Noisy Fear and Gentle Hope - Homily for New Year's Day

Why is the beginning of a new year marked with so much noise? All across the world the standard way of marking the end of the old and the beginning of the new year is for people to set off fireworks, tearing apart the night sky with a blaze of light and an explosion of noise. The Romans have been at this for a long time, believing that the turning of the year was a vulnerable moment, a changeover that had to be watched carefully lest witches, ghosts and demons slip through the gap between the years and get up to all kinds of mischief. The antidote, they believed, was to make as much noise as possible, to scare away any wandering demon, ghost or witch who might think of trying to slip through that gap. To this day Rome at the end of the year is the noisiest place on earth. The only ghosts who could possibly slip through there are the ones who are profoundly deaf.

Strange to think that sophisticated cities like Sydney, Paris, London and New York continue to mark the turn of the year in this primitive way. Ten years we passed not just from one year or decade or century to another, but from one millennium to another. Remember how, as the year 2000 approached, there were so many articles, programmes and films on ‘apocalyptic’, end-of-the-world themes. The feared catastrophe of the Y2K computer superbug was perhaps a secularised version of the fear the ancient Romans knew: something mysterious may slip through at the changeover and wreak all kinds of mischief. A number of films appeared at that time about demons insinuating their way into our world and its affairs. And there were some groups and individuals who felt that the world itself might come to an end with the great cosmic battle of Armageddon getting under way.

The origins of ‘apocalyptic’ thinking are in the Bible. The ten plagues of Egypt recounted in the Book of Exodus as well as the later prophecies which we still value and read — for example Ezekiel, Daniel and Zechariah — are the sources of apocalyptic imagery: horsemen, chariots, fire, floods, the world being turned upside down and inside out, the earth disappearing beneath our feet, the stars falling from the sky, strange beasts appearing — all that. Jesus himself preached in apocalyptic terms about the destruction of Jerusalem, the meaning of his own death, the breaking in of the kingdom of God and the return of the Son of Man on the clouds of heaven surrounded by the angels.

It seems natural that our response to this kind of imagery should be a mixture of fear and hope. On the one hand we will want to keep it at bay, fingers crossed that if the ‘great and terrible day of the Lord’ is to come — as we believe it is — that maybe it won’t be for a while yet. On the other hand why are we not simply filled with that ‘joyful hope’, for which we pray at every Eucharist, at the prospect of the return of our Lord?

There is one very striking change in apocalyptic imagery as used by Christians. The Book of Revelation, the ‘Apocalypse’, places at the centre of the great battles and disturbances of the end time, the figure of a lamb, ‘a lamb that seemed to have been sacrificed’ (Revelation 5.6). This Lamb unlocks the secrets of the future of the world (Revelation 6.1). The Lamb stands on Mount Zion at the head of those who have been faithful to him (Revelation 14.1-5). The final battle with evil, sin and death is followed by the wedding feast of the Lamb (Revelation 19.9) and heaven is described as the new Jerusalem, a city whose only light is the glory of God and the Lamb (Revelation 21.23). It is a strange contrast, between the violent, aggressive and seemingly powerful armies of wickedness and the gentle creature who in fact holds the key to human history and whose sacrifice is the victory of God and of God’s people. (The apparition at Knock, County Mayo, in 1879 was not just a Marian apparition, it was an apocalyptic vision with the Lamb at its centre, see illustration above.)

The smoke of fireworks drifts away and the memory of their brightness and loudness fades. But the primitive fears, which they help us forget for a moment, remain. By contrast we continue in hope to follow the Lamb, a creature infinitely gentle, not aggressive, not violent, and yet infinitely more powerful than weapons with all their noise and clamour. The sacrifice of the Lamb — his death for love — is the most powerful moment in human history and the key to its meaning. In the Church we keep the memory of that moment alive each day, knowing that it is the source of any real strength we may have. With John the Baptist we continue to ‘stare hard’ at Jesus Christ and to say ‘look, there is the lamb of God’ (John 1.35).

The Nativity in Art: Light and Glory, Joy and Sorrow

As we celebrate the wonder of the Nativity it gives us cause to reflect upon the works of great artistic beauty that have been inspired by this mystical event. Christian artists over the centuries have been moved to express the birth of our Saviour in myriad ways, each painter highlighting different aspects of the scene by their use of composition, colour, light and darkness, and particularly by which figures they include in the scene. Furthermore, the manner in which these figures are arranged and how they are portrayed grants us an insight into the particular piety and theological approach of the artist, his patron, and to some extent the era in which the work was painted. When images of the sacred are used as a means to aid contemplation, comparing and contrasting different depictions of the same event can help us to remember that insofar as these theophanies - events in which the Divine breaks into the everyday - reveal God's glory, they contain something which is infinite and so can never be fully expressed by our finite concepts, whether these be words, art, or music (to name but a few). Thus by considering two paintings of the Nativity from two different periods, we can hopefully gain some useful insights into two of the countless perspectives from which this glorious day may be viewed.

Giotto di Bondone (c. 1267-1337) is a painter of great significance and one of the most important innovators in developing what was to become the distinctively Western style. As the first Western artists successfully to make use of early natural perspective, he set Western European art on a course that would definitively separate it from its Byzantine counterpart. For the first thousand years of Christianity, Western and Eastern art remained very similar, with a Byzantine style heavily influenced by the mosaics of ancient Greece and Rome. This Byzantine style did not seek to produce a natural perspective in its depiction of sacred events. Instead the Byzantine tradition developed a deliberately distorted perspective that seemed to push the image out into the space immediately in front of the panel icon, an extraordinary achievement that creates a visual space into which the one venerating is welcomed. Giotto however, informed by his architectural training, sought to use the recently discovered understanding of human vision to develop a new method. Medieval scientists had realised that the human eye distorts its image of the natural world so that lines which are in fact parallel seem to converge in the distance. By making these converging parallel lines the structure of the painting, Giotto was able to create the illusion of natural 3D space on a 2D canvas, something which surely must have struck its original viewers as miraculous. Nonetheless, in his depiction of the Nativity we see a painting that is still far closer to an Eastern icon than the other painting we will consider, the Nativity at Night by Geertgen Tot Sint Jans, painted only about 150 years later. The pace of change in this period is simply breathtaking.

Giotto's take on the Nativity is full of deep theological symbolism. He uses the presence of the ox and ass, created by tradition's speculation upon the animals that may have been present in the manger, as the figures of the Old and New Testaments. With their gaze of adoration they stand in contrast to those who will not see the greatness of this Child before them, something which the Blessed Virgin, with her sad and longing look, seems to anticipate. Her act of giving the Christ child points to the terrible sorrow that she will come to know at her son's passion and crucifixion. Giotto depicts the nativity as a scene of intense human drama, capturing the serenity of the sleeping Joseph, the joy of the angels, and the sombre Virgin.

By the time Geertgen Tot Sint Jans painted his Nativity around 1480-1490, the use of natural perspective had developed to a highly sophisticated art form, something that can be seen at first glance. The figures in the foreground really do seem to be there around that manger, whilst the angel and the shepherds in the distance appear to be exactly that, in the distance. The use of light is what must surely strike even the casual viewer of this charming and moving image. It could well be said to be an artistic expression of the theology of St. John's Gospel, with the Christ child as the light which has come into the world. Although he is a tiny baby, the Christ child totally dominates the image, he is the only source of light in the manger, where men and women, the angels and the beasts, come to adore him and bask in the glorious rays that stream from his body. This is the adoration of the Christ child understood as a kind of beatific vision, for to see Jesus is to have seen the Father. The light of the angel who addresses the shepherds on the hill seems like the moon to the child Jesus' sun, a pale reflection that seems to indicate that even this angelic light has its source in the God-Man. The figures of Our Lady and St. Joseph are full of tender emotion, the pious posture of his mother in particular indicating that she has given birth to a person of completely different order from herself and her husband, a Divine Person. Like Giotto's painting, this lovely panel arranges the figures in a manner that is highly charged with meaning, both bringing out their distinctive approach by the variation between them. By contemplating these prayerful reflections on the Nativity we are given a means to know and love God better, through the work of his servants whose talents he deigned to bestow upon them.

A Puzzle for the Twelve Days of Christmas - The Solution

We set you a task on the morning of St Stephen's Day, to identify the Christian mysteries that may be encoded in the Twelve Days of Christmas. You all did very well!

The True Love refers to God

The Partridge in the Pear tree refers to the Trinity: the Tree, the pears, and the partridge but all one gift. (Let's not quibble over the failings of this analogy: times were tough.)

2 Turtle Doves refers to the Old and New Testaments

3 French Hens refers to Faith, Hope and Charity, the Theological Virtues

4 Calling Birds refers to the Four Gospels and/or the Four Evangelists

5 Golden Rings refers to the first Five Books of the Old Testament, the "Pentateuch", which gives the history of man's fall from grace

6 Geese A-laying refers to the six days of creation

7 Swans A-swimming refers to the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit, and/or the seven sacraments

8 Maids A-milking refers to the eight beatitudes

9 Ladies Dancing refers to the nine Fruits of the Holy Spirit

10 Lords A-leaping refers to the ten commandments

11 Pipers Piping refers to the eleven faithful Apostles

12 Drummers Drumming refers to the twelve points of doctrine in the Apostle's Creed

Have this as a reward:

Five Cribs to Make You Cringe

No comment necessary I think:

Celebrating Priesthood in Fiction - Fr Brown

fr Richard Ounsworth OP, who teaches Scripture and Greek in Blackfriars, Oxford, and who is concurrently pursuing a doctorate in the typology of the Letter to the Hebrews, shares his reflection on a priestly figure whom he considers to be "a human hero":

"Glancing through a list of fictional priests on Wikipedia, I am struck by how many of them are either wicked or foolish. This is especially true of the more recent examples, and it confirms my impression that today’s popular culture casts the priest either as the villain, sinister instrument of a secretive and manipulative Vatican, or as the drunken idiot, out of touch with the real world and doltish in his refusal to recognise the reality of modern man.

On the other hand, who are our heroes? Wizards, time-travelling aliens and superheroes. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a huge fan of Harry Potter, and am almost breathless with excitement waiting for the next instalment of Doctor Who … but these heroes are difficult to emulate. I will never have a Tardis, never have superhuman strength, and don’t have an owl to deliver my letters.

But there is one hero, and a priest, who has always inspired me, and who in my more optimistic moments at least I might hope one day to be like in some way, and that is G.K. Chesterton’s Father Brown: a man of transparent and instinctive goodness and immense compassion, a seeker after truth, and utterly unassuming. In the stories, Father Brown finds himself drawn into investigating crimes, not entirely unlike Sherlock Holmes (another great love of mine). Unlike Holmes, however, Father Brown’s brilliant solutions are not found through cold logical deduction but through a profound insight into humanity.

And it is because he is a priest that he has this insight. As he says to Flambeau – the villain that Father Brown converts and turns into his sidekick – in The Blue Cross, he spends a great deal of his time listening to people’s sins. So, of course, he knows what people are like. He has a great gift of empathy, and one imagines he must have been a wonderful confessor. He’s also a good Catholic theologian, who knows that true faith is reasonable, and his solutions come from this combination of reasonableness and compassion.

I suppose, though he never says so, that these are also the things that led him to become a priest. He seems an absolutely selfless man, not fascinated by himself like so many modern heroes with their endless navel-gazing and pampered vanity, not needy for praise or understanding. Instead, he is fascinated by other people, and by the wonders of the created order – fascinated by their mystery and yet their comprehensibility. This fascination leads him to love the truth, and to minister to every human being that comes his way, without distinction.

Father Brown is a true hero, the more so for being so truly human. This hero is a priest, and it is as a priest that he is a hero. I like to think he would have made a good Dominican.

Most of Chesterton’s Father Brown stories are available free on the internet, for example at this site. I urge you to read them."

Friars' Christmas Crackers

Q. Who was the greatest financier in the Bible?
A. Noah. He was floating his stock while everyone else was in liquidation.

Q. Who was the greatest female financier in the Bible?
A. Pharaoh's daughter. She went down to the bank of the Nile and drew out a little prophet.

Q. What kind of man was Boaz before he got married?
A. Ruth-less.

Q. What kind of motor vehicles are in the Bible?
A. God drove Adam and Eve out of the Garden in a Fury.

Q. What kind of motor vehicles are in the Bible?
A. David's Triumph was heard throughout the land.

Q. What kind of motor vehicles are in the Bible?
A. Honda ... because the apostles were all in one Accord.

Q. What kind of motor vehicles are in the Bible?
A. 2 Cor 4:8 describes going out in service in a Volkswagen Beetle: "We are pressed in every way, but not cramped beyond movement."

Q. Who was the greatest comedian in the Bible?
A. Samson. He brought the house down.

Q. How did Adam and Eve feel when expelled from the Garden of Eden?
A. They were really put out.

Q. What excuse did Adam give to his children as to why he no longer lived in Eden?
A. Your mother ate us out of house and home.

Q. Who is the greatest babysitter mentioned in the Bible?
A. David. He rocked Goliath to sleep.

Q. Why was Goliath so surprised when David hit him with a slingshot?
A. The thought had never entered his head before.

Q. What do they call pastors in Germany?
A. German Shepherds.

Q. What is the best way to get to Paradise?
A. Turn right and go straight.

Q. Which servant of God was the most flagrant lawbreaker in the Bible?
A. Moses. Because he broke all 10 commandments at once.

Q. Which area of Palestine was especially wealthy?
A. The area around the Jordan. The banks were always overflowing.

Q. Where is the first tennis match mentioned in the Bible?
A. When Joseph served in Pharaoh's court.

A Puzzle for the Twelve Days of Christmas

The Twelve Days of Christmas is a well loved English Christmas carol which enumerates a series of increasingly grandiose gifts given on each of the twelve days of Christmas. The twelve days in the song are the twelve days from the day after Christmas, the feast day of St Stephen Protomartyr, to the Feast of the Epiphany. Over the twelve days the "true love" gives seventy-eight strange gifts. A popular, if often debated, theory is that the carol was used as a "catechism song" to help young Catholics learn their faith, at a time when practising Catholicism was illegal in England. The twelve gifts are said to represent essential Christian realities. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to identify the meanings behind the gifts. Leave your answers as a comment and no Googling! We will know!

1 partridge in a pear tree

2 Turtle Doves

3 French Hens

4 Calling Birds

5 Golden Rings

6 Geese A-laying

7 Swans A-swimming

8 Maids A-milking

9 Ladies Dancing

10 Lords A-leaping

11 Pipers Piping

12 Drummers Drumming