Art of Redemption 2: Henri Matisse, The Way of the Cross

Henri Matisse's 'The Way of the Cross' is in the Rosary Chapel, Vence, France. The chapel was solemnly consecrated on 25 June 1951. It belongs to the Dominican sisters who run a home of convalescence in Vence which is in the hills high above the city of Nice. The architect and decorator of the chapel was Henri Matisse. On the day of its consecration a crowd consisting of religious, clergy, and a great number of journalists was waiting impatiently outside the door. Finally, the local bishop opened the doors, and the crowd entered. The ones who entered were amazed by the light flowing in through the stained glass windows in yellow, green, and blue. On the right hand side, a beautiful painting covering the whole wall showed Mary and the Child surrounded by clouds. It was painted with black ink on white tiles, and the colours from the windows added life to the image. At the far end stood the altar in sand stone, and behind this, another stained glass window called “The Tree of Life”. To the left they could admire the choir for the sisters, and on the right, another enormous painting, this one of Saint Dominic. Everything was made by Matisse, not only the paintings and the windows, but also the altar, the choir, and the crucifix. Even the volume and shape of the chapel were designed by the artist, nothing had escaped his hand, and all who entered the place were touched by its beauty. Until they turned and saw the Way of the Cross!

One could hear the clergy mumbling the word blasphemy, at first quietly and later all over the front pages of the newspapers. The press speculated and wondered if Matisse had run out of time, and was forced to scribble down the Way of the Cross at the last minute. Why would Matisse add something so ugly in such a beautiful place

Matisse had not run out of time. The Way of the Cross had been worked through, over and over again. Each scene had been sketched in several versions. Matisse was studying, struggling, fighting with his own drafts to find the right expression. How could he possibly visualize Christ’s suffering in a place that otherwise reflected sublime beauty? When the journalists asked him about the expression of the Way of the Cross, Matisse answered firmly: “I have not painted beauty. I have painted the Truth. The truth of the Passion is not, and has never been beautiful!” Matisse had not been painting. He had lived through the passion himself. It was not the result of eccentric spontaneity that one could see on the wall, but a meditation on the passion that lasted for years. It took Henri Matisse four years to complete the chapel, and when he finished he said: “This chapel is the sum of my whole life as an artist.”

Henri Matisse never confessed his faith, and remained at a distance from the Church. But in quiet mornings in the following few years before he died, the sisters would sometimes see him sitting in the back of the chapel, just under the Way of the Cross, silently weeping as the sisters sung their Benedictus ...

Art of the Redemption 1: Hæc dies

Hæc dies quam fecit Dominus:

exultemus et laetemur in ea.

Alleluia.

This is the day that the Lord made:
let us be glad and rejoice in it.
Alleluia.

Throughout the Octave of Easter, these words from Psalm 118:24 are sung repeatedly in one form or another both as a response to the short readings Divine Office, or as the verse of the Gospel acclamation during Mass.

The emphasis is on this day, and it being made by the Lord God. The repetition of the text in Easter Week highlights that Easter is the great day of the Lord, and that the Octave of Easter is, as it were, one celebration of that one day. One might argue that every day was made by God, so what is so special about this one?

In its liturgical context, the psalm text is a commentary on Easter Sunday itself, on the day of the Lord's resurrection. Firstly, by recalling that God made the days, it reminds us of the account of creation in Genesis, and indeed St Justin Martyr said that Sunday "is the first day on which God, having wrought a change in the darkness and matter, made the world". But more importantly, also on a Sunday, God re-made the world. Christ's rising from the dead has inaugurated a new creation of which he is the "first born" (see Col 1:15). So, as St Ignatius of Antioch puts it, Easter Sunday is "the day when life first dawned for us, thanks to [Jesus Christ] and His death [and resurrection]". Hence, every Sunday in the weekly cycle of time recalls Easter Sunday, and the Church gathers every Sunday to celebrate the Lord's death and resurrection, and to rejoice in the new creation of which we are partakers through baptism in Christ.

Some of the Fathers also referred to Sunday, it being the day of a new creation, as the 'Eighth Day', whereas the old creation was completed in seven days. The idea of the Eighth Day is also used to refer to the day of the Lord's return in glory, "that day" of final judgement; it is the Day of the Lord (see Isaiah 11:12ff). For the Fathers, this was because the divinization of mankind which began on Easter Sunday is perfected on the Lord's day. On that eighth day, as St John Damascene says, the saints of God shall also rise in our bodies and share in Christ's glory. Hence Easter Sunday - and indeed, every Sunday - also points ahead to the day of the resurrection of the dead, and of Christ's Second Coming.

Hence Pope John Paul II said: "In the weekly reckoning of time Sunday recalls the day of Christ's Resurrection. It is Easter which returns week by week, celebrating Christ's victory over sin and death, the fulfilment in him of the first creation and the dawn of "the new creation" (cf. 2 Cor 5:17). It is the day which recalls in grateful adoration the world's first day and looks forward in active hope to "the last day", when Christ will come in glory (cf. Acts 1:11; 1 Th 4:13-17) and all things will be made new (cf. Rev 21:5)" (Dies Domini, §1).

This work of redemption, and of our elevation through grace is entirely God's work. He alone causes our sanctification and brings about the new creation of grace, and allows us to share divine life with him in heaven. So, the liturgical text not only emphasizes the day of redemption itself, but highlights that this day was made by the Lord; He is the cause of Easter Sunday and all it stands for. In this sense the "day" to which the text refers is the day of our salvation, that one eternal day in which we stand in God's presence in heaven (see Ps 84:10). As he has brought about this great work of salvation for our sake, so we should rejoice and be glad.We have reason to exult, and to sing praise to the Lord - for that is what 'Alleluia' means.

This setting by William Byrd (c.1540 - 1623) was included in his Cantiones Sacræ of 1591. Byrd was a recusant Catholic who had continued to write music for the persecuted Catholic community of England after the Reformation. Many of the works published in the Cantiones are mournful, and he even re-arranged psalm texts to relate the desolation of Israel to the situation of Catholics in his time. However, this piece, the Hæc dies is especially upbeat and fittingly exultant. In the midst of the persecution and trials endured by his fellow recusants in Elizabethan England, Byrd's motet is a fine evocation of Easter hope and joy, of faith in the resurrection, and the new creation it heralded that we also share. For "if we have died with Christ, we believe that we shall also live with him" (Rom 6:8).

Easter Sunday - The Relevance of the Resurrection

Readings: Acts 10:34a. 37-43; Ps 118; Col 3:1-4; Jn 20:1-9


The following is a sermon prepared for the 9:30am Mass in Blackfriars, Oxford.


A few weeks ago, I was invited to a school in Essex, and I went into a Year 10 classroom to take some questions. A boy, obviously hoping I would answer his assignment for him, put me on the spot, and asked me: ‘What is the relevance of the doctrine of the resurrection for today’? Well, that is a question we might well ask ourselves today. And I thought I should share with you what I said to him.

Think of the suffering of the people of Japan, Libya, Pakistan etc. Consider the pain and suffering around us, and in our own lives. Suffering is very immediate, and touches each of us at sometime and in some way, directly and indirectly. Then we begin to see how very relevant the resurrection of Jesus Christ is. For as St Paul said, if Christ has not raised then “your faith is futile and you are still in your sins…” Without the resurrection, then his dying on the Cross is futile.

Because we believe that Christ became one of a us, a human person who suffered, died, and was buried. In Jesus Christ, our God became present to human suffering, so that when we suffer, God is there. He is not a God who is distant from us, but a God who has compassion and suffers alongside us. This is a beautiful and important part of our Christian faith. Each generation is overwhelmed by evil, suffering and sin in the world and asks, ‘Where is God’. And the God whom they - we - interrogate is One who is Crucified, suffering on the Cross. And so, the mystery of sin and evil is given meaning - even if we don’t understand it. But it has meaning because Christ suffered for us, leaving us an example.

But all this - Christ’s passion and death - would be ultimately meaningless if not for the resurrection. It is the resurrection, always shining through the Cross, that gives it meaning. It is the resurrection and the promise it holds for us that gives meaning to our suffering, our death; to the Cross we carry each day, and the dying in baptism and in daily martyrdom that we live for Christ. It is the resurrection that gives meaning to the crucifixion of humanity… in Syria, Haiti, the Ivory Coast, Iraq, Afghanistan. On the streets where the homeless lie, and in the slums where the poor scavenge for scraps in rubbish dumps, and in our homes torn apart by violence, selfishness, disharmony. And in our hearts too, crucified by the insults, humiliation, and indignity that others mete out to us. All this pain, sadness, and suffering, where Christ is present only makes sense, or has any meaning because he is the Risen One.

Because we believe he is risen, we know that sin is defeated, that evil and suffering has an end, and that pain, trials, and even death is only temporary. All these have their end, and give way to everlasting life, eternal blessedness, and a new world in which there are no more tears nor sorrow. So, the resurrection touches each one of us individually and as part of the cosmos. It gives us hope and strength to live and to carry on when we might otherwise be weighed down by the sins and trials of life and the world. What could be more relevant?

But neither are we just left with a distant promise… The resurrection is very much present too in our lives, and in our world. For we hope in a new world in which we have an intimate communion with God and share in his divine life. And we already have a foretaste of this in the Mass. The promise of the resurrection becomes a sacramental reality in Holy Communion, and gives us strength for Life’s journey and for the crosses we carry. For in the Eucharist, Christ gives us his risen Body. For here, today, now, and in every Mass we receive a pledge of divine life and already enjoy the effects of Christ’s resurrection. So, we can proclaim after the Consecration: “Lord, by your Cross and Resurrection you have set us free, you are the Saviour of the world”.

And all of this, I believe, is the relevance of the doctrine of the resurrection for today, and for the here and now, and always!

Alleluia!

The Vigil of Easter

Readings: Genesis 1:1—2:2; Psalm 104:1-2, 5-6, 10, 12, 13-14, 24, 35; Romans 6:3-11; Matthew 28:1-10

Jesus lies in his grave, he is among the dead. We call this day the Vigil of Easter but in an historical perspective, we find ourselves on the day of the Sabbath. Why did God choose this very day? Why does the Father let his Son rest in the grave on the day that he himself has blessed? If we concentrate on the blessing, we may discover more of the secrets of this day of non-activity.

There are many blessings in the Old Testament, among them we find the blessing of Esau that is being stolen by his brother Jacob, and it contains a typical schema for a blessing:

Ah, the smell of my son is like the smell of a fertile field which Yahweh has blessed. May God give you dew from heaven, and the richness of the earth, abundance of grain and wine! Let peoples serve you and nations bow low before you! Be master of your brothers; let your mother's other sons bow low before you! Accursed be whoever curses you and blessed be whoever blesses you! (Genesis 27,27-29)

We may divide this blessing into three parts. The first concerns the fertility of the earth, the part of agriculture that man cannot produce himself, but which he needs to exist. The second part concerns social and political life, but it reaches all the way into the family life. The last part is a blessing that protects from all evil. All these elements are gifts that man cannot accord to himself even though they are necessary for his own existence. Man is called to work, to produce, to do his share. But he is limited, and does not fully assume his own existence. We may see a liturgical expression of this when the priest prays over the offering gifts, saying: “Through your goodness we have this bread to offer, which earth has given and human hands have made”. Man's work is only half of the process, it is the sabbatical blessing that fulfills the offering of the gifts.

 

All this shows us our dependence of an activity which is out of our reach. In our passivity, God acts in a way that we may call a vital activity. And in the same way that the Sabbath repeats itself throughout the year, this vital activity is a healing process and an everlasting renewal where the creation process itself is extended. But to what extent?

The Sabbath reaches its summit as Christ the Son of God descends into the depths of death. It is the moment when sin is conquered. As the day of the Sabbath comes to an end Jesus rises from the dead as proof of this victory. God fulfills his healing, vital activity by introducing the everlasting Sabbath through the work of salvation. Let us therefore enter into the solemn celebration with joy and thanksgiving, knowing that we are part of the Church, the resurrected body of Christ.

Good Friday

Readings: Isaiah 52:13-53:12; Hebrews 4:14-16; 5:7-9; John 18:1:19:42

Good Friday is the only day in the entire year when the Church does not offer the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. Indeed, in the early Church, today was an aliturgical day when no services were held at all. But by the 8th century, the Roman Church gathered on this day for a synaxis, a service of Scripture readings and prayers that was derived from the Sabbath services of the synagogue. To this was added the Veneration of the Cross, which came from the 4th-century liturgy of Jerusalem, in which pilgrims kissed a relic of the True Cross. And finally, monastic communities in medieval Europe added the reception of Holy Communion - a 'Mass of the Pre-Sanctified' - to the liturgy of Good Friday. Nevertheless, this remains a day on which the Holy Mass is not offered.

And yet, this 'fast' from the Eucharistic Sacrifice gives me pause to think about the Mass and the one Victim whose one sacrifice is offered up for our salvation in each and every Mass. It gives me space to consider the Eucharist and its signs and actions which I can take for granted. And three liturgical actions which pertain to the diaconal ministry strike me today as we focus on the Lord's Passion.

After proclaiming the Gospel at Mass each day, I kiss the text and whisper: "May the words of the Gospel wipe away our sins". This prayer is a reminder that Christ, the living Word who speaks to us in the words of the Gospels, saves us from sin. The Gospel has a power to transform our lives if its words take flesh in our lives, so that the Word of God, Christ himself, lives in us. And the deacon who kisses the sacred text is being judged by the Word, because he was told at his ordination to herald the Gospel, and to "believe what you read, teach what you believe, and practise what you teach". On one level, the kiss is an expression of my embrace of this task, and my love for the Word. But sometimes when I kiss the Gospels, I become conscious of my sinfulness and unworthiness, and the image of Judas kissing the Lord comes to mind (see Mt 26:49). The Lord's words spoken to his apostles, to those he commissioned to herald the Gospel, are also recalled: "The spirit indeed is willing but the flesh is weak" (Mt 26:41). And so, we are taken to Gethsemane at this point of the Mass.

At Gethsemane the Lord also said: "My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt". In his Passion Christ embraced this cup, this holy chalice of suffering, and so "he learned obedience from what he suffered" (Heb 5:8). And that too is what we are called to do. So, when the deacon elevates the chalice and drinks from it, he is being asked (as James and John were): "Are you able to drink the cup that I am to drink?" (Mt 20:22). That question is put to every Catholic who comes forward at Communion. And saying "Amen", they take the chalice of salvation, the cup of Christ's suffering, and drink from it. So, we embrace the Cross, and we are taken to Calvary to stand, as it were, at the foot of the Cross and to be washed in the blood of the Lamb. But even so, in the back on my mind, I also recall St Paul's warning: "Let a man examine himself, and so eat of the bread and drink of the cup. For any one who eats and drinks without discerning the body eats and drinks judgement upon himself" (1 Cor 11:28f).

So, both instances - kissing the Gospel and drinking from the chalice - bring me to a point of self-examination and judgement. And perhaps this too is what the aliturgical space of Good Friday is for.

However, a third diaconal action completes the picture lest we be unduly anxious. When I prepare the chalice during Mass, I mix some water with wine, and say: "By the mystery of this water and wine may we come to share in the divinity of Christ who humbled himself to share in our humanity". And so, I am reminded that we are saved not by our own efforts but by the Incarnation for "God sent the Son into the world, not to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him" (Jn 3:17). That is, we are saved by the grace and mercy of God revealed in Christ crucified. So, today's second reading exhorts us to "confidently approach the throne of grace to receive mercy and to find grace for timely help" (Heb 4:16). The Cross is that throne of grace and mercy, and hanging there is our Judge who is able "to sympathize with our weaknesses ... one who has similarly been tested in every way, yet without sin" (Heb 4:15). Therefore, today let us confidently approach the Cross, and kiss it as a sign that we believe that we do receive from Christ our merciful Judge all the grace and help we need. St John says: "He who believes in him is not condemned" (Jn 3:17). Hence we do believe, and we profess in every Mass, that Jesus heals our weaknesses, that his grace strengthens us in times of suffering and temptation, and that Christ will raise us from the death of sin and betrayal to the new and eternal life of Easter.

Holy Thursday: Washing Away our Daily Sins (John 13:1-15)

The cultural setting for Jesus washing his disciples’ feet is that people washed or bathed thoroughly and so were principally clean. Then, on arrival at a guest’s house they just needed to have their feet washed, these having got dirty in the course of the everyday task of travel and getting to one’s destination on dusty roads. This task was assigned to the most lowly of house slaves.

The washing of the feet by Jesus is, no doubt, a symbolic act, but to what is it mainly intended to refer? I have puzzled over this and though it is commonly presented as principally being about the need for leadership to be exercised in a spirit of humble service much of the detail of the passage does not really sit well with this line of interpretation. Charles Talbert (Reading John, SPCK,1991) suggests it is mainly addressing the problem of post-baptismal (daily) sin and this seems to me to be an attractive reading.

Interpreted this way, the main line of narrative is that Jesus recognises our daily sins and their seriousness, symbolised by the dirty feet, and he wants to wash them away and then tells us to do the same in regards to the sins others have committed against us. As God works a fuller work of reconciliation with each of us, we are to seek a full reconciliation with our brothers and sisters (see vv 12-15).

Peter does not understand the action at the time but his dialogue with Jesus brings out details that support this line of interpretation. Peter, and the disciples in general, have been made clean in a more general way by faith in Jesus and by the word the grace of incorporation into Christ as his disciples: Jesus talks of a person who has taken a bath not needing to repeat it (see v 10). This image also seems to allude to the rite and sacrament of baptism. But as a person still gets dirty feet as they travel the road, so we still sin and become impure in the course of our daily lives. Jesus recognises this reality and says this needs dealing with as well. Hence our feet need to be washed – both by God, and by each other and we should do it for each other. Without this ongoing forgiveness and purification we can actually fall away from God until the point we have ‘no share’ with Christ (v 8). Since this scene is placed at the beginning of the Passover meal (v 2, depending on how the Greek is translated), it can be seen as referring also to the necessary preparation for worthily participating in the Eucharist. We could perhaps also see in the passage a connection with the sacrament of reconciliation – though our text’s application is broader and also addresses the wider issue of us also being reconciled to each other.

 

Peter’s attitude to having his feet washed by Jesus is interesting: he thinks it demeans Jesus. Do we think that forgiving sins demeans God? Interestingly, Jesus senses something of the issue and insists that he is and remains Lord and Master ‘despite’ forgiving sins (v 14). He goes on to stress that we must never think it is beyond or beneath our dignity or even duty to forgive the sins of others. Indeed, one might suggest, we are encouraged to be zealous in seeking opportunities to wash the feet of others, so building up the unity and purity of God’s people, so extending the work of reconciliation achieved by Christ, from whose pierced side flowed water to wash away all sin (Jn 19:34-35).

Stations of the Cross: Jesus is Nailed to the Cross

Br. Robert Verrill OP gives a reflection on the Eleventh Station of the Cross-Jesus is nailed to the cross- in a video specially pre-recorded for Godzdogz.

Stations of the Cross: Simon Of Cyrene Carries the Cross

Br. Mark Davoren OP gives a reflection on the Fifth Station of the Cross-Simon of Cyrene Carries the Cross- in a video specially pre-recorded for Godzdogz.

Stations of the Cross: Jesus Takes Up His Cross

 Br. Gregory Pearson OP gives a reflection on the Second Station of the Cross - Jesus Takes up His Cross- in a video specially pre-recorded for Godzdogz.

'My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?'

Today’s readings: Matthew 21:1-11; Isaiah 50:4-7; Psalm 22:8-9, 17-18, 19-20, 23-24; Philippians 2:6-11; Matthew 26:14—27:66 or 27:11-54

Jesus is entering Jerusalem. The divine plan is about to be realized, the prophecy of the Scriptures is about to be fulfilled: Your king comes to you, meek and riding on an ass, and on a colt, the foal of a beast of burden (Zechariah 9,9).

The people praise him, they cover the road with palm branches and with their cloaks, singing Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna in the hig (Mt 21,9-10). We know that the word Hosanna comes from Hebrew, Hoshana, and means ‘please save’ or ‘save now’. This cry for salvation is anchored in the hope of a saviour that will come to free Israel from oppression and all suffering. Being powerless in their engagement with the occupying forces, and maybe also in their engagement with parts of their own religious practice of the time, the people are longing for a powerful, liberating Messiah sent by God who will bring prosperity and peace. They find support in the Scriptures’ promise of victory, not by human power, but by divine force:

It was not their own sword that won the land, nor their own arms which made them victorious but your hand it was and your arm, and the light of your presence, for you loved them(psalm 43,3).

Human powers may not lead to victory, but the power of God will set the people free. Still, hope of victory soon turns to confusion and despair. A few days after his entry into Jerusalem, their liberator hangs nailed to a cross, crying out: “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?” (Mt 27,46). The hope of salvation literally dies in front of their eyes. What kind of divine power can this possibly be, that is so totally defeated?

The arm of God does not act in a way that we naturally may imagine. His strongest weapon, apparently manifested in weakness and helplessness, is rooted in God’s hesed - the loving-kindness of our God. The merciful God of the Old Testament finds its highest expression in the humility of the Son, Jesus Christ. The humble Servant mentioned in the prophecies (Isaiah 53) is the one who we recognize as Jesus from Nazareth. This humility consists in opening up to the will of God. It is manifested again and again in the life of Jesus: by miracles, by preaching the good news of the Gospel, by washing the disciples' feet during the last supper. But the place where we really get to see the humble heart of Jesus is in the garden of Gethsemane. Jesus prays to the Father, saying: “Let it be as you, not I, would have it” (Mt 26,39). The outcome of this fighting prayer is decisive for the passion that follows, because the suffering that is imposed upon Jesus has already been chosen by him through that secret moment in the garden where he conforms his will to the will of the Father. In obedience, the Son has humbled himself, and by this very humility, the door is open to faith, to love, to the Kingdom of God.

We watch how the King comes riding into Jerusalem. Let us look deep into his humble eyes, letting ourselves be transformed by the same humility of our Saviour, so we may follow the will of our Father in our own lives, through the salvation brought by the Lord Jesus.

'It is finished' (John 19:30)

The last words spoken by the dying Christ in St. John's Gospel are simply: tetelestai, or in Latin, consummatum est. 'It is finished' or 'it is fulfilled'. Did Jesus mutter these words on the cross as his life slipped away in a tone of resigned defeat? Or were they regretfully sighed like one obliged to undertake a painful but necessary task? Did Jesus utter 'it is finished' in exhausted relief that he had endured to the end? Or was it instead a defiant cry of victory?

How we understand this last word, then, seems to depend on how it was said. John's passion narrative is at great pains to emphasise that Jesus was in control of the events that led to his death, that he was in control throughout his trial, torture and execution. In the Garden, 'knowing everything that was to happen to Him' (John 18: 4), Jesus steps forward to meet the cohort sent to arrest Him and takes the initiative. From this point onwards Jesus is humiliated, tortured and ultimately executed. Yet St. John is careful to emphasise that this suffering was chosen, not because suffering is good in itself, but out of obedience to the will of the Father. In other words, Jesus chose the cross with a goal in view, the cross was a means to an end.

It seems to me to be quite important that the cross came to an end, both in the sense that the suffering lasted for a finite time and in the sense that the cross had a point, it had a meaning. One of the great tragedies of our fallen world is that so much human suffering can seem pointless, meaningless, absurd. When we contemplate the cross, we see human nature tortured by its own sin, humanity nailed by sin to the tree. Yet we also hear the God who has taken on our human nature tell us from the cross: 'it is finished'. These are not words of despair but hope. If we join our sufferings to the cross of Christ, if we die with him, then we shall also live with him. The cross is not the last word. Our true end, our true human destiny, is the vision of God in heaven.

Behold your son

When Jesus saw his mother, and the disciple whom he loved standing near, he said to his mother, “Woman, behold, your son!” Then he said to the disciple, “Behold, your mother!” And from that hour the disciple took her to his own home. After this Jesus, knowing that all was now finished … (Jn 19:26-28)

The final clause of this gospel passage “After this Jesus, knowing that all was now finished ...” points to the deep significance of Mary's role in Salvation History, of her active participation in our redemption. This moment on the Cross brings to completion what was begun at the Annunciation. At the Annunciation, the Holy Spirit is poured out into the Virgin Mary, and on the Cross the Holy Spirit is poured out onto all of humanity. At the Annunciation, Mary becomes the Mother of Christ; at the Crucifixion, Mary becomes the Mother of us all.

It is perhaps in the mother-child relationship that we most clearly identify with someone's humanity. When we see a person suffering, it can be tempting to see them as a something rather than a someone. Rather than let the sight trouble us, we may prefer to close our minds to their humanity. But if we remember that they are someone's son or daughter, then it is almost impossible to lack empathy. In the First World War, an officer was reported as saying that the worst thing about war wasn't seeing all the dead bodies, but hearing the wounded young men crying out for their mothers.

On the Cross, despite being brutally disfigured, Christ's perfect humanity is seen to shine through as he cries out to his mother. It is at this point we are able to totally identify with Christ, to fully share in His humanity and His divinity. Mary's motherhood brings to birth Christ's love within us, and it is through this love that we come to be our true selves. Because she is our mother in the order of grace, she is most truly our mother.

Services at Blackfriars

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'I Thirst'

"After this, Jesus knowing that all things were now accomplished, that the scripture might be fulfilled, said, I thirst." John 19:28

This passage from the Gospel of St John records a truly poignant moment in the Passion of Our Lord. At its centre is something very human, something common to us all: thirst. All of us have experienced thirst to some degree and those who have experienced acute thirst know the distress it can bring. Real thirst can leave the body reeling and the mind confused. Whilst we can cope with hunger, indeed whilst we can live without food for some three weeks, we cannot do without water for more than a few days. The dying often experience intense thirst and it is as if the water, of which our bodies are largely constituted, is seeping away and with it the life that it symbolises.

In declaring this most human of needs, Christ, in His near final words upon the cross, spells out for us His true humanity. He declares that He has united Himself to us and shares with us in His sinless body all that is present in full human nature, the nature we are called daily to grow into and fulfil. The Roman soldier, no doubt moved by Jesus’ humble request, acquiesces and grants him some of the vinegar wine which he has. In this small act of human kindness we can see mirrored the far greater act of love which is Christ's death on the cross, a death given that our thirst may finally be quenched.

All of us thirst, but not just for water. We experience that deeper thirst at the very heart of our being for the One who gives us life and who promises life for all eternity. He never leaves our side and, even in the depths of distress, He lifts up to our lips the saving water of His blood, shed for us that we may know Him and be united to Him. “Oh God, you are my God for you I long; for you my soul is thirsting. My body pines for you, like a dry weary land without water.” (Psalm 62)

'Father, into your hands I commend my spirit'

The gospels tell us that Jesus prayed the psalms as he hung on the cross. Matthew and Mark record the opening verse of Psalm 21(22), 'My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?' Scholars remind us that to refer to a psalm by its opening words is a way of referring to the entire psalm, and that we should imagine Jesus praying his way through the whole of it.

Likewise for another of Jesus' last words, 'Father, into your hands I commend my spirit'. This is recorded in Luke 23:46 as the last statement from the lips of Jesus, uttered as he breathed his last ('breathed forth his spirit'). It too is a verse from a psalm, this time Psalm 30(31), a prayer of trust in God's protection. Like 21(22), Psalm 30(31) speaks about the suffering of the one striving to be faithful to God and about the confidence with which he entrusts himself to God's protection.

There is one striking addition to it: Jesus adds the word 'Father' at the beginning. A moment earlier he prayed to the Father to forgive those who were putting him to death. In these statements from the cross, along with his promise to the good thief that he would be with him in paradise, Jesus practises what he preached, placing his trust in the Father's care and seeking to reconcile those who persecuted him even as he offered forgiveness to the repentant thief.

The psalms are the prayers of Israel and it is not surprising that they should be the prayers of Jesus for he is Israel. More intimately still, we glimpse the love between the Father and the Son which Jesus came to reveal to us, that responsiveness and attention to the Father that is the Son's existence and life and mission. St Thomas Aquinas says of the psalms that 'these prayers will for ever be the words in which the Father has taught us by His Spirit to pray for the one thing that He wishes to give us, which is His Son'. The sacrifice of Christ is rightly interpreted by the words of the psalms. We know that his sacrifice is the prayer of the humble man that pierces the clouds and in reciting the psalms we align our prayers with his, our desires with his, our existence and life and mission with his.

These last words recorded in Luke 23:46 open for us the heart of God. We come to see the love God is, a love of Father and Son in the Spirit. The disciples very quickly realised the implications of this for understanding who Jesus is. Not long after, St Stephen follows in the footsteps of Jesus. His suffering and execution parallel in many ways the suffering and execution of Jesus. All the more striking, then, that when Stephen comes to utter his last words what he says is 'Lord Jesus, receive my spirit' (Acts 7:59-60).

Stations of the Cross

'In truth I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise'

Paradise Lost - and Restored

One of the thieves has just confessed that he is a sinner, justly being punished, and he has also confessed his belief that Jesus is innocent and is the Messiah (Luke 23:43). He has asked to be remembered by him as he comes into his kingdom. What is most significant here is not that he recognises Jesus as the messiah, sent by God – other such incidents have already happened in Luke’s gospel – but that he is the first to recognise Jesus as the messiah precisely in the midst of his suffering and imminent death. Again, it is not the first time that Jesus has told someone that today they have entered into the blessings of salvation, but it is the first and only time it is expressed in terms of being with Jesus in Paradise.

This is the one place in Luke’s Gospel that the word ‘paradise’ is found. Why use the term here? It is based on the Hebrew word for garden and as such harkens back to the story of the Garden of Eden where Adam and Eve communed with God, walking with God, peacefully enjoying God’s provision. At its centre was the tree of life from which humanity had, following their sin, been prevented from eating of its life-giving fruit. The Jews looked to a return to the blessings of Eden, of Paradise, and of eating of the tree of life again.

I think it is significant that in confessing his sin and his belief in Jesus, the thief is looking at a suffering man dying nailed to a cross, often referred to as a tree (eg Acts 5:31, 10:39, 13:29). He sees in this man his hope of salvation. And Jesus takes up the situation they are both in, with all its horror, and makes of it a reference to the return to Eden. In effect he is affirming and deepening the faith of the thief in a crucified Christ, inviting him to recognise that in looking at Jesus nailed to the cross, he is looking at the tree of life, and in faith eating its fruit. He has already entered into the blessings of paradise, enjoying the close presence of God, even in his sufferings. And of course, not only are sufferings not a barrier to receiving God’s life but neither will death be. Jesus assures him that after they have both died that very day they will enjoy each other’s presence beyond the grave.

All this indicates a Lucan theology in which God is already at work saving the world and being glorified on the cross and in suffering as well as through and after the cross. The crucified Christ is the gateway to Paradise. Death need no longer exclude us from Paradise, but embraced in faith it is the means by which we enter into the fullness of its blessings. The cross will bring us the blessings and life of Paradise, but we can already taste and enjoy its blessings and life in faith now. It is no longer the instrument of a cursed death, but is the tree of life.

Dominican Chant During Lent

Our brother Innocent Smith, O.P., of the St. Joseph Province, has prepared a thoughtful and reflective presentation about our Order's distinctive Lenten chants for Compline.

You can find more examples of the chants mentioned above on the Godzdogz YouTube channel where there are many examples of the Oxford brethren using these chants during the liturgy.

'Father forgive them for they know not what they do'

Today we begin a series of posts on the seven 'last words' of Christ. The last words of dying people are treasured and it is not unusual that different members of a family, or different friends, hold on to different things said by a dying person in the last days of their life. So we find seven words recorded in the Gospels. Matthew and Mark give us just one, 'My God, my God, why have you forsaken me', the opening line of Psalm 22. John gives us three - 'I thirst', 'Behold your son', and 'It is finished'. And Luke gives us a further three, 'Father, forgive them for they know not what they do', 'Today you will be with me in paradise', and 'Father, into your hands I commend my spirit'.

A traditional devotion of Holy Week is to meditate and preach on these seven last words and composers over the century have set them to music. The most recent such setting is that by James MacMillan, renowned Scottish Catholic composer and Lay Dominican.

Luke's three words show us Jesus practising what he had preached. The message of reconciliation, forgiveness, and trust in God's mercy which so characterises the ministry of Jesus in Luke's gospel finds its most powerful expression in his attitude towards his executioners, towards the thief dying alongside him, and towards his Heavenly Father.

The first of these words is 'Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do' (Luke 23:34). How can we expect to be forgiven if we do not forgive, he had asked the disciples more than once. 'They know not what they do' is a reason he gives for this forgiveness. This can be heard on two levels: they are blinded by the agitation of the mob, the confusion of the situation, and the passion that has taken hold of their hearts. Some of those involved might have said they were 'just doing their job'. On a deeper level it refers to the divine plan which, unknown to them, is working itself out through their actions: they do not know it but their actions are contributing to the work of the world's salvation. We read later in the Acts of the Apostles that Jesus was 'delivered up by the definite plan and foreknowledge of God' (2:23). On one level he is put to death by the hands of lawless men. On another level it is a divine plan that is unfolding.

When we find difficulty in forgiving others we should remember the forgiveness of Jesus. We have all received it, and hope to receive it in the future. We have much for which to ask forgiveness, from Him and from each other. There is much to be remembered about those who have done us harm or have become our enemies, children of God like ourselves no matter how difficult it may be for us to love them. Jesus dying on the cross gives us his most powerful teaching about the love of enemies, in asking the Father to forgive the very people who were carrying out his execution.

Fifth Sunday of Lent

At some point all of us have to face death in some form: the loss of a loved one, a relative, a friend, or the recognition of our own mortality in the face of sickness or old age. We have all spoken words of comfort to those who mourn and, no doubt, felt that such words do not really do justice to the situation. Sometimes as we utter such condolences, we can feel the presence of a contradiction arising between what we see: death and grief, and what we profess to believe: the resurrection and eternal life.

Feeling helpless in the face of death should not surprise us, indeed, feeling a gulf between the unseen life eternal and the visible, tangible reality of death is no uncommon reaction. The grief that such separation brings is very real and we see clearly that painful reality in today's Gospel. Lazarus, a close friend of Jesus, is dead and Mary and Martha are mourning the loss of their brother as they face an uncertain future. Jesus enters into their grief and is moved by their plight, in fact he is deeply troubled by the outward reality that is death. What He does in the face of this death is quite astonishing and in raising Lazarus He gives the people a great sign by which they might know that He is the Christ.

But it is not simply in the action of restoring Lazarus to bodily life that we see the glory of God at work, it is in the way that he clearly shows the women and his disciples that He is the bridge between the seen and unseen, the visible and the invisible. He is the very real and true link by which our apparent contradiction in grief is removed. “I am the resurrection and the life; whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.”

Much of what we see in life is fleeting, we catch glimpses of events and people but the reality of what underpins these moments is much more precious. We can see two people talking or laughing together but the friendship or love which binds them to one another is much more compelling than the surface impression, it is something altogether greater and more powerful. We have to lift our eyes and raise our minds to appreciate such things, we have to try to see beyond what is fleeting to what is eternal. Christ helps us to do this in His very person as He did with the mourners at Bethany. Indeed, through His subsequent passion and death, He reveals to us all the reality of that which we cannot see without the eyes of faith. If we allow Him to show us the truth of unseen things, then the perceived contradictions between that seen and that professed , even in the midst of suffering and death, will be resolved in Him. Like Martha we will be able to answer; “Yes, Lord. I have come to believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, the one who is coming into the world.”

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Lent Week 4: Saturday

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

In contemporary Western society many people are simply ignorant of the message of Christianity: they might have a few vague ideas about what it involves, but not the kind of knowledge that would be needed in order to recognise Christ and to make a commitment to living a Christian life.

Those of us, however, who have been educated in the Faith, who hear a sermon at Mass every Sunday (or perhaps even more frequently), have no such excuse: indeed, we can often run the risk of being like the Pharisees in today's Gospel. They knew the Scriptures inside out, and were experts in the finer details of the law: if anyone was going to see in Jesus the fulfilment of the prophecies about the Messiah it should have been them. Instead, though, they are so confident in their own interpretation of the Scriptures that they simply reject all contrary evidence and see it simply as a threat: 'this crowd, who do not know the Law, are accursed,' they say (John 7:49). And yet it is members of 'this crowd', not the Pharisees, who recognise him, saying, 'This is the Christ.' (John 7:41)

So also we must not allow our faith to become a dry collection of facts and practices, deprived of any actual relationship with Jesus, the Christ. How is this to be done, though? In a sense, this is the wrong question: it's not something to be done, but rather something we must allow to happen in us - the flourishing of the life of grace which was given to us in our Baptism. In place of the pride of the Pharisees, we must seek to imitate the humility of Christ who, as the prophet Jeremiah foretold, went to his death 'like a gentle lamb led to the slaughter' (Jeremiah 11:19). In that way, not only will we ourselves be drawn closer to Jesus, but our preaching of his good news to our society will be more effective, for it will not be our work, but the work of his Spirit dwelling in us.

Lent Week 4: Friday

Todays readings: Wis 2:1a, 12-22;Ps 34:17-18, 19-20, 21, 23; Jn 7:1-2, 10, 25-30

One of the most memorable scenes from Aaron Sorkin's play A Few Good Men, made all the more unforgettable by Jack Nicholson in the film adaptation, is the courtroom exchange between Lt. Kaffee and Colonel Jessep. This fiery scene reaches its peak when Kaffee demands the truth. Jessep's explosive retort that Kaffee "can't handle the truth" is a classic and much parodied line but it points to a dark side of fallen human nature. Our reaction to the truth can often be a less than positive experience. Many of us have felt the paralysis that the realisation of a loved one's death can bring; the irritation that arises when our debating partner raises a point that we can not rebuff or deny; and the anger that is caused when we discover a previously unknown weakness in ourselves. It is no surprise that the first reaction that fallen man has to the truth of his nakedness is shame. Whilst our reaction to the truth may bring discomfort and a pain, this does not make the truth any less true. It is therefore no surprise that when Truth itself comes in the person of Jesus Christ, that as the Book of Wisdom predicts, "the very sight of him is a burden to us".

This fear of the truth however lies within our fallen nature. Our perception and understanding of Truth is limited and it seems strange to us. In this case we turn from Truth and raise our emotional boundaries but the Truth is not far and alien. It invites us to live with it and even in it. It calls us to relationship based on love and joy. The greatest mark and sign of this is found in Christ's death and resurrection. The Lenten season allows us to deepen our relationship with Truth. It helps us to realise that we have nothing to fear from the truth. That is is not a burden because God carries that burden for us. It allows us to break down those remnants of the fortresses that we have allowed to build up round our hearts and open them fully to the love of God. With confidence we can the say that "we can handle the Truth!"; because Truth can handle us

Lent Week 4: Thursday

Today's readings: Exodus 32:7-14; Psalm 105(106); John 5:31-47

The words of the covenant echo through the Scriptures - 'you will be my people and I will be your God'. This is the relationship established by God with the people of Israel, in the first place through Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, and then renewed through Moses, David and the other leaders and prophets of the people. As Christians we believe that the new covenant promised through the prophet Jeremiah is established in the work and person of Jesus Christ.

The first reading records a moment of tension in that covenant relationship. Knowing that the people have already lost faith and are worshipping a calf of molten metal God decides to dissolve his relationship with them. 'Your people', he says to Moses, 'whom you brought out of Egypt, have apostatised'. God's plan is to destroy them and begin again with a new group descended from Moses: 'of you I will make a great nation'.

But Moses, extraordinarily, helps God to be true to Himself! Why be angry with 'this people of yours', he says to God, 'whom you brought out of the land of Egypt'? It is as if he says: remember who they are and how you have already committed yourself to them, swearing by your own self. So, we are told,  'the Lord relented and did not bring on his people the disaster he had threatened'. It anticipates that moment in the parable of the Prodigal Son where the elder brother refers to 'this son of yours' only for the father to say 'your brother'. There are relationships that cannot be disowned no matter what difficulties may attend them. Covenant means pledged or committed love. Once enacted we are then forever related to those with whom we have made such commitments. We can never disown them for such is the nature of a  covenant.

The difficulties of understanding and sustaining the relationship with God are recognised also in the gospel reading. The works I do, says Jesus, and the Father who sent me, bear witness to me. He is arguing with his listeners precisely about his work and mission. 'I am not going to accuse you before the Father', he continues, 'let Moses be your accuser'. We have just seen what kind of accuser Moses was, appealing on behalf of the people and calling God to be true to His commitment! Jesus is the new, and greater, Moses in whom a new, and greater, covenant is sealed. He is the new, and greater, Mediator in whose obedience man is reconciled to God and returns faithful love to God.

In God's fidelity, some like to say, we see  what divine immutability implies: God has chosen us to be his people and he is our God. If we are now tempted to doubt this we have the blood of Jesus sealing a new and everlasting covenant. We may reject and try to forget God but God will never reject or forget us, for we are (literally) carved on the palm of his hand.

Lent Week 4: Wednesday

Today’s readings: Isaiah 49:8-15; Psalm 145:8-9, 13cd-14, 17-18; John 5:17-30

“My Father is at work until now, so I am at work.”

Jesus makes himself equal to God, both in action and by words. He breaks the Sabbath, and he calls God his father. When they criticize him, Jesus argues that the Father loves the Son and shows him everything that the Father does himself. We may ask ourselves then, what the Father does, and why is it that Jesus remains active on the very Sabbath.

If we turn to the origin of the Sabbath, we read in the first chapter of Genesis how God created the earth and all within it. He gave us the frame of our existence, and then creates the image of himself to rule over the creation. Adam and Eve, and by them all humanity, has been given some of the power of God, some of the same capacity of creativity, of organizing, of shaping the surroundings of man. Still, on the Sabbath, all human beings are asked to stay calm, to remain passive. Is it because God himself rests on this day?

As we read on in the Bible, however, we see that there is a difference between the actions or non-actions that man is called to do on this day, and what God does himself. Because, where man is commanded to lay down his work (Exodus 20,10), God himself “works” in the sense that he blesses the day and makes it holy (20,11). The blessing implies that we receive from God what we cannot give to ourselves. It is a day of healing, a day of restitution, a day of life. It is not, as we may tend to feel, a moral obligation to remain silent and passive during the holy Sunday, like in blind obedience. It is not a day of blindness, it is the opposite; a resting day where we open our eyes for God's acting in us, it is a day for us to be sanctified by God. This means that we give God room in our life, to let him give us what we are not capable of giving ourselves. We are called to stay close to ourselves, to open up to the source of life within ourselves which has its origin in the Son of God, the source of life (Revelation 21,6). Jesus Christ leads us to God’s blessing, and with his blessing, we may pass on to others what we ourselves have received.

Many mystics have experienced and understood the existential necessity of letting God into our inner life, and one of these voices comes from Charles de Foucauld, a Cistercian monk who directly inspired the foundation of the congregations the Little Brothers and Sisters of Jesus. Contemplating for many years in the desert of Algeria, he described this fundamental dimension of the Christian live through a simple sentence. Let us then, in this period of lent, meditate on his words:

- an hour a day,

- a day a week,

- a week a year,

shall man stay in his desert

Lent Week 4: Tuesday

Today's readings: Ezekiel 47:1-9, 12; Psalm 64; John 5:1-16

In the Church's liturgy, Ezekiel's vision of the temple with the stream of fecund and life-giving water flowing from its right side is taken to be an image of baptism. During Eastertide, when the people are sprinkled with water from the baptismal font, the Church sings: "I saw water flowing from the right side of the temple ... and it brought God's life and his salvation". For the temple is Christ's body (see John 2:21) which was pierced in the side by a lance as he hung on the cross, "and at once there came out blood and water" (John 19:34). Interestingly, St John does not say on which side Christ was pierced but Christian art and tradition, inspired by the vision of Ezekiel, has always indicated the right side. Flowing from Christ's side, blood is taken to be a sign of the Eucharist, and water to be a sign of baptism, and through these sacraments of his Body, the Church, we share in God's life, and receive his salvation. As we pass the mid-Lent mark, the Church's liturgy increasingly indicates these great sacraments of initiation which thousands of people around the world will be receiving this Easter.

Although we often think of Lent as our 'springtime', and we are concerned with the penances, spiritual renewal, and soul-searching that we might undertake, the holy season of Lent is not specifically for us who have already been baptised. At its core, it is for those candidates for the sacraments (catechumens), and we who are already baptised accompany them in these final weeks of their preparation. We accompany them in prayer but above all by example. As the Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults (RCIA) puts it: "During Lent, the period of purification and enlightenment, the faithful should take care to ... give the Elect [those to be baptised] the example of their own renewal in the spirit of penance, faith, and charity".

Therefore, the discipline of Lent is lived for others, and hence we are reminded that the whole Christian life also has this communal dimension. What we do does not just affect us, but also our brothers and sisters in Christ - who may be encouraged or scandalized by our actions - as well as non-Christians. As Christians, we have to give ourselves daily, and not just for 40 days, to God's call to conversion and discipleship - taking up our mat, and rising from sin to walk with Christ. No one gets in our way, or prevents us from the life-giving waters apart from our sinful selves. But if we let him, Jesus Christ will raise us up, and lead us to the waters, so that the new life we received in baptism might bear fruit in good works, as we become like a tree whose fruit and leaves are freely given to others that they might have life and healing. Then, transformed by God's grace, we shall be "like a tree that is planted beside the flowing waters, that yields its fruit in due season and whose leaves shall never fade; and all that [we do] shall prosper" (Psalm 1:4).

Lent Week 4: Monday

John 4: 43-54: From Faithless Familiarity to Fervent Faith

Today’s gospel documents an interesting range and also shift in opinions and attitudes to Jesus. It also shows Jesus to be perceptive and realistic about people’s attitudes to him but also understanding, even accommodating, and helpful in spite of this, and thus able to draw them on to real faith and real recognition of him.

At the outset Jesus accepts that locals do not tend to see one of their own as remarkable (v 44). Familiarity, if it does not breed contempt, breeds a certain indifference. It is only the stir he has created in Jerusalem, turning over the market stalls in the temple, that improves their view of him (v 45). I guess the motivation for this change of opinion could be very mixed., even dubious. The Northerners, the Galileans, were happy to hear about one of their own stirring things up in the sophisticated and perhaps conceited, even corrupt, southern capital. However, Jesus accepts this advance in his status and it becomes a platform for locals to approach him for a cure (v 47). Again Jesus sees that this is all that is wanted and though he makes it clear his own aim is faith in himself for who he really is, not just what he can do for people, he still works the healing miracle (v 48-49). Seeing the miracle, though Jesus is no longer present, a whole household comes to belief – which we can take to mean come into a saving belief in Jesus as the saviour sent by God. From not very promising beginnings a whole household has come to faith and the story continues to ripple out through history, making waves (vv 53-54).

This gospel thus tells us that even now God is also astute in dealing with each of us, and the mixed bag in us, consisting of varying intellectual attitudes, requests for our daily needs, a genuine search for salvation and desire to love God simply for who God is. It is good to recognise and admit to ourselves our own complexity, one that is fluid rather than static. It is also good to reflect on our own faith journey and appreciate just how God has dealt with the complexity of who we each are. This will teach us useful lessons enabling us to help others.

This Gospel also encourages us to accept, realistically and pragmatically when dealingpastorally  with people we meet and who we want to help come to and grow in knowledge and love of Jesus. At the same time we are to be wise, discerning and shrewd, and keep hoping and praying expectantly, if patiently, for real saving faith to be planted and grow in them. God does continue to work signs in our day, and people do come to believe in Jesus.

Fourth Sunday of Lent

Today's readings: 1 Samuel 16:1,6-7,10-13; Psalm 22; Ephesians 5:8-14; John 9:1-41

Saint John, throughout his gospel, makes great use of the images of darkness and light. In today's gospel this is manifested in Jesus' encounter with a blind man, a man who lived in darkness (Isaiah 9:2, Matthew 4:16). This man's physical disability is used by John to represent the spiritual blindness of Israel and indeed of the whole of humanity. We walked in darkness, unable to see God, until Jesus, the light of the world gave us sight (John 9:5).

The early Church associated this illumination, this enlightenment, with baptism. Indeed, today's gospel was often used in the instruction of catechumens to illustrate this very idea. Just as the Blind Man receives the gift of physical sight after he is anointed by Jesus (John 9:6) and sent to wash in a pool of water (John 9:7), so the Christian receives the gift of spiritual sight, of faith, when he or she comes up out of the waters of baptism.

But it seems that whilst this healed man - and by implication also the newly baptized Christian - is able to 'see' the light after he comes up out of the waters, he does not immediately understand the gift that he has received, or indeed the true identity of the giver of that gift. Our formerly blind man is able to tell his neighbours that Jesus has healed him, but he cannot tell them where Jesus is. A process of deepening must take place if his relationship with Christ is to mature. This deepening occurs in the midst of his interrogation by the Pharisees, by the testing of the Pharisees.

Here we have an interesting parallel with Jesus' forty day fast in the desert. It is often suggested that Jesus in his humanity came to understand his mission in his confrontation with Satan in the wilderness. The testing of Satan deepens Jesus' understanding of how he must carry out God's will. Similarly, in today's gospel it is the questioning, tempting, testing of the Pharisees that leads the healed man to delve further into the mystery of the Incarnation.

First, in response to the confused questioning of the Pharisees, he declares that Jesus is a prophet (John 9:17); next, when the questioning gets more aggressive, his spirited defence of his healer leads him to declare that Jesus is 'from God' (John 9:23); finally, when the Pharisees throw him out, Jesus comes to find him and reveals that he is the Christ, the Messiah. The Blind Man bows down and worships (John 9: 38). We see in the Blind Man, then, an allegory of a spiritual journey. The once Blind Man faithfully witnesses to what he has seen. As a result his gift of sight, given by cleansing waters, matures into a recognition of Jesus' true identity.

We too are on a spiritual journey. We come from God, and are on our way back to God. Our baptism marks not the end of the journey but a new beginning. It is a gift that must be unpacked over a lifetime. Yet often we only come to understand how precious our baptism is, how precious is our gift of faith, when that gift is threatened. During Lent we follow Christ into the desert to be tested. This testing is to help us refocus our priorities. We more easily recognize what is truly important when it seems like we have nothing.

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Lent Week 3: Saturday

Today's readings:  Hosea 2:15-6:6; Psalm 50; Luke 18:9-14

Today's parable is a wonderful trap. We can easily find ourselves, like a teacher I heard of saying to her class, 'thank God children that we are not like the Pharisee'. Catching ourselves on we might then say, 'well, actually, even if I'm not a sinner like the Publican, I'm a more sophisticated kind of sinner, more like the Pharisee, with more interesting sins, things like pride and self-righteousness and hypocrisy'. Either way we are thinking of ourselves rather than God and that seems like the opposite of what prayer is about. We are trying to solve spiritual problems mathematically when they can only be solved in suffering, prayer and love.

The parable of the two men who went up to pray in the Temple leads us into the heart of paradoxes and reversals that characterise the teaching of Jesus through and through. This is especially so as he journeys towards Jerusalem for it is in Jerusalem that he enters personally into the great paradox and enacts the great reversal. The first will be last and the last first, he taught them. The one who humbles himself will be exalted and the one who exalts himself will be humbled. The prodigal son is welcomed home in spite of the protestations of the elder brother. Love your enemies and hate your families. The one who saves his life loses it and the one who loses his life for the sake of the gospel will find it. The one who thinks he is qualified is criticised and the one who thinks he does not belong goes home having found favour with God.

The suffering, death and resurrection of Jesus is the great reversal in which all these teachings are fulfilled. In the garden of Gethsemane we will see him, a humble and humbled man brought to his knees by life. We are told that the prayer of the humble man pierces the heavens and it seems as if this prayer also is one that is not answered: 'let this cup pass me by'. But his other, deeper prayer is answered, of course, 'not my will but yours be done'. In his mathematics of the spiritual life the Pharisee needed to compare himself with the Publican as if it was some kind of competition. The humble person, on the other hand, compares himself only with God and thereby knows his own nothingness and his own greatness.