Learning to love

Palm Sunday

Readings: Luke 19:28-40; Isaiah 50: 4-7; Psalm 22:8-9,17-18,19-20,23-24; Philippians 2:6-11; Luke 22:14-23:56 or 23:1-49

The Gospel reading given by the Church for the procession with palms at the beginning of today’s Mass reports the end of a long journey which started when Jesus ‘set his face to go to Jerusalem’ (Luke 9:51). Jesus had made the decision: he was prepared to journey towards his death. And when he arrives in Jerusalem, he is acclaimed by his disciples as a Son of David, as the Messiah, the bringer of salvation. His entry into Jerusalem fulfils the prophecy spoken by the prophet Zechariah: ‘Behold, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt the foal of a donkey’ (Zechariah 9:9). By entering on a colt and not a horse, he declared himself to be a bringer of peace and not of war. However, we know all too well how his message of peace is received. The message is seen as threatening by the Pharisees who were watching his entry. This is the beginning of the end, the beginning of Jesus’ passion and death, which we hear of in the second gospel reading.

What is it about the peace of Christ that is so threatening to those encountering Jesus? Perhaps the message of peace threatened both the authority of the Pharisees and that of the occupying Roman forces. The Pharisees could not accept him as the Messiah King – perhaps they could not see anything in him beyond a man who just couldn’t stop causing trouble, a man whose questioning always challenged their authority. But I think that the Pharisees had recognised something more than just a trouble maker. Jesus seems able to expose their vulnerability at a personal, deeper level, not merely the level of authority. One of the brethren of our Province, the late Fr. Herbert McCabe O.P., wrote that an encounter with Christ makes us fear because we are made aware of our own humanity, a humanity which we fear. We are, it seems, just like the Pharisees after all. To be fully human is to love perfectly, so in encountering Christ we are also made aware of how often we fall short of our calling to love: to love God, to love ourselves and to love others. Love involves risks, but by not taking the risk of loving God, ourselves and others more, we cannot fully realise our humanity. The events of the coming week are an invitation to look more closely at the face of Christ crucified, that we might learn how to love more.

Books by the late Fr. Herbert McCabe O.P., including the recently published 'Faith Within Reason' can be purchased here.

Holy Week and Triduum at Blackfriars

The Priory of the Holy Spirit

Oxford

HOLY WEEK AND TRIDUUM
All are very welcome to join us for the following liturgical celebrations

Monday - Wednesday:

7.45am ....... Matins & Lauds
12.00 .......... Stations of the Cross (led by the Dominican students)
1.05pm ....... Midday Office
6.15 ............ Conventual Mass
6.45 ............ Vespers


Maundy Thursday:

9.30am ...... Tenebrae
1.05pm ...... Midday Office
8.00 ........... Mass of the Lord's Supper
followed by watching at the Altar of Repose until midnight


Good Friday:

9.30am ....... Tenebrae
1.05pm ....... Midday Office
3.00 ............ Solemn Liturgy of the Lord's Passion


Holy Saturday:

9.30am ....... Tenebrae
1.05pm ....... Midday Office
6.00 ........... Vespers
11.00 .......... Easter Vigil

Confessions are available from 12 noon - 1pm and from 5-6pm


Easter Sunday:

8.ooam ........ Mass
9.30 ............. Family Mass
1.05pm ........ Midday Office
6.00 ............ Solemn Vespers

There will be no evening Mass on Easter Sunday

Jesus is high priest that year

Saturday 5 of Lent

Readings: Ezekiel 37:21-28; Psalm: Jeremiah 31:10-13; John 11:45-57

Why does John tell us three times that Caiaphas was 'high priest that year' (John 11:49, 51; 18:13)? He was high priest for nineteen years (18-37 AD), so to be told he was high priest in the year of Jesus' arrest is no help in knowing exactly when it was. That, of course, is not the point. John's interest is theological in the first place. Not that the history is unimportant, especially when we recall how Caiaphas' fear about the destruction of the holy place and of the nation came to pass. It made no difference, on that level of secular history, that one man had died for the people. But on other, deeper levels it makes every difference in the world, every difference to the world's history, that in that year this one man died for the nation, and not just for the Jewish nation but to gather into one the children of God who are scattered abroad.

For John, the year in question is not just another year in the high priesthood of Caiaphas. The year in question - and this is why he refers to it three times - is the year in which the High Priest of the new creation entered onto his office. It is the new day, the eighth day, on which the new creation begins. It is the hour in which Jesus passes from this world to the Father. This is more than a paradigm shift, to use a current cliché. In time and beyond time, that year is the moment when Jesus, our great high priest, enters the sanctuary, not one made by human hands, but the true sanctuary that is in heaven, carrying not the blood of bulls and goats, but his own blood, to seal the new and everlasting covenant (Hebrews 9:11-15). That year is the year of Christ's high priesthood and it is a year that never ends, just as the hour of Jesus' intercession with the Father lasts forever.

So Jesus turns his back on the temple made by human hands and goes down to the country, near the wilderness, to a town called Ephraim. It is not known where this town was but its name means 'fruitful'. Jesus goes down to the wilderness that is fruitful. It is fruitful because he is there. The people, on the other hand, go up from the country to Jerusalem and stand in the temple looking for Jesus. The place in which we do not expect to find life is now fruitful whereas the place to which we look for life has become sterile. Jesus is ready for the climax of his work. He had announced it at the beginning of his public ministry: 'destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up' (John 2:19). 'But he spoke of the temple of his body' (John 2:21) from which the Spirit, the water and the blood will flow, the three witnesses that confirm the sacrifice of love offered by our High Priest so that we might have life (John 19:30, 34-37; 1 John 5:6-12). It is to him that we must now journey, to him that we must go up, this year and always.

You are gods (John 10:34)

Friday 5 of Lent

Readings: Jeremiah 20:10-13; Psalm 17; John 10:31-42

What does it mean to say that we are gods? St Thomas Aquinas, following a long Christian tradition, says that Jesus “assumed our nature, so that he, made human, might make human beings gods.” How is this wonderful exchange, as the Christmas antiphon puts it, possible?

It is fitting to recall Christmas during Passiontide. Earlier this week, the feast of the Annunciation reminded us of the wonder of Christ’s incarnation, for as Holy Week approaches, we recall that the path of Christ’s life runs from the crib to the cross. Jesus was born for a purpose, so the creed says: “for our salvation, he came down from heaven”. That purpose was perfected in Jesus’ death and resurrection.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus reminds us of this. He has been sent into the world to accomplish the Father’s works; he is a man on a mission and his quest is nothing less than our salvation. As he says earlier in John’s gospel: “God sent the Son into the world… that the world might be saved through him” (Jn 3:17). This salvation is the fullness of life, for Christ also says: “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly” (Jn 10:10), and this abundant life is our sharing in the divine life of God. Christ gave us this eternal life through his death on the Cross and we may ponder this mystery in the words of the venerable Passiontide hymn Vexilla Regis.

On the Cross, Christ accomplished his Father’s works and poured out his Spirit to give us new life, so that by water and blood – baptism and Eucharist – we are adopted as co-heirs with Christ and become participants in the life of the Trinity. Hence the Easter vigil is focused on the baptism of new Christians, for in the Church’s womb, the baptismal font, new gods are born! This marvellous work of God’s grace that makes us “partakers of the divine nature” (2 Pet 1:4) is cause for us to praise and thank the Lord, for as Jeremiah says in the first reading: "he has rescued the poor from the power of the wicked", from sin and death.

As we prepare to celebrate the 'week of salvation', let us pray for those who will be re-born in baptism and pray for grace to live as God's children, so that those who see us may "believe the works" (Jn 10:38) that Jesus Christ does in us, and thus also come to know and love him.

******

The window above from the former Dominican priory chapel at Hawkesyard depicts the link between the Annunciation, the Cross and the Trinitarian life.

'Who are you claiming to be?'

Thursday 5 of Lent

Readings: Genesis 17: 3-9; Ps 104: 4-9. R) v. 8; John 8:51-59

While reading and praying over today’s gospel we are tempted to ask, what is it that so impedes the Jewish critics of Jesus from understanding his message? Why the apparently wilful misunderstanding of what he is trying to tell them? It seems to us that, even if they disbelieve Jesus’ statements of his common being with God, their method of argument represents a childish and deliberate misunderstanding of his words, ‘You are not fifty yet, and you have seen Abraham!’

Yet Jesus’ rebuke to them makes it clear to us that their failings are not the result of a particular obtuseness but, rather the result of the way in which all people can deceive themselves when faced with a frightening truth, ‘But I know him, and if I were to say: I do not know him, I should be a liar, as you are liars yourselves’. God is doing a new thing in Jesus: the religion that is the bedrock of these peoples’ lives has become flesh and blood and is answering back with piercing challenges. The route that Jesus is offering is a new fidelity to God, based on faith that endures through the most surprising eventualities. Is it truly surprising to us that, presented with the path of uncertainty, the Jews in the gospel passage fall back on the empty comforts of ignorance and petty deceits?

The dangerous fidelity asked for by Jesus is just as frightening for those who call themselves Christians as it was for those whose meetings with Jesus we read about in the gospels. ‘I tell you most solemnly, whoever keeps my word will never see death’. Anyone who attempts to hold firm faith in those words, while knowing a little of the desolation that surrounds the sudden absence of one called to God, understands that Jesus asks no small task of us. To live our belief in the resurrection is the labour of a lifetime, and a project that we do not undertake alone. If we reveal our fear, confess our sins, this faith is a work that can be wrought in us. The contribution that we bring is a truthful heart, open to the terror of mystery, not seeking the consolation of deliberate blindness.

Inspiring Truth

Wednesday 5 of Lent

Readings: Daniel 3:14-20,91-92,95; Psalm: Daniel 3:52,53,54,55,56; John 8:31-42

What is shocking in today’s lesson from John is that it is those who had believed in Jesus that were trying to kill him. Why is that? I think it is because they grew accustomed to the idea of being God’s faithful people. In a sense they petrified their religious life and practice and so, unlike Abraham, they failed to accept God’s refreshing word, God’s truth (John 8:40).

The truth they refuse to accept is the divine plan of salvation. It is made manifest to them in the person of Christ: he preaches the word and teaches in synagogues, he heals the sick and raises the dead.

Jesus says to his listeners: ‘if you continue in my word you are truly my disciples, and you will know the truth and the truth will make you free’ (John 8:31-32).

I think that there is a temptation for all human beings and especially for faithful, religious people that once we reach certain truths, we want to relax comfortably. We want to possess truth, tame it, give it a tag and have it nicely categorised and shelved in the storeroom. We want to fence it round with laws and rules, so that what we’ve already found is protected. Very often, however, those rules and laws become our centre of focus. It is no longer truth that we strive for, but what seems to be our security. That becomes our ‘golden idol’ and we expect everybody to bow down and worship it, just as king Nebuchadnezzar wanted all his subjects to worship the golden image.

But to continue in Christ’s word is to be a disciple, never to cease from searching for truth, to find it ever fresh and ever new.

Some believed ...

Tuesday 5 of Lent

Readings: Numbers 21:4-9; Psalm 102; John 8:21-30

At the centre of our faith is the conviction that the cross of the Lord is become the tree of life for us. In today's gospel reading Jesus speaks about two ways of seeing. One is 'of the world' and is distorted by sin. To such eyes the death of Jesus is just that, a death, perhaps even a kind of suicide since he could have removed himself from the situation when he saw how it was developing.

The other way of seeing is that of faith. This enables us to see his death in a completely different light, to see a meaning in it that is hidden from the worldly vision distorted by sin. Faith sees the cross as the tree of life, not because believers have access to some unusual mathematics which enables them to turn suffering into joy, darkness into light, or death into life. The new way of seeing comes about because faith sees whose death this is: that of the one who always does what pleases the Father, the one who is from above and has been sent by the Father, the only Son from the Father, the one who can say 'I am he'.

Believers move between these two ways of seeing. To sin is to prefer the darkness to the light. But to the eyes of faith a new and radiant vision of God's glory has been revealed, God's love, in the body of Jesus Christ given for the life of the world.

Let what you have said be done to me ...

The Annunciation of the Lord

Readings: Isaiah 7:10-14; Psalm 40; Hebrews 10:4-10; Luke 1:26-38

Mary is often presented as the archetype of faith. According to Hans Urs von Balthasar, for instance, Mary made, through her ‘yes’ to God, the perfect nuptial response of faith. This ‘yes’ - may it be done to me according to your word­ - given to the angel by the handmaid of the Lord is the fundamental act of Mary's entire life. It is also the fundamental act of the Church in each of her members. In a sense, Mary’s answer is the archetype and principle of the faith response of the entire Church. Fair enough. But what does it mean for us? And how do we understand these words?

It seems to me that today’s gospel presents three important dimensions of our faith.

First of all, Mary is not pictured in this gospel as having a blind faith, but a faith not afraid of asking questions. Her first reaction was to say “how can this be?” In Mary’s faith, as well as in ours, questions have to precede our “yes”. This means there can be no faith without doubt, without questions.


Secondly, if Mary’s ‘yes’ can be described as the summary of her entire life, it is of course not only the summary of her speeches, but more deeply of her deeds. “Let us not love in word or in tongue but in deed and in truth” says John in his first letter (1 Jn 3:18). Therefore, if our yes has to be expressed in deeds, doubt and questions are found not only in our speeches but also in our deeds! Our acts and deeds also reveal our doubts and questions. Our deeds also express this “how can this be?” We can be amazed but also annoyed, puzzled, even revolted at God’s call. There are inconsistencies in our lives of which we ought not to be afraid. Rather, and surprisingly, they can shed light on our quest for truth.

Thirdly, it is interesting to note that the Angel Gabriel did not directly answer Mary’s question. With us the question of how things are to be done takes most of the time. But the answer of Gabriel explains why things have to be done ...

Who can cast the first stone?

Sunday 5 of Lent (First Sunday in Passiontide)

Readings: Isaiah 43:16-21; Psalm 126; Philippians 3:8-14; John 8:1-11

We are very good at condemnation. Generations of people have occupied 'street corner' positions, from which they would analyse the virtue of their neighbours' lives. In our modern age, 'gutter press' journalism has adopted the mantle of supreme moral authority. Nobody is safe from this scrutiny – from bishop to prince, footballer to pop-star. It is hard not to get drawn in by this. We all enjoy a good 'tut-tut', a disapproving shake of the head. People like these are to be scorned upon, and we feel it is our duty to do the scorning.

Our Lenten observance should teach us differently. In confronting our own weakness, we ought to feel compassion for others, and refrain from judging them. When we look closely at our own lives, we recognise that there is much for which we ourselves could be condemned. God has forgiven us our transgressions – who are we to condemn others?

Today's gospel contains a beautiful moment that encapsulates this. Jesus sees some men preparing to stone a prostitute. He is in no doubt concerning the gravity of her sin, but neither is he in doubt of the sinfulness of her condemners. In a phrase that has become a well-known saying, he invites 'the one who is without sin to cast the first stone'. None of them feels able to condemn the woman after this, and they retire from the scene. Jesus approaches her. None of the others have condemned her and he tells her that he will not condemn her either. He tells her to 'go, and sin no more'.

Two profound lessons are given in this passage. We are forgiven, despite the gravity of our transgressions. We shall never be deserted by God in all our sinfulness. But this imposes an obligation upon us. We must never see ourselves as worthy to condemn other people. When we see people in the shame of sin, we should not sit and gloat in our self-righteousness, ready to condemn. We should step aside and let the one who is without sin cast the first stone. We see in today's gospel the response of him whom we know to be the sinless one.

Are you led astray, you also?

Saturday 4 of Lent

Readings: Jeremiah 11:18-20; Psalm 7; John 7:40-53

Somewhere near the heart of faith is the belief that something or someone meets me that is greater than anything I can imagine for myself. I do not meet with something that has been thought up, but something given, and given again and again. In the gospels, it is always that way around. It is the Christ who seeks human beings, not primarily human beings who seek God: the shepherd calls the sheep, not the sheep the shepherd. Faith always involves being attentive and ready to follow, to set out again on a path. There is a feeling of the inadequacy of your own resources and a readiness to let yourself go.

Those who have the germs of belief in many ways have no real idea as yet who the Christ is, or where he is leading them. Yet they are listening to something other than the chattering and distracting voices all around them. They hear a different kind of voice, ‘No one has ever spoken like this man’. It is a voice that seduces them out of the roles they are meant to be playing. They have at least an intimation of something greater than egoism or habit or career; they sense a happiness beyond their own fabrication.

The moment someone believes he has no need to go any further, no need to be open, he is on the edge of unbelief. The pharisees and the chief priests have a peculiar version of this illness. They are so sure of their interpretation of their religious tradition, that they simply have no need to re-examine accepted and well-tried positions: it is known … it is settled … no need to look any further. They have no need to be called out of themselves, to respond to an invitation, or even seriously to consider it. Though even they cannot entirely lock themselves up in silence; they still have vestigial ears. That is why they get angry.

Word to the wise

Friday 4 of Lent

Readings: Wisdom 2:1a,12-22; Psalm 34; John 7:1-2,10,25-30

Reading this passage from the book of Wisdom might provoke a sympathetic nod of the head. And its familiarity runs deeper than the obvious tendency to read the experience of Christ into the speech. Sometimes doing the right thing marks you out from the crowd. Its very strangeness throws judgement on the behaviour of others.

He became to us a reproof of our thoughts; the very sight of him is a burden to us, because his manner of life is unlike that of others, and his ways are strange. (Wis. 2.14-15)

In Britain today, this verse could well apply to the practising Christian. A visibly religious way of life confronts the values of others. We often find people against us when we challenge their actions; question their morality. It is easy in a secular society to cast ourselves as ‘the just one’. Just as this passage foreshadows the life of Christ, so the Christian life, by its very existence, illuminates the life of sin.

And this is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil. For every one who does evil hates the light, and does not come to the light, lest his deeds should be exposed (Jn. 3.19-20)

But who says we are living the Christian life? It is also possible to read our own annoyance, humiliation and anger in the words of the evil men. Nobody likes to be criticised. Do we not more often feel resentment at those whose lives judge us rather than the determination to do better? The wisdom cuts both ways.

If we read this wisdom in the light of Jesus’s life we should not too quickly cast ourselves as sympathisers. Too often we are ‘the wicked’. Lucky for us we are offered salvation through Jesus Christ, the only one whose life is both judgement and redemption.

Living Simply

Thursday 4 of Lent

Readings: Exodus 32:7-14; Psalm 106; John 5:31-47

Part of our human condition seems to favour indulgence in things that are less than necessary. We are all guilty of things like eating too much, relaxing too much, watching too much television and the like. But what’s wrong with a little harmless indulgence? Sure we don’t need it, but isn’t life for enjoying? Jesus tells us that he came that we would have life to the full. It is our duty to enjoy life!

It would appear then that our Lenten sacrifices are the pursuit of the miserable, perhaps the inventions of sour-faced clergymen who are not content with their own misery but want to spread it around. Involving ourselves in Lenten practices might not be compatible with joyous Christianity, living life to the full.

But this would be a cruel deception. Far from being an endeavour to make us miserable, our Lenten practice seeks to liberate us from the things that we don’t need, that our being might be lifted to the things that give us most fulfilment.

The greatest joy of our Christian life is to experience God. In him, all our yearnings and desires will be at rest. But this is hidden from us in our earthly lives. Earnestly searching for our fulfilment, we indulge in the things of the world. In Lent, we might learn through our sacrifices that there are many things that we do not need.

The readings of today’s liturgy give a certain shape to this. While Moses speaks with God about the covenant, the people fashion a calf of molten metal and worship it, turning their backs on the God of their salvation. In the Gospel, Jesus rebukes the Jews for looking for the approval of each other rather than the approval of the true God. These things are not necessary. If only we could see the true beauty of the simplicity of God – that we would need nothing else but our rest in him.

It is difficult to attain to such perfection, but through our observance of Lent and our practice of self-denial, may we seek the things which sustain us.

The extravagance of God

Wednesday 4 of Lent

Readings: Isaiah 49:8-15; Ps 144: 8-9, 13-14, 17-18; John 5:17-30

It is tempting to wonder whether the people of the Old Testament, when they heard the words of hope and consolation offered by their prophets, reacted as some of us often do today when we hear our leaders putting forward their plans for a better and brighter tomorrow. For it could not have been easy for a people who frequently saw themselves as abandoned and forgotten by God to accept such words and promises as those voiced by the prophet Isaiah which we hear in today’s first reading – the promise to restore the land, to release those in darkness, and to lead those who are hungry and thirsty to springs of water.

Yet if these prophetic pronouncements must have often appeared beyond the comprehension and wildest hopes of Israel, how much more remarkable it is to read in the Gospels that Jesus not only comes to fulfil these prophecies but to realize them in a far more marvellous way than the prophets were ever able to conceive. For Jesus, who reveals himself as the very presence of God among his people, not only discloses something of the mystery of God’s inner life but actually invites each of us to share in this divine life in eternity.

Notice that Jesus does not force us to accept this generous invitation. Just as he waits for the crippled man at the pool of Bethesda to reply to the question “Do you want to be well?” before curing him (John 5:6), so he wants us to respond to his promise of new life by listening to his words and seeking to do good. The traditional Lenten practices of prayer, alms giving and fasting offer us precisely the chance to listen to God, to do good to others and to ourselves. In such a way, we can journey towards Easter full of praise for a God who is ‘kind and full of compassion’, who does not forget his people but rather, in his extravagance, promises to raise us up to share in his own divine life.

Why put off until tomorrow what you can do today...

Tuesday 4 of Lent

Readings: Ez 47:1-9, 122; Ps 46:2-3, 5-6, 8-99; Jn 5:1-16

This chapter of St. John’s Gospel marks the start of a series of confrontations between Jesus and the Jewish people which brought with them persecutions and eventually lead to his death. The question in today’s passage is whether or not the man suffering from illness should be cured on the Sabbath. He had been ill for a long time, yet was not close to death. In the Jewish tradition it was only those who were close to death who were allowed to receive medical attention on the Sabbath. What Jesus recognised was that this man’s illness had kept him in the shadow of death all that time, robbing him of the capacity to live fully and joyfully.

Jesus’ response shows something to us about the importance of the Sabbath – as the Son of God he provides us with the authentic interpretation of God’s law concerning the Sabbath, showing that the Sabbath is not only a day of rest and recreation, but a day of God’s mercy. It is never the wrong time for God to heal, never the wrong time to show mercy. Jesus brings the man healing of his sins, and gives him back the life which he had lacked for so long. We may ask ourselves then what we might be lacking – after all, evil is not a ‘thing’ at all, but an absence of the kind which prevents us from being fully human. What parts of our lives have we hidden away from God for all too long? What long term grievances do we carry around with us? Who do we need to forgive? Can we not ask for God’s healing and mercy right now, in order that Christ may enter, and we may start on the journey to wholeness?

Whose house are you building?

Solemnity of St Joseph

Readings: 2 Samuel 7:4-5, 12-14, 16; Psalm 88; Romans 4:13, 16-18, 22; Matthew 1:6, 18-21, 24

'...the word of the Lord came to Nathan, "Go and tell my servant David, Thus says the Lord...I will raise up your offspring after you...I will establish his kingdom. He shall build a house for my name..." ' ( 2 Samuel 7:4, 12-13. RSV.)

The first reading today is taken from 2 Samuel chapter 7. One of the central subject matter is the building of a house. In verse 2 we observe King David expressing his desire to the prophet Nathan to do something majestic for God. He, David, says, 'See now, I dwell in a house of cedar, but the ark of God dwells in a tent'. Initially, the prophet tells David to go ahead with his heart's desire. The prophet even adds: 'for the Lord is with you'; seeming to say, since you are the Lord's anointed, and this anointing has brought success in all your undertakings, then this too must be a proper and fitting idea. However, that very night the Lord spoke to Nathan and told him to tell David not to go ahead with his plan. 'Thus says the Lord: You shall not build me a house to dwell in' (1 Chronicles 17:4. RSV).

There are several lessons to be learnt here. It is not the case that because someone is anointed, as all Christians are, that every idea they come up with is necessarily in accord with the will of God. Quite frankly, anointed people can get it all wrong, as was the case not only with David, but also with Nathan. What is more, even anointed poeple need other anointed people in some instances to know the exact mind of God on a particular issue. This should be a serious lesson for us. David had a special relationship with God. His heart was after the heart of God itself, and for this reason, he became the most renowned king of all Israel.

So, if a man like David could get it wrong, it is possible that others can do so too. Nevetheless, this is no excuse for being ignorant of the fact that, no matter how nice our ideas may seem, God has his own ideas. He has his own plans. No matter how holy we might be, and indeed we might truly be holy, if we do not find out what the mind of God is on a particular matter, all that we might do based on our own ideas might just be in vain.

We cannot anticipate the ways in which God will fulfill his promises. On this feast of Saint Joseph we celebrate the fact that God's promise to David many centuries before - that it was he, the Lord, who would build a house for David and not vice versa - this promise is fulfilled in the birth of Jesus, the Son of David, the Son of God, entrusted to the care of Joseph the carpenter. He, Jesus, is the man who finally builds a fitting house for God, that temple which is his body, the Church.

Taste and See the Lord's Goodness

Sunday 4 of Lent - Laetare Sunday

Readings: Joshua 5:9a, 10-12; Ps 34; Luke 15:1-3, 11-32.

"This man welcomes sinners and eats with them..." (Luke 15:3) In response to the murmuring of his detractors, Jesus tells three parables of things lost and found: a sheep, a coin and two sons. Each ends with rejoicing and celebration when the lost is restored, and this is fully expressed in the parable of the lost sons where the father's joy is shown through feasting, music and dancing. As we have reached mid-Lent, rejoicing is indeed the keynote of Laetare Sunday: the Liturgy expresses this through the use of distinctive rose vestments and the resounding of the organ, and at the Eucharistic feast we too make music and celebrate.

Why do we celebrate and rejoice? Because the Lord has chosen to feast with us sinners and indeed He feeds and restores us to new life with his own Body and Blood. Thus today's psalm response invites us to "taste and see the goodness of the Lord". The Eucharist is the joy-filled celebration when we experience God's goodness. As Pope Benedict XVI said in his recent apostolic exhortation Sacramentum caritatis: "The sacrament of charity, the Holy Eucharist is the gift that Jesus Christ makes of himself, thus revealing to us God's infinite love for every man and woman ... Jesus continues, in the sacrament of the Eucharist, to love us 'to the end,' even to offering us his body and his blood."

In the light of this, we have a choice of either accepting Christ's offer of love or rejecting it. The prodigal son, after he had repented of his ways and returned to his father, accepted his unconditional love. That is our Lenten and life's journey in a nutshell: to recognize our sinfulness, to return to God, accepting His loving mercy and rejoicing with Him in the intimacy of the Eucharist.

But even so, some of us can be like the elder son, who observe the Father's love daily yet do not truly see and taste God's goodness; we hold ourselves aloof and independent of God's embrace and take His Eucharistic gift for granted. The Eucharist is thus a challenge to us, for "Eucharistic communion, includes the reality both of being loved [by God] and of loving others in turn. A Eucharist which does not pass over into the concrete practice of love is intrinsically fragmented". We may choose to stay outside.

Others may withdraw from the feasting because of unworthiness. While repentance is necessary, just as sorrow comes before joy and Lent before Easter, our fundamental unworthiness is not foremost. Rather, in the Eucharist, Jesus Himself chooses to welcome sinners and eat with us, and because we are unworthy, God takes the initiative. That is the way of love, the gift of the Eucharist, which George Herbert's poem Love bade me welcome expresses so well.

This Laetare Sunday, what better cause for rejoicing have we than a realization of God's love manifest in the Eucharist and the foretaste of eternal life that it offers?

'from now on it is men you will catch'

Feast of St Patrick

Readings: 1 Peter 4:7-11, Ps 95:1-3, 7-8, 10; R) v.3, Luke 5:1-11

There are few things more painful than failure; the objective knowledge that we have fallen short of what we set for ourselves. That knowledge is what faces Simon Peter and the other fisherman in today’s gospel. They have worked hard through the night and their labours have yielded nothing.

And yet the passage is a story of the success that will come to the apostles if they persevere. The key to resolving this seeming paradox is the change of perspective that is brought about in the fisherman. God’s work in the world is not wrought by us or controlled by our initiative: it is collaborative and dependent upon the humility with which we can listen to the Lord. That simplicity of spirit, which prayer breeds in us, asks us to forget the collapse of our own plans. Rather, what is highlighted is the vital contribution that we can each make to the church’s mission by being constant in prayer and generous in response to the invitation of God.

St Patrick, the great 5th century missionary to Ireland, had a profound understanding of the dependence of the true preacher upon God’s grace. As St Patrick said in his Confession, ‘I am very much in debt to God, who gave me so much grace that through me many people were born again in God’. The Lord asks us not to be afraid, but rather to cast out our nets, confident in the good that He wants to work in us and through us.

To love God

Friday 3 of Lent

Readings: Hosea 14:2-10; Psalm 81; Mark 12:28-34

It is impossible to fulfil the commandment of love. Love is necessarily a relationship of equals and I am by no means equal to God. For me to love God is as unrealistic as it is for a cup of coffee to love me, and even more so: the gap between God and creation cannot be bridged. Why then, does Christ tell the scribe that the first commandment is ‘to love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength’ (Mark 12:30)?

Jesus is the only begotten Son of God, equal in divinity with the Father. When Jesus says that the Father loves him, or that he loves the Father, it is no metaphor (as it is when, for example, I say: ‘I love coffee’).

Shall we despair then? Are we left out of this wondrous exchange of love? Are we doomed to be ever looking out for healing from our creature-hood? By no means! The coming of Christ, who is both true God and a true human being, brought an end to all despair. Now, being members of His body, the Church, we have a share in the Father’s love, the Holy Spirit. We read in Scripture: ‘See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are’ (1 John 3:1).

Since we are God’s children, it is in the Holy Spirit, through our Lord Jesus Christ, that we can really love the Father (Romans 8:16). For the first time since the beginning ...

Finger of God

Thursday 3 of Lent

Readings: Jeremiah 7:23-28; Psalm 94; Luke 11:14-23

If you have watched the film 'Into Great Silence' as some members of our community did recently, you were probably struck by the fact that in the whole film lasting for nearly three hours, there was only one person who actually spoke. The film featured the life of the Grand Chartreuse, a monastery of the Carthusian Order in France. The Grand Chartreuse is considered as one of the strictest monasteries in Christendom. After two hours of impressive pictures about the silent life of the monks and the wonderful landscape of the French Alps, one old and blind monk speaks about his life and about God. The statement lasts only a few minutes. Its outline is: 'There is a God. He is infinitely good. He helps you. Therefore be happy.'

The film is the extraordinary report of a life radically dedicated to the exploration of God’s presence by prayer, work and silence. In today’s Gospel, Jesus demonstrates once more this powerful and loving presence of God on this earth. In casting out demons he makes clear that there is no place for evil and Satan in this world: 'If it is through the finger of God that I cast out devils, then know that the kingdom of God has overtaken you' (Luke 11, 20-21). Lent is the time of exploring this kingdom in our life. So, let us pray that He may touch us too so that we feel His helping presence. Even though we may life not in a remote monastery in the French alps but in busy Britain ...

A godzdogz review of the film 'Into Great Silence', first posted in January, is re-posted below.

Film Review: Die Grosse Stille (Into Great Silence)

Philip Groening waited thirteen years before the Carthusian monks at La Grande Chartreuse near Grenoble felt ready for their life to be filmed. The result is this 164-minute film that takes us, as its English title puts it, Into Great Silence. It is the first ever cinematic record of life at the Carthusian mother house. To achieve this poetic and beautiful evocation of the life of St Bruno's austere monastic order, Groening lived in the monastery and follow the monastic routine. He spent just three hours a day filming material for this documentary, accumulating in total 120 hours of film.

The film was selected for the Edinburgh Festival last year and has been lauded across Europe but it can only be seen at select cinemas in the United Kingdom. Although I did not wait as long as Groening to enter the great silence I had been anticipating its UK release for some time. It is well worth the effort of finding a cinema where it is being screened.

Die Grosse Stille allows one to experience Carthusian life through the cinematic art. The viewer is immersed in the silence, rhythm, seasons and chant of monastic life in this beautiful alpine monastery and enveloped in the serenity of the contemplative life in which God's presence is sought. In the silence of the monastic life - punctuated by the steady cadence of bells - even the ordinary jobs of chopping wood, mending a shoe or cutting woolen cloth for a new habit are embued with profound care as these menial tasks and routine chores are offered to God with love. In the midst of such silence, the conversations that take place during the weekly recreation are savoured and become precious, for the lips of the monks are otherwise opened only in praise of God through the chants and prayers of the liturgy. The monastic liturgy is sensitively filmed and we are allowed to glimpse also the hidden life of the monks in their cells, at work, in the cloister and even playing in the snow.

It was a special thrill to hear the monks sing the ancient Carthusian chant and discern certain tones that it shares with Dominican chant. Other aspects, such as the white habit (which included a black hooded cloak for the novices), the adoption of various bodily postures in prayer, and a scene of the monks eating together (as they do on Sundays and great feasts) in their austere refectory, reminded me of the influence of Carthusian life on St Dominic and the first Dominicans. It seemed to me that I was viewing the life of our spiritual ancestors.

I was also touched at seeing a novice, Dom Benjamin, being received into the community, taken to his cell by the other monks who prayed with him in his cell for that first time. We see him later learning to chop wood, sing plainsong and chant the readings during the night office. In many ways I felt a sense of connection with him, as I too am still so new to the adventure of religious life.


Scriptural texts repeatedly puntuated the film, in particular Jeremiah 20:7, You have seduced me, O Lord, and I have let myself be seduced, words that seem to explain why La Grande Chartreuse exists.

Religious life is a mystery and a gift, a divine call that no film can ever adequately reveal, but Die Grosse Stille does help us to see how God's grace - like the gently-falling snow that surrounded the monastery - is powerfully and silently at work in the lives of those who fall in love with the God of love. This is a cause for wonder and thanks, and as one views Groening's documentary, one cannot help but enter the silence and begin to contemplate this grace at work in one's own life, calling us to surrender all for love of Him.


To discover more about the Carthusian vocation, click on the links above, or visit the Parkminster website

Unity through distinction

Wednesday 3 of Lent

Readings: Deuteronomy 4:1, 5-9; Psalm 147; Matthew 5:17-19

I love oysters … but am I allowed to eat them? Since the Book of Leviticus states that “anything in the seas or in the streams that does not have fins and scales is detestable” (Leviticus 11:11), can we eat them without contravening the law of Moses? In today’s gospel we read that “not one stroke of a letter will pass from the law until all is accomplished” (Matthew 5:18). Are we, therefore, doomed to be over-scrupulous, and to respect strange laws whose purposes seem to belong to a bygone age? Are oyster-eaters the least in the Kingdom?

At first glance one might make the mistake of thinking that rules have to be followed mechanically and we might even consider that observances make us holy. But this is precisely what the Pharisees thought. Law is a protection, which allowed them not to be criticized. Today, Jesus shows a much deeper interpretation of the law and asks that our righteousness should exceed that of the scribes and Pharisees… In what respect? In the Old Testament law, God made things holy by separating them from what was unholy and the law of Moses followed this pattern accordingly. But Jesus reveals that this distinction has a more profound meaning. The fulfillment of this law reaches its climax in the apparent contradiction of the beatitudes in the section preceding today’s gospel. Jesus fulfills the law and makes us holy by uniting holy things with what used to be unholy!

Fulfillment is not a silly mechanical application of strange rules. It is more profoundly the freedom of inclusiveness rather than the slavery of separation between holy and unholy. Laws about food are fulfilled by Jesus’ eating at the table of sinners. Therefore, as the famous French Thomist Jacques Maritain used to say, “we have to distinguish in order to unite.” So Jesus fulfils the law by bringing out its perfect and inner meaning: the reconciliation of what is holy and unholy … The distinctions we make are ordered to a deeper unity. In an ecclesiological point of view, this gospel challenges us today: unity is not reached despite diversity, but through it … distinction need not mean separation.

During this time of Lent, I wish us to discover this freedom offered to us by Jesus’ fulfillment of the law … and to have the opportunity to eat a lot of oysters!

The duty to forgive

Tuesday 3 of Lent

Readings: Daniel 3:25, 34-43; Psalm 24; Matthew 18:21-35

A friend of mine has on his desk a little plaque that reads: ‘the one thing I can’t stand is when other people just can’t admit their faults. I’d admit mine – if I had any’. This witty phrase always brings a chuckle, but it also encapsulates something about human nature. None of us really wants to appreciate the darker side to ourselves. It takes bravery and suffering. But it is essential for us to confront these parts of ourselves if we are to live our lives more fully.

In Lent we are called to reflect on these parts of ourselves, and confront them. If we do this properly, we will see the parts of our lives that need to be reformed, and we won’t be happy! We might see in ourselves a person we don’t want to be. But this lesson in pain will help us to lead better lives.

Our pain causes us to seek forgiveness, and to know that the love of God is not removed from us when we display our weaknesses. This is good news – but we must not allow that to eclipse our duty to forgive other people. When we see our own weakness, we ought to understand the weakness of others. This is what is taught in today’s gospel. The servant, having been released from his debt by his master, then fails to show any mercy to the man who is in debt to him. Jesus points out that forgiveness is indispensable for our lives together as humans. We must forgive each other seventy-seven times. Unless we are prepared to accept that we are as weak and sinful as our brothers and sisters, and forgive them their trespasses, we cannot expect to be shown mercy.

Resist not evil

Monday 3 of Lent

Readings: 2 Kings 5:1-15; Psalms 41, 42; Luke 4:24-30

When violently attacked by a mob, Christ just walks away; he simply leaves his attackers behind. It might be said, then, that Christ is following his own commandment: resist not evil. But what sense is to be made of that refusal to resist evil, that preparedness just to walk away?

It cannot be that Jesus is happy for there to be evil in the world. That would be crazy. In fact, he himself endlessly asks people to change their hearts and minds. He never denies that evil is evil or pretends that it is good. Christ wants evil to be overcome - only he does not think it can happen on the terms in which people often conceive that victory.

The overcoming of evil in human hearts is to happen by allowing it to run its course. Interpersonal violence, in particular, is not to find the resistance that it wants. It is to become powerless because it meets no opposition. Only in this can violence meet an opponent for which it is no match. Violence cannot attain its aim of creating more violence, if it is left alone.

If Jesus had struck back at those who strike him, would it not have conveyed the message that violence is acceptable? The assault of the angry Jews is condemned instead by not being met with assault. In this way Jesus shows their violent anger for what it really is. He gives no excuses to those who indulge in aggression and injustice. By this means, he hopes to remove those things from their hearts.

Sometimes people say that Jesus’ command ‘resist not evil’ cannot be justified in the light of experience, that it is just an ideology which is out of touch with the realities of life. Of course, it is true, Jesus is not providing an absolute rule for every sphere of life; there are some spheres in which it is right to resist. But – in general – it seems to me the command not to resist evil is very closely in touch with the realities of life. It was because Jesus understood only too well the internal mechanisms of violence and other evils that he told his disciples not to resist.

God’s eternal presence

Sunday 3 of Lent

Readings: Exodus 3:1-8, 13-15; Psalm 102; 1 Corinthians 10:1-6, 10-12; Luke 13:1-9

Moses was shepherding his father-in-law’s flock… Moses saw the burning bush… Moses saw and turned aside and covered his face, ‘for he feared to look at God’. These are epoch-making actions, defining moments and past events: they have already taken place. For the people of Israel, the Exodus, begun at this encounter with God on Sinai, is part of a history that identifies their very nature.

When your son asks you in time to come, ‘What is the meaning of the testimonies and the statutes and the ordinances which the LORD our God has commanded you?’ then you shall say to your son, ‘We were Pharaoh’s slaves in Egypt; and the LORD brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand’ (Deut. 6.21-22).

This identity is handed on through the passing generations; over the years. Who are we? We are the people God saved and brought to the promised land.

This identity with history is a feature of human life. What I mean is that every experience we have in the world, even daily sensations, follows the event. All too quickly a moment, an action, a feeling becomes a past event. Time chases away our existence. We live in the past.

But let’s go back to that mountain in the Middle East and Moses covering his face before the bush that burns.

The LORD sends him to bring the people out of slavery; to bring them into the present. And Moses asks fundamentally important questions in the face of this event. Who am I? Who are you?

Moses roots his identity in the past: his being drawn from the Nile; his crime; his flight from Egypt and his people. ‘Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh, and bring the sons of Israel out of Egypt?’ (Ex. 3.11). This is why he argues with God.

God’s eternal identity breaks into the time-bound world of Moses: I am who I am. There is no time from which God draws his identity. No time when God is waiting to act or lamenting what has passed. There is precisely no time at all. God’s care for his people, his patient love with the sinner, is eternal.

So, if we have failed so far this Lent, in penance, we should not despair. Turn back to God; turn towards the present. We may bear fruit next year.

Sibling Rivalry

Saturday 2 of Lent

Readings: Micah 7:14-15, 18-20; Psalm 102; Luke 15:1-3, 11-32

Stories of sibling rivalry have a long history in human culture in general and as reflected in the scriptures: we have hardly been introduced to the first human progeny when we find Cain killing Abel. And family quarrels tend to be the most destructive, perhaps because that particular nexus of relationships finds us at our most exposed, and so especially vulnerable when things go wrong. Yet we learn how to relate ourselves to God through relating to other people, and our families are the original theatres where that particular drama of ourselves is first played out. Family stories understandably fascinate us, as a casual survey of soap operas and popular fiction will readily confirm. Hence the enduring poignancy of Luke’s account of a dysfunctional family in the parable of the prodigal in today’s gospel.

Luke’s narrative is powerful and has many resonances in human culture. I am inescapably reminded of Rembrandt’s famous portrait of the returning younger son kneeling in front of his father – one of the most powerful images of God’s compassion. Yet half of the text deals with the elder son. We discover through the narrative that he, too, has been alienated from his father, perhaps for longer, he has ‘slaved’ for his father for years, obeying grudgingly, never feeling rewarded. And he deeply resents his father’s joy at his brother's return, not seeing that he also is loved by his father – as Luke brilliantly depicts when he has the father go out to him, sulking in the field, to comfort him. This part of the story is a sad comment by Jesus on the Pharisees’ refusal to accept that the gospel, the good news, is extended to the outcast, to the lost. Precisely that is the challenge for us now: do we reach out to embrace the lost, or do we resent their demands on us and turn away?

Room for God in Europe?

Friday 2 of Lent

Readings: Genesis 37:3-4, 12-13, 17-28; Ps 104:16-21; Matthew 21:33-43, 45-46

Some time ago there was a debate in Europe about whether a proposed Constitution for the whole European Union should include a reference to God or to the Christian values that have long been part of this continent’s heritage. The course of the debate showed that many were of the opinion that Europe’s affairs could be managed perfectly well without any such reference and so ignored those who tried to argue differently.

Today’s Gospel narrates the parable of the landowner who, deciding to go off abroad, leased his vineyard to tenants. The tenants were given the freedom to look after the vineyard as best they could. However, they soon viewed the vineyard as their own property and set about attacking the representatives of the landowner when they arrived to claim his due. Jesus warns his listeners that those who pay no heed to the landowner risk being stripped of the gift with which they have been entrusted.

Today, more than ever, we need to learn that this world is a gift from God given to us for a while that we might attend it with care. In contrast to much of today’s political and economic agenda, which seems obsessed with ideas of progress and competition, we need to remind ourselves that life is not about the survival of the fittest. Rather, each person, created in God’s image, has a dignity that needs to be defended from the very beginning of life to its very end. So whether or not God gets a mention in the European constitution or other documents of that kind, it is important that there are still people prepared to risk everything and go out into the vineyard to preach the truths of our faith.

Mind the gap!

Thursday 2 of Lent

Readings: Jer 17:5-10, Ps 1:1-2, 3, 4 and 6, Lk 16:19-31.

Today’s Gospel contains a message that should give us a jolt. We have an account of the rich man, who during his life clearly enjoyed all the good things that could possibly come his way. His garments were fine, befitting a man who enjoyed not only material wealth, but status too. There is a gulf between the rich man and Lazarus, the man who was sick and poor, who was ever present to the rich man at his gate, yet whose existence the rich man did not acknowledge

Why is there this gulf in Hades? Because the rich man set it up! It is caused by his lack of concern for Lazarus while he was alive. Indeed, the first time we see any sign of concern for others from the rich man, it is too late. All too easily, we can slip into a kind of narcissism, an excessive interest in ourselves to the exclusion of others. The truth is that we cannot be human in the fullest sense without our concern for others. Relating to others is an essential part of us, one that needs constant cultivation lest we create gulfs just like the one between the rich man and Lazarus. An authentic, profound, Christ-centred prayer is an important part of identifying and eliminating such gulfs in our own lives. Then we may open our eyes to the needs of those around us, and enter into relationship with them.

These gulfs can exist not only between us and people like Lazarus, but also much closer to home. We must constantly ask for the grace to be able to treat others we live and work with as people made in the image and likeness of God. Only then can we be attentive to their needs and concerns. We should also remember that there are many different kinds of riches in life: although we might not have millions in the bank, we may still be healthy, we may be loved and cared for by others, we may have the luxury of time for leisure, and so on. All these good things left unchecked can turn into gulfs. We are called not only to be generous with our money, but to examine the ways in which we might be called to give more of ourselves to others, and in so doing become more fully human, conformed to the image of Christ, who is the most profound expression of God's self-giving.

Give heed to me, O Lord.

Wednesday 2 of Lent

Readings: Jeremiah 18:18-20; Psalm 30; Matthew 20:17-28

'Give heed to me, O Lord, and hearken to my plea' (Jeremiah 18:19).

'O Lord my God, I cried to thee for help, and thou hast healed me' (Psalm 30:2).

Today the first reading is taken from the prophet Jeremiah and the psalm is Psalm 30. In the case of Jeremiah, he is crying out to God against his adversaries. Jeremiah continues '... deliver up their children to famine; give them over to the power of the sword ... deal with them ...' (Jeremiah 18:21,23). In the case of the psalm, it is David singing to the Lord at the dedication of the temple, where he recounts how he has been delivered from his adversaries. He, David, says 'I will extol thee, O Lord, for thou hast drawn me up, and hast not let my foes rejoice over me ... I cried to thee for help' (Ps 30:1-2).

What is amazing is the boldness with which the prayers are made. In the case of Jeremiah, he not only speaks to God with boldness, but he makes some serious demands of God, which might seem rather shocking to us. Jeremiah says: '... may their men meet death by pestilence, their youths be slain by the sword in battle' (Jeremiah 30:21). Now, indeed, David's request of God, at least in this psalm, seems less 'bloody', but this does not take away from the point I am getting at. Both Jeremiah and David spoke to God. All this took place before Christ. When the Christ did come, his followers asked Him, how are we to pray. Jesus said, when you pray say: 'Father ...'

The questions, then, are these, when we pray do we always call to mind to whom we are praying? So as to pray more fully? Or have we yet to grasp what Christ has done in reconciling us to our Father?

Learning to do Good

Tuesday 2 of Lent

Readings: Isaiah 1:10, 16-20; Psalm 50; Matthew 23:1-12.


"Learn to do good... come now, let us reason together, says the Lord" - Isaiah 1:17-18

What does it mean to do good? Is it simply to keep the commandments? But surely the scribes and the Pharisees did that assiduously? St Thomas Aquinas would say that the good life does not consist just in doing good things instead of bad things, but in doing them well, and that means from the depths of one's character. A good person does good things because that is who that person is; to be holy is to act for the good and to do it wholly according to one's own character. Such personal integration brings delight and happiness in life.

How does one become a good and happy person? By learning to do good and, as with any learning, practice is required. Lent is like an intense learning period in which we take on acts of prayer, self-denial and charity so as to increase our appetite for the truly good things in life. Initially we do these Lenten practices because we're told to, or because we feel we ought to, but gradually, such behaviour becomes second nature to us, and then, and only then, do we acquire the natural disposition which Aquinas calls the (moral) virtues. As Herbert McCabe says: "Then we are grown-up. Then when we do good actions they are our own, springing from the personality that we have created for ourselves with the help of others" and God's grace.

Moreover, Aquinas says that "right choosing involves having a right goal and suitably acting to achieve that goal... the disposition to act suitably to achieve the goal must dispose reason to plan and decide well, and that is the virtue of prudence." Lent is that time of grace when we can evaluate if we have the right goals in life and if we are on course. This involves prudence, practical reason which helps us to judge rightly and act accordingly. Prudence cannot be exercised without the moral virtues - which we have acquired - but in order for prudence to be exercised effectively, we also need the divine virtues of faith, hope and love. These are given by God alone, hence in learning to do good, we rightly reason together with the Lord.

This Lent, as God continues to school us in virtue, let us be good students of Christ, our only Teacher (see Matthew 23:8).

'Grant pardon, and you will be pardoned'

Monday 2 of Lent

Readings: Daniel 9:4-10, Ps 78:8-9, 11, 13 (R: Ps 102:10), Luke 6:36-38

‘Give, and there will be gifts for you ... because the amount you measure out is the amount you will be given back’ (Lk 6: 38). We are asked to be generous to others in the understanding that our capacity in that way is related to our own salvation. What is the nature of the exchange here? Does Jesus ask good works of us in order that we might earn eternal life? We should remember when reading this passage that Jesus is preaching to his disciples: he is forming the first Christians, who will have the responsibility for passing on his teaching.

That message is not that we can deserve God’s grace. The good works that Jesus asks of us are the fruit of Christ’s own sacrifice and resurrection and the coming of the Holy Spirit. The pardon that we can offer to others is a reflection of the redemption which has been won for us by Jesus himself. Through having compassion towards others, we become people who act with the knowledge of that redemption; who enter into the love of God for the world. As Christians, living in a world that understands religious acts to be onerous duties offered to God in expectation of a reward, our call is to live in the spirit of what God has blessed us with in Christ. We have nothing to give to others, except a small part of what has already been given to us by God in Jesus' life and self giving.

Fear and trembling transformed

Sunday 2 of Lent

Readings: Genesis 15:5-12,17-18; Psalm 27; Philippians 3:17-4:1; Luke 9:28-36

When faced with something unknown I often experience fear. Nothing unusual, I guess, and I’m sure many would sympathize with this. How difficult sometimes it can be to believe a stranger! Yet, Abraham did it. ‘Darkness’ and ‘dread’ fell on him, yet he believed and this was reckoned to him as righteousness (Genesis 15:6). I dislike people who avoid eye contact. It makes me feel extremely uncomfortable. I want to see their face, when they talk to me, for it communicates more than words.

If you fear to trust in God, whom you do not know, remember that God became one of us, so that we could see his human face. When on the Mount Tabor the apostles saw Christ’s transformed face they also beheld God’s glory. Their fear and trembling was then transformed, and they realized, not knowing what to say or what to do, that it does not present a threat to them. The encounter with God led them to accept the mission:

"This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!" (Luke 9:35).

This they followed, giving up their lives for the Word.

I think, then, I can believe the promise of a stranger, whose face and words are true. Even more, still, the true promise of somebody, who is closer to myself than I am. The promise made to Abraham is fulfilled for us, his children in faith, in Christ. Our promised land is his kingdom that begins in this life, on earth, and continues after death, in heaven. The dread of the unknown is being transformed here into a great desire to share in the divine life, to become God’s friend.





You will find a homily for each Sunday and Solemnity on TORCH, the preaching web site of the English Dominicans.

Perfect as the heavenly Father is perfect

Saturday 1 of Lent

Readings: Deuteronomy 26:16-19; Psalm 118; Matthew 5:43-48

As at the beginning of the week the collect today calls us to conversion, to turn our hearts to God. The description of the covenant ceremony between God and the people of Israel reminds us that we are already in a mutual relationship with God, baptised into the new covenant. We are called to walk in the Lord’s way, to be a people holy to God. For as children of God we are, as Jesus says in the climax of today’s gospel, called to be perfect, as our heavenly Father is perfect.

And this is, surely, an unreasonable and excessive demand. We might even agree with Dostoevsky’s Grand Inquisitor that to be presented with such an unattainable ideal imposes an intolerable burden on us. But to construe the passage in this way misses the point. Both readings today conclude lengthy passages of moral teaching – of the promulgation of the law in Deuteronomy and of the beatitudes, the sermon on the mount, in Matthew. They are best read as exhortatory, as a summons to action, to put into practice the statutes and ordinances of God, to be holy as God is holy. ‘Perfect’ here does not mean so much being ‘free from faults’ (which of us could claim that?) as being grown up, being adult rather than childish, fully developed in a moral sense. God then is our role model for unlimited display of beneficence; and we are called to grow into such a God-like perspective loving even our enemies (i.e. everyone) with the care God shows to all, just and unjust alike.

Thanks be to God … for not asking us to pay the last penny…

Friday 1 of Lent

Readings: Ezekiel 18:21-28; Psalm 129: Matthew 5:20-26


Today’s gospel ends with this terse sentence: “you will not get out till you have paid the last penny”.

During mass, after having heard this reading, the congregation will presumably answer, perhaps mechanically, “thanks be to God” … Thanks be to God for what? For God being such a ruthless accountant? Judging us and asking us to pay the last penny. Of course not. It is quite the opposite. Thank be to God … for not asking us to pay the last penny.

In fact, it seems that we are facing here a puzzling paradox. This gospel starts with “you have learnt how it was said to our ancestors: you must not kill”. It alludes to the ten commandments given to Moses. But we quite often tend to forget how they were given: through the intercession of Moses who killed an Egyptian (Exodus 1:12)! What a strange paradox! The lawgiver seems not to be able to respect the law given. But this is not the point. Before following God’s commandments, we are thus asked not to compare, not to judge. Should we do so, should we mark other’s guilt, who would survive - see today’s psalm 129:2.

Perhaps, what Jesus invites us to discover today is that this silly dynamic of ‘accountancy’ is without end if we direct it towards others. We are judges over ourselves only … if we do so, we will not be asked to pay the last penny… “forgive us our sins as we forgive those who trespass against us…”