times, Jesus asks ‘Who are you looking for?’

The question calls to mind the basis human quest for meaning, for purpose, for truth. The philosophers search for meaning. The teenager questions the truths which have been passed on to him. The sick and the bereaved often ask the question ‘why’ or ‘what if’? Scientists seek the origins of life and the beginning of the universe. Even the atheist - especially the atheist - searches for truth, and believes, with a fervour, that he has found it.

Human beings seek truth. The Catechism tells us that every person has a yearning for God - though everyone might not see it in this way. St Augustine put it even more poetically: “Our hearts are restless, till they find their rest in you”.

At the beginning of the baptism service, the priests asks the parents “What do you ask of God’s Church for your child?” Usually they answer simply, “baptism”, but they may answer “Hope”, “Love”, “Eternal Life”, “Salvation”.

The trouble is, all humans ask the question, but many come up with different answers.

Some of those answers, as Jesus said to the Rich Young Man, are not far from the Kingdom of God. In this liturgy, for example, we pray for the Jewish people who of all peoples are bound in a covenant with God and of all those who do not yet embrace Christ, are closest to his Kingdom. There are others we pray for too, who do not believe, yet who - as we will say ‘might find [Christ] by sincerely following all that is right’. One theologian described these good people outside our faith as ‘anonymous Christians’.

But there are those whose answers are far far away from the Kingdom.

‘Who are you looking for?” Jesus asks - and the answer which comes back “Jesus of Nazareth” sounds like the correct one, the true one. Here is all truth, all love. Here is the perfect man, like us in all things but sin. Here is the Son of God, the Word made flesh. But they come not to worship like the Wise Men of old, but rather, like Herod in the same tale - to destroy the Truth - because they fear it.

And in his actions, Jesus shows us what the Truth really is, what the Meaning of Life really is, what the Purpose of all things really is. Not a set of ideas - though they are important; Not a scientific explanation - though that may have its part; Not an easy simple answer, expressed in a few words - though words do matter.

No, what He shows us is that Truth is a Person, the giving of Life to gain Life, a Sacrifice, an Act of Love.

The Ten Commandments

Homily/Sermon for Lent 3 - March 15th

This Sunday, the first reading is of the Ten Commandments. How well do you know them?

Here’s a good quiz for the family. Give each person a piece of paper, and ask them to write down the Ten Commandments. See who can get all ten. I bet some of them put down ‘Love your neighbour’ which isn’t one of then. And I also bet that few of them put down about covetting - and might not even know what the word means (it means jealously wanting to have what others have, sort of keeping up with the Jones’. In many ways our society is built on covetousness).

Now we can deplore the fact that few know the Ten Commandments off by heart, and still fewer understand them, and yes, there is a point to be made, but the reciting of words is not quite the same as living them. It’s not that the words aren’t important, of course they are, but far more important than to know the words by heart is to live them from the heart.

It is one thing to know it is wrong to tell a lie - it is quite another to be outraged by the temptation to benefit from a convenient untruth.

It is one thing to know it is wrong to steal - but it is another to turn our backs on the odd scam or bargain from a questionable source.

It is one thing to know that we should keep each Sunday by going to mass - yet another to rejoice in the celebration of our faith.

Now then, when people hear the story which is Sunday's Gospel reading - the story of Jesus clearly angry, entering the temple, overturning the money changers’ tables and driving them out with a whip - some ask how can this be? Isn't it a sin to be angry?

Well anger itself is not mentioned in the Ten Commandments. And in any case, Jesus’ apparent anger is a zeal for truth, a thirst for honest dealing and a yearning for a faith that comes from the heart - not words only, but words that are expressed in deeds.

Sacrifice and Glory (Homily for Lent 2)

Last week it was Noah’s Ark, and this week the story of the sacrifice of Isaac. Or not so much the sacrifice, but the attempted sacrifice. The Old Testament can certainly challenge our understanding!

On the face of it, this is a horrific story. God tells Abraham to sacrifice his son, and Abraham, out of blind faith, almost carries out the order. Only at the last minute does he hold his hand. Is this the sort of thing God does? It is a challenge to our understanding.

But then we must look at two stories together.

The Gospel reading tells us of another mountain. And another Son. And this time the Father is God himself. On the first mountain faith is clear, but the will of God is not. On the second mountain the voice of God speaks clearly and his Glory is revealed.

In the first reading Abraham is blessed not because of the action he did not carry out, but because of his utter devotion to God. In the ancient world, even more than today, family was everything. The clan, kith and kin, the succession, this was at the heart of the fabric of society. Abraham realised that faith in God is greater even than this.

And in the Gospel we hear that the sacrifice is not the sacrifice of an unwilling son, but the gift of God himself, in the Son. Just as in the Old Testament, God replaces the brutality of human sacrifice with the sacrifice of a Ram, so in Christ it is the Lamb of God the takes our sins upon himself.

Sacrifice is, at the end of it all, not about violence, but about love. It is not about taking a life, but about giving life. It is not about the body of an unwilling innocent, but about the sharing in the Body of Christ. It is not about blind faith, but about the hope of resurrection, the resurrection of the One who is transfigured, clearly seen in all his glory.

Homily (Sermon) for the First Sunday of Lent Year B

Our reading this weekend begin with the story of the covenant of God with Noah, and a reminder of the sign of the covenant - the rainbow. How can we understand this story, and what on earth has it got to do with Lent?

Some people will look at this story and try to find the historical evidence to support it, and some of that is intriguing: in many cultures there are stories of great floods, and some archeologists have even tried to find evidence of the Ark, and the mountain on which it landed.

At the other extreme, there are those who reject the story out of hand. It is just a tale from primitive people, they say, to explain the rainbow, and a way to explain the presence of some beauty in the midst of much danger. Such people would also point out that the destruction of men, women and children alike, cities and civilisations, is very unworthy of a God of love.

For the Church though, neither of these paths are satisfactory. The search for historical detail will tell us little of use, and the complete rejection of the story fails to take it seriously at all. Even if one view or the other is true, neither tells us what the story actually means.

No, from ancient times, Christian writers have pointed out that it is the symbolism of the story which gives its underlying message.

It is a wonderful story with which to begin Lent.

Here we have an account of sin and salvation, of destruction and compassion, of faith and hope, of water, and a boat which rides on the water. We hear echoes of the salvation of nations through the waters of the Red Sea, the stilling of the storm by Jesus, and the walking on the water. There are reminders of death and resurrection. We are reminded of the journey of baptism through water, and of the promise of eternal life.

And the 40 days on the boat are the 40 days of Christ in the wilderness and they are our 40 days of Lent. A time of jouneying from sin, a time of patient hope, a time of promise, a time of trial, and a time for redemption.

We have never seen anything like this!

We have never seen anything like this!

(Homily for the 7th Sunday of the Year - Year B)

This week, Lent begins. Wednesday is Ash Wednesday, when we start our Lenten fast and preparation for Easter.

And Tuesday … Tuesday is what people nowadays call ‘pancake day’.

In many countries, that day is Mardi Gras - or ‘Fat Tuesday’, a day when all the rich food left in the pantry is cooked up and enjoyed. Even the name Mardi Gras has come to mean a party, a celebration, a time of enjoyment and excess. In English, we have a rather different name. Not one that refers to partying or celebration, but rather to something much more serious and rather dour. We call it Shrove Tuesday, the day when we are shriven, absolved of our sins by making our confession to a priest. The English, O the English, we don’t go a-partying like the Europeans, but we glumly traipse to confession, encouraged only by a pancake and some lemon juice.

Actually, this has long ceased to be our custom, and while we are likely to go confession at any time during Lent, we are unlikely to go on Shrove Tuesday.

But I wonder, is the forgiveness of sins so different from the celebrations of the Mardi Gras? We may look upon confession, in a dark box to a stern priest, to be far away from the party, but in today’s Gospel when the man had his sins forgiven - the paralysed man no less - he stood up for joy, held his head high, and walked before the crowd. No doubt there was also a spring his step. Perhaps he tried a little jig. And the astonished crowd praised God.

What better celebration could there be?

Enjoy your pancakes. Go to confession. And celebrate the freedom and forgiveness you receive.
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More homilies

Bless all the dear children ...

Fortunately, the funerals of children are few and far between. My only hospital chaplaincy work was in a Geriatric and a Rehabiliation unit, so, though I have often been called out to the dying, I have fortunately conducted very few funerals of babies and children. I don't just use that word, 'fortunate', as a matter of form. Those few funerals have been some of the hardest to conduct, for all kinds of reasons. The circumstances can be so tragic and the words one can say about the deceseased him or herself so few, that they are certainly the toughest for a priest to do.

Tomorrow (December 7th) I am taking a leading role in a memorial service for Babies and Children at our local Cemetery and Crematorium. (Next weekend I do the 'adults' service). I'm not actually leading the service, though I have had a large role in planning it. However the order of service and the choice of readings has been finally decided by the City Council staff - not by me. That in itself would probably be one step too far for some of my colleagues. There is no biblical reading, and there is a clear brief not to make it too 'religious' in order to be as inclusive as possible. (Last year's service was conducted by a humanist, though that apparently was almost too 'unreligious'). there are some tensions there, and some sensitivity, but in the main it seems to have been worked out very amicably and positively. There's obviously a few points for reflection there, but that - at the moment at least - is by the by.

However, writing my words has been extremely difficult. We will be singing a couple of carols - and Christmas is certainly a good time to offer support to the bereaved, but also a very sensitive time too.

My words cannot be too, let's say, 'sacral'; they of course must be sensitive, and offer some comfort; and they should surely extend some hope and however gently present some of the attractions of the Christian message. I've got to be compassionate, but not sentimental. No easy task.

I find the Order of Christian Funerals invaluable, and especially the short service for an unbaptised child 'Rite of Final Commendation for an Infant'. It has, I was once told by a member of (the old) ICEL, an interesting provenence. The prayers were written by a mother on ICEL at the time who herself had lost a child. And it is one section where the word 'baby' was retained in the prayers despite objections that such a word is 'sentimental'. Some priests and lay assistant chaplains in hospitals may use these prayers often, but I guess that most priests do not even realise that they are there. They are gems.

I do speak from some little experience. My wife and I lost twins just a short time after they were born, some 21 years ago. It was some time afterwards that I discovered this short rite and saw its relevance. Just twelve months ago I conducted a simple informal funeral for our stillborn grandchild. Again, these words helped.

Anyway, this is too long an introduction already. Here follow my words for the Memorial Service tomorrow. Comments are welcomed.

Opening Prayer and Reflection

This service is made up of a lot of words. We will listen to a number of Readings. We will hear and join in the words of prayers. We will sing hymns, carols, about silent nights and a baby in a manger. Words, a lot of words.

And yet can there be no words which can possibly express what any of us might feel. We might use a lot of words, but in our hearts we are lost for words. In fact, although we have all gone through similar experiences, no two of us feel exactly the same. No one can honestly say ‘I know how you feel’. And when people try to express their sympathy, out of kindness, they can do one of two things: either be lost for words, and so avoid speaking to us about our loss, or, out a desire to say something, open their mouths and say words which though meant well, become awkward and even hurtful.

Yes, words fail us. Yet we will still desperately want to use them. When we have suffered loss many of us cannot speak of it - yet others of us can’t stop talking, telling the story, sharing our experience. We might say the same thing over and over again, and what we say may mean very little, but say it we must. A pain shared is a pain halved, or so they say.

But the truth of it all is that the words don’t answer our questions, or heal our pain, but they do provide us with comfort, and some consolation, and sometimes even a little hope.

Prayer

Let us pray

Loving Father in heaven,
In the face of death all our human wisdom fails.
We are lost for words and struggle for answers.
We place our hope in your Love,
Who came down from heaven to be born amongst us,
And who taught us, by his three days in the tomb
That death has no hold over us any more.
In the midst of our sadness,
We place our trust in you
That one short sleep past,
Our beloved children will wake with you eternally.
We make this prayer in Jesus’ name.
Amen.


.......



Concluding Prayers

Trusting in Jesus, the loving Saviour,
Who came amongst and lay in a manger,
We ask him to bless all the dear children
In his tender care
And make us all ready to share the new life
With the Father in heaven as we say:

Our Father ...

Lord God, ever-caring and gentle,
We commit all these children to your love
Who brought joy to our lives, but for so short a time.
Enfold them in eternal life.
We pray for these parents, so saddened by their loss. 
Give them courage and help them through their pain and grief,
May they all meet one day in the peace and joy of your kingdom.
We ask this through Christ our Lord.

........



Blessing

May the God of all consolation
bring you comfort and peace
and may almighty God bless you,
the Father, and the Son,
and the Holy Spirit.
Amen.