Feast of St David

Saint David, or Dewi Sant – monk, abbot, bishop, confessor, and patron of Wales – seems to have led a holy life surrounded by lots of other saints.

Born to St Non, who was possibly a niece of King Arthur, the young David was baptised by St Elvis of Munster, schooled by St Illtyd then by St Paulinus (whom he cured of blindness with the sign of the cross), and apparently went on to teach St Finnian. St Scythun saved him from poisoning. St Teilo and St Padarn accompanied him to Jerusalem, where the Patriarch anointed him archbishop. There too he met up with St Dubric and St Daniel and helped them confound the Pelagian heresy.

St David teaching St Finnian

It seems anybody who was anybody in those days must be a saint! Certainly, this reflects the priorities of the historians and hagiographers who wrote down St David's life. Chief among them is perhaps Ricemarchus, or Rhyghfarch, who recounts David's many wondrous miracles, such as when a hill rose under his feet so that the great crowd could hear and see him preach. Although the reliability of Rhyghfarch's account, written some 500 years after David's death, is doubtful, we can still aspire to follow in St David's footsteps today, for we are all capable of holiness. When the histories and legends of the 2010s are written hundreds of years from now, I hope they will be full of saints like Illtyd, Paulinus, and David.

David's legendary achievements may seem beyond us: he helped evangelise the pagan Celtic tribes in Wales, England, Ireland and Brittany; founded or restored twelve monasteries; enacted a rigorously ascetic Rule in his monastery at Glyn Rhosyn (now St David's in Pembrokeshire); became Bishop of Menevia; died aged over 100, on 1st March sometime in the late sixth century; and was canonised by Pope Callistus II in 1120.

But holiness is not about achievement. It is an orientation of faith, gratitude and love towards God and neighbour. So there is no reason we cannot be just as holy as David in our own humble ways, especially if, during this Lent and beyond, we take to heart his dying words, and be found 'doing the little things in God's presence with conscientiousness and devotion'.

Wednesday of the First Week of Lent - A Question of Measurement

Readings: Jonah 3:1-10; Psalm 51:3-4, 12-13, 18-19, Luke 11:29-32

Jonah isn’t very successful as a prophet I would say. Both before he even gets to Nineveh, and after he has fulfilled his mission, he is unwilling and fearful, grumpy, stubborn and angry even unto death, as he himself says (Jonah 4, 9). The only time he does what he’s supposed to do, is in today’s reading, where he actually goes out in the streets of Nineveh and proclaims the message of God. In today’s reading we meet him at the high point of his prophetic career. But on the whole, Jonah is not better than the average prophet. He seems rather mediocre at best , if we had to give him a rating.

 Some years ago, during a canonical visit in the priory of Lille, the provincial at that time, Bruno Cadoré, spent an evening with the student brothers. Towards the end of the evening, he gave us some concluding words. I don’t remember much of what he said, except maybe this one thing: He said: ‘Vous êtes ... médiocre’ – ‘You are… mediocre’ . It was not meant in the sense that we were being really poor, bad brothers, but being ordinary or average. You are average brothers, you are ordinary, run-of-the-mill brothers, not exceptionally good, not exceptionally bad. You are what you are.

And so are we. Most of us are quite simply what we are. Most of us are not saints in the high sense of that word. Nor are we really that bad. So am I thereby claiming that we are all ‘average’? This, I think, is not to get the point. You see, our worth, our position before God is not measured by our standards of measure. In Christ, we have become signs of the infinite love that God offers freely to every human being. This is the sign that we are called to show to the people of our own time. This is the one thing that our Father would like to see us do.

However, we easily fall back to the temptation of trying to measure our lives, often resulting in doubts about ourselves and our capacity of being a witness or even being loved. We should then remember this: however average or mediocre our lives may be – it may help to lift our eyes and look towards him with whom we have become one. And we should try to measure ourselves the same way that the Father measures his beloved Son. At that moment, we might understand what grace really is.

Tuesday of the First Week of Lent - Gift and Duty

Readings: Isaiah 55:10-11, Matthew 6:7-15.

In today’s gospel, Jesus gives his disciples a new way of praying that distinguishes them from the “babbling pagans”. It is only by Christ’s gift that we are able to participate in the eternal son’s relationship with the Father, and thus are given the gift – and the obligation – of addressing God as “Our Father”.

From time to time Catholics are required to defendthe practice of observing the season of Lent against accusations of ‘paganism’. It’s certainly true that the spiritual practices that dominate the Lenten landscape – prayer, penance and almsgiving – have Pagan analogues. It is unsurprising that in centuries of reflection on the human condition, pre-Christian philosophers would have seized upon these ways of reaching out to the God who stands as the answer to every authentic human longing. YetChristian piety is of a radically different character: it is not so much a ‘reaching out’ as a ‘being reached’ by God.

When Jesus disperses his followers in Luke 10, he tells them not to carry a begging bag, but to rely on divine providence. The carrying of a begging bag was distinctive of the pagan followers of the cynic Diogenes ‘The Dog’ of Sinope, whose message of asceticism, honesty and a radically simple lifestyle was likely seen by some first century Palestinians as similar to the teachings of Christ. Whereas Diogenes saw his penitential lifestyle as a choice for a ‘good life’ made on one’s own terms, however, Christian devotion always begins with God: it flows from Christ, and returns to Him. Diogenes was proud of the rigours of his penances; Christians boast only inChrist.

Through our Lenten penances, then, God is reaching out to us. He is working in us, to offer us to Himself, that we may be reconciled with the Father. That this penitential season is a gift, however, does not make it any less of an obligation, nor mitigate its challenges. We are co-operators in Christ’s mission of reconciliation, and this demands an imitation of Christ’s self-emptying on the Cross. Accepting the gift of reconciliation is the great challenge of our lives, and this penitential season is a gift that helps us to see the bigger picture, and not (like Diogenes) get caught up in a human competition to outdo each other in asceticism.

Monday of the First Week of Lent - The Sheep and the Goats

Readings: Leviticus 19:1-2.11-18; Psalm 18; Matthew 25:31-46.

Recently I was stung by an accusation that the Catholicism of the young is 'an empty piety'. The suggestion annoyed me because it is quite obviously unfair and untrue, yet it is the kind of criticism that must always be taken seriously. Complacency is the doorway to spiritual stagnation and death, the gospel should never get too cosy. If we have managed to tie down a nice safe Jesus and put him in a box marked 'piety' then at some point we will make the dismal discovery that we have been worshipping not God but an idol of our own invention. Christ cannot be made safe, he will always defy our attempts to limit or circumscribe his action. Instead He draws us beyond our comfort zones into a fuller life of love. Today's gospel from Matthew is a good example of this, Jesus' message is uncomfortable and ought to provoke some self-reflection.

Jesus announces that the Son of Man will come in glory and seperate the sheep from the goats, the saints from the sinners, on the basis of their care for the poor, the marginalized, the vulnerable: 'whatever you did for the least of my brothers, you did for me' (Matthew 25:40). Interestingly, neither the saints nor the sinners in this passage consider their encounters with the needy as an encounter with Christ. They ask 'When did we see you hungry or thirsty?' (Matthew 25:37.44). Their bewilderment matches that of St. Paul on the road to Damascus when he discovered that his persecution of the early Church had been a persecution of Christ (Acts 9:1-9). This parallel between the experience of Paul and the experience of those labelled sheep and goats in Matthew's gospel gives us, I think, a clue as to how to interpret this passage.

The theology found in Paul's epistles is shaped by his encounter with the Risen Christ. Within these writings, two themes are particularly relevant for our present purposes: justification and unity. Luther's reading of St Paul led him to conclude that it is faith alone that justifies. We cannot earn our salvation by works of mercy, no matter how noble these works may be. Now Catholics agree that it is faith alone that justifies. The difference between Catholics and Protestants is not the necessity of faith but what we mean by justification. Catholics believe that we are justified by faith, not just called just or accounted just, but actually made just (no matter how imperfectly or initially only) both in the eyes of God and in fact. This justice, infused in us by God's grace, makes it possible for us (again by the grace of God) to keep not only the law as spelt out for us in the first reading from Leviticus, but also the works of mercy demanded of us by Jesus in our gospel reading from Matthew. Indeed, we do not just become able to keep the law, we become free from the law; we keep the law and serve our neighbour not because we are obliged to but because we want to. We can expect, then, that a life lived in a state of grace will bear fruit in the gifts of the Holy Spirit and works of mercy such as those outlined in Matthew's gospel: feeding the hungry and thirsty, welcoming the stranger, clothing the naked, visiting the sick and prisoners and so on. For the Catholic, faith and works come together.

Yet in practice very few of us recieve the grace to be perfect in all aspects of our life and this brings us to the second Pauline theme which is relevant to this passage: Unity. Paul understood the Church to be a body with Christ as the head (1 Corinthians 12). All of the baptized are, then, limbs of Christ. All of us, in a limited sense, re-present Christ to the world. However, just as different limbs of the body have different functions within an overall unity, so each Christian represents a different aspect of Christ to the world. Each Christian is called to play a particular part in the mission of the church. Paul outlines some of these different roles in 1 Corinthians chapter 12: teachers, workers of miracles, healers, helpers, administrators and so on. We can probably think of a few more roles we might want to add to his list. The point is that whilst the Church as a whole must serve the poor, whilst the church as a whole must preach, must teach, must contemplate, must raise children and so on, the vocations of individual Christians will usually be orientated primarily to a handful of these missions. We do not, then, have to do everything; but we must do what God is asking of us here and now. We must be the person God wants us to be, the person that deep down we want to be.

Whether or not the Catholicism of the young is an 'empty piety', then, depends on whether the young are being faithful to the particular call of Christ in their lives and nothing else. It seems to me, however, especially in this season of Lent, that all Christians should try to be sensitive to the call of Christ here and now regardless of age or state in life. If the Church is to be a beacon of hope, love, and life, then it needs all its limbs.

First Sunday of Lent - Waters of judgement that also bring us to life

Readings: Genesis 9:8-15; Psalm 24; 1 Peter 3:18-22; Mark 1:12-15

I intend to draw out some of the meaning of the section of 1 Peter given to us today. It is a difficult passage that has been variously interpreted, even among the doctors of the Church. To interpret it one needs to be familiar with the whole of the Noah narrative (Gen 6-9). Also it is helpful to appreciate that 1 Peter is most probably an exhortation given on the theme of baptism, in the context of a Christian community that is experiencing persecution, and needed teaching about suffering and punishment, and how these relate to justice, to God and to Jesus.

God called the people of Noah’s day to repentance – like Jesus in today’s gospel, and like the early church in her preaching. In Noah's day virtually no one responded properly and so God sent the flood that destroyed all but those 8 people and the animals on the ark. However, it seems that the question arose as to what happened to those people who perished. This was linked to the eternal fate of all people who had died before the coming of Jesus, precisely in the light of the salvation brought by Jesus Christ. It was very early established in the Christian Tradition and thus recorded in the Scriptures that Jesus went down to the realms of the dead to declare his victory, that is to preach the gospel (1 Pet 3:19 & 4:6). This meant that righteous souls could now enter heaven. It also meant that solace and hope was given to souls still being purified. By contrast, any souls in hell, and the demons, would know more clearly the truth of the just judgement that they had brought upon themselves by their rejection of God and divine righteousness.

Peter relates this general understanding to the dead from the flood in Noah’s day, including them among the dead to whom the Gospel of Jesus, including its victory and judgement is announced. Does the salvation which seems to be offered to at least some of those who perished in the flood mean that God changed his mind in judging them? Or that God got it wrong in sending the flood? No! It would seem that, in the time of Peter, it was understood that though they died physically - in this sense being judged ‘in the flesh’ - at least some of them, faced with the rising waters of the flood, most probably repented before finally being drowned. Such souls then would benefit from the preaching of Christ to them and will have a share in his victory. (See also 1 Peter 4:4-6).

Peter makes it clear that Jesus, who was truly innocent and suffered unjustly, enabled God’s justice, judgement and victory to be established, – as Jesus had proclaimed, even in today’s gospel, ‘The kingdom of God is at hand! (Mk 1:15)’. Peter makes it clear that this judgement and victory extended to those held in the realms of the dead. Further, the Risen, Glorified, Ascended Christ (1Peter 3:22) is a surer sign in the heavens of God’s merciful covenant than the rainbow in Noah’s day (Gen 9:12-16). One man’s unjust death offers life to all, to as many as will receive it by repenting and believing and being baptised and living in that grace (cf 1 Pet 3:18a).

But Peter also draws a parallel between the situation at the time of Noah and that of the church, and between the flood and the grace of baptism. The Church preached and still preaches to an often unbelieving generation, as also was true in the time of Noah and Jesus. The church preaches the victory of Christ but as part of that it preaches Christ as the true judge. Because of our sins and sinfulness, death is a just sentence. But we are offered the chance to come through death to life, following Christ. We do that by dying in the waters of baptism - in the flood of baptism so to speak - and so we enter into the community of the Church which is the ark of God’s mercy. It saves us from the devastating flood, that is the further death of hell, the second or eternal death as the New Testament elsewhere calls it.

It is crucial to see Jesus as the true judge, and to know that things that happen to us, even our physical suffering, persecution and physical death do not mean God is judging against us - if we are being renewed in Christ and have the pledge of a good conscience, given us by the Risen Christ (cf 1 Pet 3:21). This is the wider argument of much of 1 Peter. Also we leave God to decide the fate of others, hoping that they will choose to die to sin in the waters of baptism and not be swept by the flood of sin into hell (cf 1 Peter 4:5).

Peter thus gives hope to his congregation. What matters is being judged by Christ now since his kingdom is at hand (cf Mk 1:15), and to respond by repenting, believing, being baptised and living ever more fully in the grace of a renewed life in God, a life given in and through that sacrament and the other forms of grace God gives us in Christ. And doing that is the special focus of Lent.

Let us determine this Lent to come ever more fully into the presence of Jesus Christ, to his word, his light and his truth, and be judged by him, repenting and believing ever more fully. This will prepare us well as we approach the Easter Triduum and the renewal of our baptismal vows, and the sprinkling with holy water that follows. In all we do in the seasons of Lent and Easter may we more fully die with Christ and so also share more fully in his Risen life!

Saturday after Ash Wednesday

Is 58:9b-14; Ps 86:1-2, 3-4, 5-6; Lk 5:27-32

When reading the Gospel, I often make the mistake of identifying with the one Jesus encourages and praises, and seeing someone else as the one Jesus admonishes and corrects. It is a convenient strategy for glorifying my actions and rationalizing my judgment of others.

Rather than reading the Gospel with a sincere heart, I use the Gospel to support my own decisions. Instead of letting the Word of God form me, I rework the Word of God and gratify myself with my good works. However, when I am humble enough to see myself even in the least appealing Gospel characters, then the Word of God becomes an examination of conscience. I finally listen to what Christ is saying.

Jesus’ call for Levi’s conversion is an example of humble acceptance. Levi invites Jesus to his home for a meal, inviting other tax collectors and sinners. When the Pharisees criticize Jesus, he tells them he came to heal sinners, not the righteous. If we think Jesus is praising anyone in this story, then we need to read it again.

Jesus’ comment could be just as critical of Levi as it is of the Pharisees. Levi and his guests need healing. They are spiritually ill. The Pharisees and scribes, too, are ill. The difference between these two groups is humility. The Pharisees and scribes wonder why Jesus does not call them to follow him as disciples, or why he does not compliment them for their faithful adherence to the Law. In fact, Jesus is not concerned with their outward devotion. He is calling them to the same healing, the same contrition of heart, to which he calls all people. His rebuke of their criticism is not a dismissal. He does not intend to send them away angry. He calls them to recognize their spiritual illness and to return to God in humility. Unlike Levi, they are too proud to admit that they fail to live up to God’s expectations.

Depending on where we are in our conversion, we may assume that Jesus is either calling us to follow Him as a disciple or calling us to healing. This “either/or” mentality creates a false disparity. We all are called to healing…and we all are called to discipleship. One does not necessarily precede or overshadow the other.

Until we enter the Glory of Heaven, we continually have sin or some other weakness in our lives needing God’s healing. No matter how far we travel with the Cross on our shoulders, we are always Jesus’ disciples. We should not think there is a time when we will not need to follow Christ’s examples or not need to ask for God’s healing.

Let us deepen our call to discipleship this Lent. But let us not lose sight of our own weaknesses. Every time we enter the Scriptures, it should be a time with the Divine Physician. Let Him show us were we can grow, and let us accept the grace of His continual healing.

Stations of the Cross: Jesus Takes Up His Cross

Br Nicholas Crowe offers a reflection on the Second Station of the Cross, which will be delivered in the priory church this evening and which has been specially pre-recorded for Godzdogz:

Stations of the Cross at Blackfriars

The Dominican student brothers will lead the Stations of the Cross every Friday in Lent (but not Good Friday) in the priory church in Oxford at 5:15pm. All who are able to come will be most welcome; for those further away, a video of the talk given by a different brother each week on one of the stations will be put up on Godzdogz.

Thursday after Ash Wednesday

Deut. 30:15-20, Ps. 1:1-4,6, Lk. 9:22-25

Lent is a time in the liturgical year especially associated with repentance. By repenting, we change our minds. We turn away from what is evil and we turn to what is good. Today's first reading presents rather starkly what is at stake. You have a choice. You can either choose life and good, or you can choose death and evil. Stated this way, it's pretty obvious which to go for – choose life and good. The difficulty is what this means in practice and actually having the strength to do it.

We're required to follow the Lord's commandments, His statutes and His ordinances, and as Catholics, we should turn to the Magisterium in order to know what these are. However, we now live in an age in which many people have serious doubts about the Magisterium's competence to teach on such matters. In recent weeks, you may have heard of the controversy in the United States concerning the health care reforms in which employers will be required to provide health insurance which includes among other things, provision for contraception. This has led to a collision course between the bishops and the politicians. The bishops accuse the politicians of forcing Catholic employers to go against the teaching of the Church, whereas the politicians accuse the bishops of being authoritarian and unconcerned about women's health.

Although what the politicians are saying is widely believed by many people, it seems like a particularly unfair caricature. The Church's teaching on contraception is most clearly expressed in the encyclical Humanae Vitae, and if you read the encyclical, it doesn't sound authoritarian at all. Rather, it is full of sensitivity and pastoral concern. The encyclical acknowledges that many people will find the Church's teaching on contraception difficult to observe. Indeed, it says the teaching cannot be observed unless people are strengthened and sustained by God's grace. But nevertheless, the encyclical argues that the use of contraception is against the natural law and a person's dignity. The Church's teaching is not meant to be a test of mindless obedience, but rather it reflects a deep commitment and concern for human well-being. Nowadays, many people take it for granted that contraception is essential for women's health, but this is a belief we really have to take issue with. With the help of God's grace, not only does contraception become unnecessary for a happy and healthy marriage, but marriage itself becomes a great sign of Christ's love for His Church.


The Church's teaching on contraception is one of several doctrines that people often struggle with, but for anyone who is struggling, this season of Lent is a good time for a re-evaluation. Don't be afraid to read up on the issues or to discuss them with someone who is knowledgeable on the subject. Each of us has our own struggles, our own cross to bear, but it is by having a willingness to take up our cross and follow Christ, that we become open to the grace which brings us fullness of life.

Ash Wednesday - ‘Blow the trumpet in Zion!’

Readings: Joel 2: 12-18; Psalm 50(51); 2 Corinthians 5:20-6:2; Matthew 6: 1-6, 16-18

What are we meant to think about trumpets today? The prophet Joel tells us, ‘Blow the trumpet in Zion!’ (Joel 2: 15) and yet, in the Gospel, Jesus says, ‘Do not sound a trumpet before you’ (Mt 6: 2).
Well, of course, Jesus and Joel are talking about rather different things. In Jesus’ example, the hypocrites have trumpets sounded in order to draw attention to their own largesse. This self-aggrandisement shows they have not understood the point of what they are doing: even when doing something to help others, it’s still really all about them.For the prophet Joel, however, the trumpet serves a very different function: in this context it’s not about people drawing others’ attention to themselves, but rather it serves as a signal to direct the whole people’s attention to the Lord. This is the purpose, too, of the fasting and the solemn assembly for which Joel also calls: they all remind us, as St Paul does in today’s second reading, that ‘now is the acceptable time, now is the day of salvation’ (2 Cor 6: 2).
Lent is a time for us to refocus our lives on Christ, to make him the centre of attention. We do this by various penitential practices, traditionally the prayer, fasting and almsgiving mentioned by Jesus himself in today’s Gospel, which remind us of what is (and is not) really important. And yet we can still miss this message: we can make our doing of these things about ourselves and not about Christ. As we receive the ashes today, the priest says, ‘Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return’: in the end there really isn’t much to blow our own trumpet about. Instead, may our penance during these forty days help us orient our lives on Christ, so that we can sound with joy the trumpet of his Easter victory.

Godzdogz Lenten Retreat 2012

As has become usual over the past few years, the Godzdogz team will be offering daily reflections through Lent on the Mass readings of the day, except on Fridays, when instead we will be bringing you a specially recorded video of a reflection on a different Station of the Cross each week. The Sunday reflections will also be offered in the form of a podcast. We hope our readers will find this useful, and wish you all a blessed Lent.

Book Recommendations for Lent

In preparation for Lent, the Godzdogz team have put together a few suggestions for books to read during the coming season:

Benedict XVI, Journey to Easter: Spiritual Reflections for the Lenten Season
A Lenten blessing that evaluates the meaning of the season, the significance of the birth and death of Christ, and the meaning of Jesus in the lives of Christians everywhere, in a spiritual meditation that follows such themes as the mystery of Mary and the Pentecostal sending of the Spirit.

James Finley, Merton's Palace of Nowhere (25th Anniversary Edition)
Finley, a one-time novice and student of Merton's, explores Merton's understanding of the interior life. He covers the whole of Merton's spiritual theology in a concise and systematic manner. For those who do not have experience with Merton's writing and do not know where to begin reading his texts, Finley's work serves as a good introduction. I return to this text almost every Lent as a way of reevaluating my own contemplative practices.

R.S. Thomas, Collected Poems 1945-1990
This collection of poems published to mark the 80th birthday of the late R.S. Thomas reflects the author’s lifetime of searching for God as an Anglican parson in rural Wales. Thomas’s works are vivid and evocative, always rigorously honest and often deeply challenging, passing from the youthful and exuberant fascination with rural Wales to a mournful poetic expression of grief for his wife and for the certainties of his youth. Thomas was clearly a difficult but lovable man, wracked by contradiction, bitterness and melancholy, he was nevertheless deeply committed to finding his own identity – and the truth about the world in which he lived - in the light of the gospel. His poetry is – in his own words – “an attempt to convey through language something which is unsayable”.

Henri J. M. Nouwen, In the House of the Lord: The Journey from Fear to Love
This book takes its inspiration from John 15 – Jesus is the vine, we are the branches – to explore the themes of intimacy, fecundity, and ecstasy. For each theme, fear is the obstacle and love is the remedy. Henri Nouwen reflects on the Gospels, on the world around us, and on his experiences living in a L'Arche community with mentally handicapped people. Opening our hearts to God and to other people is not easy; but this journey from fear to love will liberate us and bring us into a communion that is fruitful and joyful.

Fulton J. Sheen, Lent and Easter Wisdom
A Lenten journey of daily meditations covering the traditional themes of Lent—sin and salvation, death and Resurrection, sorrow and hope. Fifty passages and accompanying mini-prayers offer readers a practical spiritual program as a retreat from the cares and concerns of a secular world view.

Jean Vanier, The Broken Body
In a series of meditations written in ‘poetic prose’ Jean Vanier takes us on a journey that explores our own brokenness and suffering in the context of the incarnation, death and resurrection of Jesus and his ongoing presence in the church. It is in the body of Christ, broken for us, and Christ who we encounter in our hearts, relationships and in the church, that we can accept the extent of our brokenness but also grow in holiness and wholeness. The book is wonderfully gentle but powerful, simple but profound, an excellent accompaniment to Lent.

Gary Anderson, The Genesis of Perfection
The coming redemption of man and woman is the defining feature of the Lenten season. This elaboration of the sin of Adam and Eve is in no way depressing, but rather it underscores the audacious mercy God has shown to mankind.

Albert Nolan OP, Jesus Today: A Spirituality of Radical Freedom
Do you yearn for a dedicated Christian spiritual life in the footsteps of Christ? Then Albert Nolan’s book Jesus Today is the book to read during this 2012 Lent. The author, a South African Dominican, wrote several works, the best-seller Jesus Before Christianity among others. He is among the most influential theologians that helped the collapse of the Apartheid regime. In Jesus Today, reading the signs of the times, Nolan found that people long for a authentic spiritual life and he helps them to appreciate and grasp the means to achieve essential transformation in order to experience their oneness with God, themselves, the other human beings and the Universe. In the end, one finds a radical freedom.

Barsanuphius and John, Letters (translated by John Chryssavgis)
The letters of these two holy hermits from sixth century Palestine present us with a wealth of spiritual guidance, gentle yet at the same time uncompromising. Their letters were written to all sorts of enquirers, including politicians as well as monks, who sought their advice on living the Christian life, and dealing with the challenges it presents. For something almost 1500 years old, the freshness and relevance of their advice is striking, and helpful as we seek to examine our own lives this Lent in the light of Jesus.

The Catholic Church in England

It is, perhaps, a temptation to view the Catholic Church in England as a product of the counter-reformation and reduce its scope to a history of some 450 years. However, to do so, is to do injury to the vast influence of English Catholicism’s cultural, intellectual and devotional influence, not only within the confines of these Isles but far beyond. For a real appreciation of the English Church we must gaze further back than that. Many would date the founding of the Church in England to the official Gregorian Mission of 596AD. Pope Gregory the Great entrusted Augustine of Canterbury to head a delegation to these shores with the object of converting the Anglo-Saxons to Christianity, however, as St Bede shows us in his Historia Ecclesiastica, English Christianity can be traced back until at least the second century, surviving the departure of the Roman forces and remaining until the arrival of Augustine. Indeed, it is clearly recorded that Romano-British bishops, such as Restitutus, attended the Council of Arles in 314. It would seem that the Church in England was an influential body from its very early days.

It was, however, the Gregorian Mission, pursued as it was with vigour, that really gained ground in winning converts and in fostering a greater unity between England and Rome. Much of the work of closer integration and expansion was made possible by the Benedictine missionaries whose continental Rule, became over time, closely imbedded in English culture. The English Church, not without difficulty and dispute, went from strength to strength and by the early middle ages was not only a prominent feature of society but imbued every aspect of it and was intertwined with the daily life of kings and paupers alike. England boasted a remarkable number of convents and monasteries and with the rise of the new religious orders in the 12^th and 13^th centuries this extended still further. The rise of the schools ensured the intellectual development of Church in England, whose influence spread far abroad, but other aspects of Christian society were no less notable, such as welfare for the sick and poor through the provision of hospices and infirmaries connected to the religious institutions. Art, architecture, music, literature – all flourished and bore the distinctive imprint of English Catholicism. By the late 15^th century the English Church was a vibrant and powerful force, deeply aware of its past, and of how firmly it was imbedded in the Latin Church, which it could not fail to see as Universal. Above all, it was a Church whose doctrine of the communion of saints, deep prayer and devotional life for both the living and the dead, and awareness of the sacramental economy permeating daily life, could not easily be swept away by the subsequent Reformation and successive persecutions that followed.

Whilst it would be foolish to see the English Reformation as anything less than a thoroughgoing dismantling of the institutions of the Catholic Church, and its impact as nothing less than devastating, we must be aware that throughout the see-sawing of the religious landscape of the reigns of Henry VIII, Edward VI, and Mary, a significant proportion of the population continued to stand for the faith and to practice whether in public or private. Although by Elizabeth’s reign the Catholic population, repressed and denied its legitimacy, could only be said to be a minority it could not be wholly expunged. A new era had begun and one in which the bravery and steadfastness of those who held to the faith would become legendary under penal conditions. English Catholicism adapted to its new and hostile circumstances by going largely underground and re-establishing its organisational centres abroad from which missionary activity ceaselessly flowed.

The Stuart era was marked with an increasing tolerance towards Catholics, albeit interspersed with occasional and deadly purges, and the accession of the Catholic King, James II in 1685, brought with it a renewed hope for English Catholicism, in at least that an era of religious tolerance had begun. However, the Glorious Revolution of 1688 deposed James and the Protestant reign of William and Mary began. Though not entirely invisible, English Catholicism in the period 1688 until the early 19^th Century was at a distinctly low ebb. Politically and culturally it was far from view save for some notable exceptions such as Alexander Pope and the great recusant family the Howards, Dukes of Norfolk. Though legislation against Catholics became more lenient in this period it was not until 1829, when Parliament passed the Catholic Emancipation Act, that almost equal civil rights were granted, including the right to vote and to hold most public offices.

This Act together with significant demographic changes in England, such as mass immigration from Ireland in the 1840’s and 1850’s, dramatically changed the nature of the Church in England; indeed, some would see the latter half of the nineteenth century as a ‘second spring’ for English Catholicism. Multiple factors were at work here; a new found freedom from repression; a wave of catholic immigration; the subsequent Restoration of the Catholic Hierarchy by Rome; a renewed interest in Catholic theology and philosophy (with all its manifold implications) courtesy of the Anglican Oxford Movement; a steady stream of converts from Protestantism, not least Blessed John Henry Newman. In fact the stream of intellectual and artistic converts in the late 19^th and early 20^th century is considerable. A few of their names make for a distinguished roll-call; Augustus Pugin, Gerald Manley Hopkins, Graham Sutherland, G.K Chesterton, Hiliare Belloc, Ronald Knox, Siegfried Sassoon, Evelyn Waugh, Edith Sitwell, Muriel Spark, Graham Greene, Edward Elgar, and J.R.R Tolkien.

The first half of the twentieth century was undoubtedly one of renewed confidence for the Church in England. The number of clergy rose sharply from the beginning of the century from just under 3000 to a peak of 7,500 in 1971, but this in turn had decreased to 4,400 by 2010. An aging clerical population has brought with it many challenges and many parishes have been affected by this across the 22 dioceses of England & Wales. Though annual vocation rates have been variable in recent years there would seem again to be a strong sense of confidence in the English Church, not least among the young. The Papal Visit of 2010 bore strong witness to this, and though English Church will undoubtedly face many challenges to its beliefs and institutions in the coming years the sense of hope is strong. There are currently just over 4 million Catholics in England & Wales, and if there is one thing that history teaches us, it is that English Catholicism runs deep in this land and it will not easily be trampled or ignored. Our Lady’s Dowry remains; it is now for every Catholic to play their part in continuing to perpetuate and grow England’s devotional, cultural, and intellectual Catholic heritage, for the ages to come.

The Catholic Church in Norway

When speaking of the Catholic Church in Norway, we soon discover that we are dealing with two rather distinct periods of time. The first stretches from 8th century until the reformation, the second from the middle of the 19th century until our days, this was when the country opened its borders to the Catholic Church and to religious life. The Protestant Reformation came to Denmark and Norway in 1537 and resulted in a rupture of the Christian faith in a region where the Catholic Church had been present in and determinant for the society for more than 500 years. For Catholics raised in Norway, this fact has always had a major impact on the feeling of identity and roots, and even for the Lutheran State Church and other Free Churches, the origin of Christianity has gradually become more popular. We will then have to say a few words of Norway's conversion to Christianity.

There are traces of missionary activity towards the Scandinavian countries from before the 9th century, maybe even earlier. For Norway’s part, the conversion from paganism rooted in the Norse mythology to the Christian faith accelerated in a period when Norway also began to consolidate to become one Kingdom. But it wasn’t until the patron of Norway, Saint Olav, began his conversion of the people that the Christian faith began to get a foothold in the country. Olav Haraldson, which was his full name, had converted to Christianity in his youth, and he got baptised at Rouen in Normandy in France after having stayed there one winter. In 1015, he returned to Norway, claiming the throne of Norway. He had a diplomatic nature, and offered the petty kings and the aristocracy to be liberated from their pagan beliefs (as well as accepting him as king) or get liberated of their heads. Perhaps unsurprisingly, many chose the first alternative.

But turning Norway into one kingdom could not be achieved without battles, and during the battle of Stiklestad in 1030 he was killed. But his death also became the decisive factor for achieving what he had struggled for during his life. After his death, people soon considered him to be a saint, miracles happened at his grave, and he was posthumously given the title Rex Perpetuus Norvegiae -Norway's Eternal King. This was the beginning of the new era for the Catholic Church, and churches, monasteries and priories soon was established from Moster in south to Loppøya in north.

For ethnic Norwegians, cradle Catholics and converts, as well as for second or third generation immigrated Catholics, these historical roots are important and create a profound bond of identity and a feeling of being on old grounds. And in addition to this, there are large groups of working immigrants and groups of refugees coming from all over the world. A normal Norwegian Catholic parish may count about fifty different nationalities, some have over a hundred. This multinationality sometimes reminds us of Pentecost, and is a daily reminder of what the word ‘Catholic’ really means - universal!

Even though we consist of many nations, we are still few in numbers. In the Nordic countries there are 24 million inhabitants. Of these we count officially about 250, 000 Catholics. But even though we are small in numbers, we stand in a tradition that goes beyond both time and place. The local Catholic Church always stands in a larger context, both geographically, culturally and historically. Theologically we confess a universal faith based on a coherent doctrine followed by a sacramental practice that carries within it a spiritual strength that often opens doors for searching souls living in a secularised society. Therefore, there is no reason for pessimism; we only need courage to meet the many needs of men and women of our society, and strength to proclaim the Gospel in a context where there is no longer any immediate access to the faith. The situation can sometimes remind us of the dialogue between the apostle Philip and the Ethiopian treasurer, as Philip asked the man if he understood the Scriptures: ‘How can I, unless someone guides me?’ (Act 8,26). Let us then pray to Saint Olav for his intercessions for the spreading of the Good News also in this part of the world.

The Catholic Church in Russia

The most significant date in the Christianisation of the Eastern Slavonic peoples is the baptism of St Vladimir by missionaries from Constantinople in 988, from which Russians, Ukrainians and Byelorussians generally consider the Christian history of their countries to have begun. However, there were certainly Christians in those areas before that date, including Western Christians from what is now Germany and Hungary. Furthermore, the schism with Constantinople in 1054 did not immediately cut off the links between the Russian Church and Western Christians: we see this not least in a series of dynastic marriages, including the marriage of Great Prince Vladimir Monomakh to a daughter of King Harold II of England who had fled to the continent after the Norman Conquest.

By the time of the reassertion of Russian identity after the overthrow of the Mongols in the 14th century, however, the break between East and West was clear, and the Catholic presence in Russia was limited to a few foreign traders resident in Moscow and Novgorod.

Catholics came to Russia in large numbers in the 19th century as a result of the westward expansion of the Russian Empire into traditionally Catholic lands such as Poland and Lithuania: indeed, the arrival of Catholics in Siberia is tied in large part to the waves of Poles exiled there after the Polish uprisings of 1830 and 1863.

Church of St Catherine of Alexandria, Nevsky Prospekt, St Petersburg

There also arose in the late 19th century an interest in Catholicism in certain intellectual and aristocratic circles in Russia, not least as a result of the willingness with which the Orthodox Church appeared to submit to total control by the state. This movement, in fact, had a Dominican connection: once conversion to Catholicism was legalised in 1905, some of those from this circle who converted founded a Lay Dominican group in Moscow, as well as a community of Dominican sisters.

Hopes of greater religious freedom after the revolution of February 1917 were dashed by the October Revolution, and by the end of the 1920s there remained only two Catholic churches on the territory of what is now Russia, kept open for diplomats in Moscow and Leningrad. Many Catholics, clergy, religious and laity, were persecuted and martyred, and this persecution continued with varying degrees of intensity up to the 1980s (it should not be forgotten that other religious groups faced similar persecution, though Catholics were a particular target, as in China today, because they belonged to a worldwide organisation which the Soviet state could not even attempt to control).

Despite such persecution, however, many Catholics retained their faith, though without the opportunity to practise it: by the 1970s, there were also clandestine priests who had come to Russia from other parts of the Soviet Union and who were able to celebrate the sacraments in secret for those willing to take the risk. These underground Catholics maintained good relations with the dissident movement in the Orthodox Church, led by such figures as Fr Alexander Men, who attained huge popularity despite Soviet attempts to silence him.

Consecration of the altar of a new church in Tuapse, 2005

The changes of the early 1990s brought a new freedom for Catholics to practise their faith: many who had preserved the faith in secret came “out of the woodwork” to establish Catholic communities and parishes, and priests and religious came from around the world to help re-establish Church life. Efforts were made, with varying degrees of success, to reclaim churches confiscated after 1917, but the State often proved rather less willing to assist Catholics than Orthodox, so that in many places Catholics have either had to build new churches, if they have the money, or continue to worship either in a converted flat, as they do in the parish looked after by Dominicans in Yaroslavl, or even in the front room of a parishioner.

The chapel of the Catholic parish in Yaroslavl

Relations with the Orthodox are somewhat tense, with the Orthodox accusing Catholics of “proselytism” especially where they are engaged in charitable efforts beyond the Catholic community (e.g. running children’s homes or shelters for the homeless), which are perceived as attempts to convert ethnic Russians, who, as the argument goes, should by rights be Orthodox. Basically, it seems that the Orthodox (and the Russian state) will tolerate the Catholic Church as an “ethnic chaplaincy” to Poles, Lithuanians, Germans and other traditionally Catholic nationalities living in Russia, but they are very nervous about anything more than that. The establishment of four fully-fledged Catholic dioceses in Russia in 2002 was a low point in relations, though things do appear to have improved since then.

Meeting of the local Catholic and Orthodox bishop, Kazan 2009

The most generous estimate of the number of Catholics in Russia puts it at about 0.5% of the population. It is statistically insignificant, of course, but in such a huge country (the estimated total population is 143,000,000), that still means 789,000 Catholics.

As for the life of the Catholic community, the small numbers of Catholics in any one place and the great distances in Russia pose a particular problem for the maintenance of viable communities, and especially for priests ministering to them: the parish I lived in in Russia (I spent a year there as a languages student before I joined the Order) was bigger than Wales, and the furthest Mass station from the church, which a priest visited once a month, was a 500km round trip! Nevertheless, as so often in places with very small Catholic populations, the sense of community is strong, and the life of the parishes very active. Many parishes have communities of religious sisters living and working in them, but a significant proportion these, as well as of the priests, are still from outside Russia: the seminary in St Petersburg admits a reasonable number of seminarians each year, but it will take a long time to build up a local clergy to serve the 420 parishes in Russia, having started from so few in 1990.

Despite the various difficulties, then, the Catholic Church continues to grow in Russia, seeking to share the Good News in a country deprived of religion for over 70 years, but trying to do so in a way that respects as far as possible the thousand years of Christian history which went before.

Dinners at Blackfriars

This weekend has been an eventful weekend at Blackfriars. On Friday, there was the Priory Dinner for our Hall and Studium students, and on Sunday evening the community invited all the friends of our community who come to Mass at Blackfriars for a festive Buffet in our refectory. Both events were highly enjoyable, and below we will now share with you a few snapshots of these occasions…

First from the Priory's Dinner with the students:

The Prior serving

The Regent feeding his flock

The pudding...

A popular brother...

The evening ended with coffee and port

The evening's birthday girl in centre

The evening concluded...

Then Sunday evening's buffet with friends of the community:

The Catholic Church in the Philippines

For centuries, the Philippines could proudly proclaim itself 'the only Christian country in Asia'. East Timor's independence in 2002 and the recent decades of evangelisation in South Korea, China and elsewhere may have altered the demographics somewhat, but the Philippines is still the major Catholic hub of the region. Over 80% of its population of some 90 millions is Catholic; the rest consists chiefly of various Protestant denominations, the Mormon-inspired Iglesia ni Cristo (INC), and Muslims (especially in Mindanao to the south). Moreover, the Filipino diaspora is enormous, perhaps 11 million by some estimates. This means that Filipino Catholicism cannot be ignored as something distant and exotic; Overseas Filipino Workers (OFWs) are already enriching the life of parishes across North America, the Middle East, the UK and many other countries, and the trend is likely to increase.

Christianity first came to the Philippines when Magellan landed in 1521, but it was not till the 1560s that Spanish political rule began to be established. The country was named after the Spanish king, Philip II – Las Islas Filipinas – and the name has stuck. The Spanish spirit is evident in much of Filipino history, religion, language and culture. The religious orders from Spain, especially the Dominicans, Franciscans and Augustinians, evangelised large swathes of the country, established educational centres (the University of Santo Tomas, run by Dominicans, is the oldest university in Asia), and sent missionaries to even the remotest regions. Sadly, they would eventually become so wealthy and powerful that the Revolution in 1896 would have 'friarocracy' as one of its chief targets. At that time, the Philippines' national hero, Jose Rizal, painted a dark picture of the friars in his novels.

Yet, the history does not end there. Philippine 'independence' in 1898 and the period of American control until WW2 saw a large influx of Protestant missionaries as well as the construction of schools and basketball courts everywhere. The Spanish language began to cede to English and the Catholic Church encountered a new plethora of Christian denominations. The Filipino Catholic Church became more authentically Filipino, now that native men and women no longer faced the imperialistic and racist prejudice that had barred them from religious or priestly life in earlier times. In fact, the story of how the first native Filipino priests and nuns bravely and patiently overcame those prejudices from the seventeenth century onwards is told by Luciano P. R. Santiago in The Hidden Light (1987), and To Love and to Suffer (2005). To anyone who feels their religious vocation is being thwarted by external factors, these inspiring histories will demonstrate that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus.


So, what is Filipino Catholicism like today? The Catechism for Filipino Catholics identifies five broad characteristics and relates each to Jesus Christ himself. First, Filipinos are family-oriented; they relate well to the Santo Niño, both as Son of God and Son of Man, and are devoted to his mother, Mary. Our Lady of Manaoag and Our Lady of La Naval draw many thousands of pilgrims each year to their shrines, both under Dominican care. The Blessed Virgin appears according to the Spanish fashion with billowing gown, as seen in this forest of Marian images exhibited in a shopping mall in 2009.

Second, Filipinos are meal-oriented, being known for their hospitality; so they relate strongly to the Eucharist. Since spending a year as a Dominican volunteer in Manila, one of the most moving images I know is this Last Supper, captioned Hapag ng Pagasa (Table of Hope), showing Jesus breaking bread with the children of the slums.

Third, Filipinos draw spiritual sustenance even from sufferings in life, especially from the wounds of sacrificial love; so Christ as the Suffering Servant is an extraordinarily popular image of God to them. Good Friday is dramatically marked with Passion plays in the streets (the Senakulo) and the churches are packed for services of the Seven Last Words. More extreme penitential practices, such as flagellants in the streets and even voluntary crucifixions in some rural parts, persist among some people despite being actively discouraged by the bishops. But it is Hesus Nazareno, the famous image of the suffering Christ, that elicits perhaps the most striking devotion when, on 9 January every year, millions of men and women flood Manila's streets for an incredibly emotional, and at times dangerously crushing, procession.

Fourth, they relate to the idea of a hero who will not settle for an unjust status quo but upholds dignity and the ultimate triumph of goodness: Christ as priest, prophet and king (Cristo Rey) is the hero who has ultimately defeated sin and death by his Cross, and thus the Kingdom of God is already among us. In 2009 I joined a Christ the King procession in Manila which lasted for more than three hours.

Fifth, Filipinos are spirit-oriented, holding strong beliefs in supernatural beings of all kinds; they relate to Jesus as a healer and exorcist, who sends his Holy Spirit to dwell in us and bind us together in fellowship. To an outsider these beliefs may appear superstitious at times, but through the Gospel the Filipino Catholic will always prioritise the person of Jesus Christ, whom we worship 'in spirit and truth'.


Filipino Catholicism, then, has come to conscious maturity by accepting and celebrating both its native and Spanish roots. This is clear from the style and popularity of devotions and practices such as great processions, wakes, block rosaries, and the remarkable Simbang Gabi, or Missa de Gallo, the nine days of 'dawn' masses (actually around 4am) leading up to Christmas. The cult of the saints is wonderfully vibrant, too. The first Filipino saint was a Dominican lay associate, San Lorenzo de Ruiz, martyred in Japan in the seventeenth century; despite suffering horrific torture, he declared at his death, 'If I had a thousand lives, I would offer them all to the Lord.' Christian art and architecture historically in the Spanish style is now created in a modern, inculturated, Filipino mode. A lovely example is this new icon of San Lorenzo, commissioned for the priestly ordinated of our brother, fr. Lawrence Lew OP, last September.


Catholicism permeates Filipino society, through its schools and universities, its concern for social justice, and its deep orientation towards the family – the 'domestic church'. On the one hand, the Catholic Faith is challenged in the Philippines, as elsewhere, by the destabilising forces of globalisation, secularisation, and the encroachments of proselytising non-Catholic groups, especially among the poor. But, on the other, each challenge brings new opportunities for growth and a revitalisation of the Catholic culture. Whereas Protestant churches and the INC have been quick to develop media channels for their messages, the Catholics are only just emerging from complacency with such initiatives as 'The Word Exposed', by the newly installed Archbishop of Manila, 'Chito' Tagle, or the recent film about the life of St Dominic. Thankfully, there are countless lay associations and ministries, such as the Catholic Women's League, the Urban Poor Ministry, or the Lay Dominicans, doing wonderful work at every level.

Institutionally, in fact, the Church is powerful in the Philippines. This has drawbacks: bishops are sometimes too closely allied with political camps, and so on. But the Church's prophetic voice is equally significant. The bloodless 'People Power' revolution that toppled the Marcos dictatorship in 1986 was called by the late Jaime, Cardinal Sin, and witnessed religious sisters in the front of the massive crowds on the EDSA highway, facing down the army with only rosaries to defend them.

It may be tempting to think the Philippines is thriving spiritually and should instead prioritise economic prosperity and social justice. This would be admirable, but no panacea. Measures of reform cannot lead to social flourishing unless they first take root in people's hearts. The Kingdom of God begins with repentance. So the Philippines, no less than any of our so-called 'secularised' countries, has a spiritual mission to pursue: to maintain the Church's 'preferential option for the poor' in the fullest sense by making the Gospel find life among the people.

The story of the Smokey Mountain illustrates this well. This infamous rubbish dump in Manila smoulders like Gehenna, yet thousands of people live in the area, usually scavenging for their livelihood. In the 1980s, crime, alcoholism and drug abuse were rampant among the communities; but things improved when Basic Christian Communities (BCCs) were established, led by brave and compassionate priests. The BCCs simply gathered to study the Bible and discuss their problems; in 1989, a parish was erected. The reduction in crime and substance abuse over just a few years was astounding.

Now, the problems have not been eradicated – the Mountain still smokes – but the point is clear. Spiritual renewal is the only way to create meaningful transformation in our lives. And that is where we can learn a lot from the Catholic Church in the Philippines.