EASTER SUNDAY – Making Known the Victory of God

Acts 10:34a, 37-43; Ps 118:1-2, 15-17, 22-24; Col 3:1-4; Jn 20:1-9.

Jesus had claimed to be the Son of God in a unique way and to be God’s special instrument for fulfilling God’s plans for Israel and for the world. Jesus had made clear that not even his death, and a shameful death at that, could stand in the way of these claims. The Jewish leadership had rejected these claims, and Jesus had been executed.

But Jesus had predicted his resurrection. Foes as well as friends knew this. The Jewish authorities requested a guard be mounted at the tomb to prevent the disciples of Jesus stealing the body and then putting about fabricated claims about such a resurrection (Mt 27:62-66).

Such is the situation on that first Holy Saturday. Jesus appeared publicly discredited and his apostles had buckled under the pressure of the situation.

Only the resurrection could possibly turn this situation round. And it did – but it was unusual in a number of ways – or seemed so.

If Jesus is God’s most important instrument ever, and if his work is so important for all of history, then one might have expected a very public vindication – a very public resurrection, one beyond all ambiguity and doubt and objection, indeed one leading all to bend the knee and confess him as Lord (cf Phil 2:10-11). One might well expect this even more after such a shameful and very public death, one that, if anything, stirred up even more controversy about him.

Political leaders and entire regimes, in order to survive in such situations, typically try to demonstrate strongly and publicly their power over their enemies. Should not God do this?

The resurrection did come. It did demonstrate the power of Jesus over death and with that over sin and Satan, the ultimate enemies of humanity. It did validate his claims and expose the false accusations and misunderstandings of the Jewish authorities. But it came in a very quiet way, away from the public eye.

The beloved disciple came to belief, entering a quiet tomb and seeing a carefully folded head cloth. Surely grave robbers and body stealers would not take the time to fold a cloth wrapped around the corpse’s head! The apparitions when they came were to the friends of Jesus, not to his enemies – with the later single exception of Paul. Why not appear publicly to all? This will happen – it is called the Second Coming.

In the meantime God has chosen another way of making his victory public. It is through the witness of those who did see him, as Peter makes clear in our reading from Acts. It is through their faith, and that of those who believe because of them. Which today means us.

So it is not that Jesus is not made manifest in public. He is made manifest through the Church, through us, who together are his body. We may feel this to be a fragile way for God to work, to make clear his decisive victory.

But – interestingly – it is rather similar to the way God achieved that victory in the first place. This happened through the words and works, through the holiness, and the witness to truth unto death of someone who was seemingly only a carpenter from Nazareth. God was uniquely present in Jesus and that made the difference. But what God has done for us, he now wishes to do in us, and through us. That is perhaps why he has chosen that until he comes in full public glory we, fragile humans, earthenware vessels, are to manifest his resurrection life to the world and call its people to believe in his claims and so receive eternal life.

Jesus brought in the Kingdom of God through sharing our human life. We are to announce it through letting him reproduce the pattern of that life in us here and now. St Paul says in today’s epistle that our true life is hidden with Christ in God. This means that its power and wisdom come from a source beyond this world, indeed from a source that this world crucified, but that God raised up. That divine life is real, present, and effective in changing us here and now even if we do have to wait until the Second Coming for that life in us to be made fully clear.

However, it is already at work and is also partially manifest to others here and now. Jesus Christ is present in each and every believer, and makes the victory, life and power of his Resurrection evident through our lives of faith, hope and charity, through our holiness, through our verbal testimony to the Gospel, through any signs and wonders he may choose to work through us, but often and perhaps especially through our share in the cross of Christ. That is how the victory of the Resurrection is made public. It may seem strange – but it is no stranger than the manner in which the victory was first won. 

Let each of us take our part, sharing in, and testifying to, his life, death and resurrection: sharing in the very life of God that knows no end.

The Paschal Triduum – Celebration of the Lord's Passion

On the afternoon of Good Friday, recalling the time of day when, so the Scriptures tell us, Jesus died on the Cross, the Church gathers to commemorate that climactic moment in the history of our salvation. As we heard in the homily this afternoon at Blackfriars (a recording of which you can hear below) we are confronted with the shocking truth that God has died for us. We venerate the Cross as a sign that we recognise, in this instrument of humiliating suffering, Jesus' triumph - quite literally, his exaltation, as he had hinted several times in the course of his ministry (cf. John 8:28, 12:32).

Good Friday is also a day when the Church makes solemn intercession for the whole world: we see in Jesus' death that event which puts the whole of human history - indeed, the whole history of creation - in its true perspective, and so we pray on this day for all people, and especially those in need, that they too may come to see the transformation which Christ wrought upon the Cross.

With this in mind, our "highlights" from today's liturgy include the veneration of the Cross, when the deacon, in three stages, unveils the crucifix he carries into the church and invites the congregation to worship the Saviour of the world who hung upon it, but also a recording of the praying of the Our Father, in which we hope our readers and listeners will be able to join us in our prayer for the Church and the world.

In addition, the celebrant of today's liturgy, Fr Simon Gaine OP, has agreed to let us publish a recording of the sermon he preached this afternoon, which says much better than has been possible in a few words here something of the huge significance of what we celebrate today:

The Paschal Triduum – Tenebrae

As well as its three liturgical high points - the Mass of the Lord's Supper, the Liturgy of the Passion, and the Easter Vigil - these three days of the Triduum building up to Easter also see the continuation of the regular round of daily prayers which we call the Divine Office (or Liturgy of the Hours). The public celebration of the Office punctuates the days of monastic and religious communities such as Blackfriars, and during the Triduum it takes a special form - stark, austere, capturing something of the horror of Christ's suffering, and our response to it. During these days, the morning offices of Matins and Lauds are celebrated together and called Tenebrae (which means 'darkness' in Latin): no lights are used other than the altar candles and a special candlestick, on which the candles are gradually extinguished as the office progresses (though for the sake of those who wish to join us for its celebration, it's not as dark outside as it could be!).

This office gives us a chance to explore, especially in the psalms which form the heart of the Divine Office, but also in the readings and the meditative responsories sung after them, the truths of a Passion not so much in the dramatic form of the chief liturgies, but in a more reflective way. Below is a recording of one of the responsories sung in Blackfriars this morning, accompanied by images of the celebration of Tenebrae, as well as illustrations of the themes of the text:

In English translation, the text being sung, based on Matthew 26: 57-58,  is as follows:

The wicked man handed Jesus over to the chief priests and elders of the people: Peter, for his part, followed from a distance to see how this would end. And Peter entered the courtyard of the high priest: to see how this would end.

The Paschal Triduum - Maundy Thursday

Tonight, in the Mass of the Lord’s Supper, we commemorated the very institution of the Mass itself, when Jesus gave to his disciples under the appearance of bread and wine his very body and blood: that body which was to hang the next day upon the cross, that blood which poured from his side for the redemption of the human race.

Recorded live at Mass this evening in Blackfriars, here are the last two verses of St Thomas Aquinas’ great hymn in honour of the Eucharist, the well known Tantum ergo: these were sung as all present venerated the Blessed Sacrament which had been placed on the Altar of Repose, where many people, even as I write, are still kneeling in prayer before Jesus, present in the Sacrament:

This great gift of God's love, by which he is truly present among us as the one who offered himself in sacrifice for our sins, invites of us in turn a response of love: at the Last Supper, we read in today's Gospel, Jesus washed his disciples feet as a sign of his loving care for them, a sign which we repeat liturgically when the priest washes the feet of representatives of the congregation, but which each of us is also called to imitate by living a life which shows forth that gift of love which we receive sacramentally in the Most Holy Eucharist.

The Paschal Triduum - Introduction

 

Over the coming three days, as we celebrate liturgically the central events of the Christian mystery, Godzdogz will be bringing our readers selected highlights from the conventual liturgy at Blackfriars as a basis for reflecting on the three key moments which the Church presents to us - the Last Supper, the Passion and Death of Christ, and his Resurrection. In this way we invite you to join with us in prayer during this sacred time, and share with us, when it comes, in the joy of Easter.

Tuesday of Holy Week: Betrayed and abandonned by his closest friends

Readings: Is 49:1-6; Ps 71(70):1-2.3-4a.5-6b.15.17; St John 13:21-33.36-38

We are approaching the times of the Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ and the readings are telling us more about the mood of the times that preceded Jesus’ trial. The ‘plot is slowly thickening’ and a clear outcome is taking shape: Jesus is living his last moments on earth. During the last days, we heard the reasons why the Pharisees and the chief priests wanted Jesus dead: “it was better that one man died instead of many (in a case he would have started a revolution against the Romans who would then have taken away the land) … and also he had called himself the son of God.” But it was not only the chief priests and the Pharisees that would played a role in his arrest.Worse than that, his closest friends are going to betray him and hand him over to the chief priests.

In today’s Gospel, when Jesus says: “It is the one to whom I hand the morsel after I have dipped it”, he did not only mean to show them who was going to betray him, but also that it was a close person, one with whom he shared food. Later when Peter professes his fidelity, Jesus tells him that he would also betray him. The entire story is already sad as Jesus feels that his last hour is approaching. But much sadder, he knows that those who should have stood by him and protected him are the ones to betray him.

In a few words, today’s readings and in the last day’s readings we understand the escalation of the events that led to Jesus. It was not because he was a criminal. It was partly because a few people did not like what he was doing and others (his friends) did not stood by him. The story that happened 2,000 years ago, still repeats itself every time human beings unjustly oppress others and many stand and watch it happen. Both are co-operators in the propagation of evil. Every time we, Christians, stand and watch the innocent oppressed, the just persecuted because of their actions, and do not intervene, we are doing exactly what Jesus' disciples did when he was about to be killed: because we claim, like St Paul, that we would die for Christ, but when he is persecuted in the poor, in the hungry, in the refugee, in the homeless, in the unjustly condemned, we tend to deny him.

May today’s readings keep on reminding us that, as Christians, we are called to action, not to be ‘neutral observers’ when evil is being given a seat in our midst.

Monday of Holy Week: The fragrance of life after death

Readings: Is. 42:1-7, Ps. 26:1-3, 13-14; John 12:1-11

The intriguing figure of Lazarus, Jesus' friend 'whom he had raised from the dead' (Jn. 12:1), challenges us to think about life after death. Of course, on this subject we are accustomed to think principally of the Resurrection of Jesus. After all, it is the Resurrection of Christ that changes everything, that demonstrates definitively God's love for us as he conquers sin and death. But the raising of Lazarus, in the previous chapter (Jn. 11), is a sign and foretaste of what God will do in Jesus at Easter. The disciples who witnessed the raising of Lazarus were being prepared to understand the extent of God's powerful and transforming grace, even though they were still so slow to believe.

In today's Gospel it seems it is Mary of Bethany, the sister of Lazarus and Martha, who truly understands what Jesus is about to accomplish. In her simple and humble act of anointing and drying the feet of Jesus – as he would later wash the feet of the Twelve at the Last Supper – this Mary shows her faith, hope and love. That is: her faith, that Jesus is the Christ, the Messiah of God; her hope, that despite his impending death he would be vindicated by the Father; and her love, lavishing this 'very costly ointment' on the one who is most lovable of all.

Jesus interprets the anointing as a sign of his death and burial (v.7), as the three wise men had foreshadowed with their unconventional gift of myrrh at his birth. It is supremely a symbolic act, since of course Jesus has not yet died. Even when Jesus' body is lying in the tomb on Holy Saturday, there is still no need for ointment, for the Resurrection will happen before three days are up – the normal period it takes for a body to start smelling from corruption. Lazarus' body had started to smell (Jn. 11:39) since he had been dead four days.

In Christian history, some saints' bodies have been supernaturally preserved from decay. When, on 24 May 1233, twelve years after his death, the body of St Dominic was 'translated' from one church in Bologna to another, the brethren were concerned that the smell would be intolerable. In fact, when the tomb was opened, 'a wonderful aroma poured out from the opening and its fragrance caused astonishment among those present. Everyone shed tears, and feelings of joy, of fear and of hope rose in all hearts.'

Just as Mary's ointment filled the house with its fragrance (v.3), and the aroma from St Dominic's tomb filled his brothers and sisters with hope, so may our faith in the resurrection of Christ and our hope in the future resurrection of the just bring forth joy in us and in those around us. As St Paul puts it, 'we are a fragrance of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing' (2 Cor. 2:15).

Palm Sunday of Our Lord's Passion

Gospel at the procession: Luke 19:28-40; and Gospel of Our Lord's Passion: Luke 22:14-23:56

Today is Palm Sunday of Our Lord’s Passion. That very title can summon within us two very different visions. One of cheering crowds, waving palm branches; another of a man nailed to a tree. The two gospels we hear today can seem to come from different worlds. The contrast between them is profound, and within them further paradoxes emerge. Yet, there is a terrible harmony between the day when the King is proclaimed and the day when He is rejected.

It was the month of Nissan and the Book of Exodus commanded that the Paschal Lamb be chosen on the tenth day, and four days later sacrificed. On the previous Sabbath, Jesus had spent the day in Bethany with Lazarus, now He was returning to Jerusalem for the Passover. He sent two of His disciples ahead on the road to Jerusalem and had them untie a colt and bring it to Him. “If anyone asks why you are untying it, say Our Master needs it.” (Luke 19:31) This first paradox is striking. Here is the Christ, our sovereign Lord and yet He has need of something belonging to man; almost as if He reminds us that all we have is ultimately a gift from Him. Here we see the juxtaposition of divinity versus dependence, the consequence of the Eternal Word taking on flesh. Just as He had borrowed a boat in which to preach, He would borrow a colt to ride into Jerusalem, and a grave from which to rise.

He is greeted on His approach to the city by a vast crowd. We know from previous Gospel accounts that Jesus had shunned such publicity in the past. Often He tells those He has helped and cured to tell no one; often He slips away from crowds eager to lay hold of Him. On this day He does not. Why does He not evade the public that will turn on Him so brutally a few days later? He does not turn because His ‘hour’ has come. The time has come for Him to publicly affirm His claims, to make Himself known in plain view; the people recognise Him and chant: “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord.” (Luke 19:38) But Jesus knows their chants would turn to heckles and the road to Jerusalem would lead to Calvary. He knows the people could confess Him now as Lord, but later crucify Him as a common criminal.

The only ones who showed consistency were the Pharisee’s, who on seeing the disciples worshiping Our Lord, asked Him to reprimand them. Jesus replies; “I tell you, if they keep silent, the stones will cry out!” (Luke 19:40) This is truly the hour of proclamation; if the people were to keep silent the very earth would cry out to the glory of the Lord and proclaim His divinity. Could it be that the hardness of men’s hearts should prove greater than that of the stones underfoot?

His entry then had been triumphant, but it would not be long before the cries of ‘Blessed is He’ would turn to calls of ‘Crucify Him’. The garments they laid before His feet would be mirrored by His own nakedness on the cross. The palm branches would turn to scourges. He would have no royal throne but a cross, and He would be crowned with thorns. The royal welcome was to be Calvary. Like a sin offering He would soon be driven out of the city and as Isaiah had foretold; “His government would be on His shoulder.” (Isaiah 9:6)

These Gospel passages remind us, at the outset, of the road we walk this week with Our Saviour. Like His disciples we begin on the emotional heights of the Procession into Jerusalem, holding aloft our palms. We think on the signs and miracles performed and proclaim His divinity. With Tenebrae and Maundy Thursday we descend with Him into the emotional depths that mark His betrayal; and on into Good Friday, we follow His torture and execution. But on Easter Day, we rise with Christ in the glory of His resurrection, to newness of being and to the hope of eternal life that rests in Him. We must now do all that we can to prepare to make this journey together.

Why pray to God?

Br Andrew Brookes, one of the Dominicans students (and thus contributors to Godzdogz) at Blackfriars, Oxford, concludes the priory's God Matters? series of talks by offering an exploration of the spirituality of atheists, agnostics, and Christians in a talk entitled 'Why pray to God?'

Saturday of the Fifth Week of Lent - To fear or not to fear?

Gospel: John 11:45-56.

It is easy to sense fear in Caiaphas’ voice as he berates his fellow members of the Sanhedrin: they “do not seem to have grasped the situation at all”. They fail to see how serious this is, that there is a choice to be made between getting rid of Jesus or the destruction of the Jewish nation. In a certain sense, Caiaphas is quite right. Jewish identity as he knows it is under threat, but only insofar as Jesus comes to purify it, to bring it to its consummation, and - as St Paul would later eloquently teach - to engraft the gentiles into the root of Abraham. Jesus comes not to destroy Jewish identity, but to make it more vital and complete, sanctifying it with the very presence of God made man.

Although fear is - on one level - a good thing, leading us to avoid dangers, modern psychology has done much to draw attention to the corrosive power that fear can exercise over our lives. In fact, we see fear being treated in two ways in the Scriptures: we read that “fear of the Lord is the first stage of wisdom” (Proverbs 9:10), and that “there is no fear in love, for perfect love drives out fear” (1 John 4:18). On the one hand there is a fear that emerges from communion, a reverential fear that respects the awesome power of God at play in our world, whilst on the other there is a fear that excludes communion, desiring instead autonomy and self-preservation, and which cuts ourselves off from the world around us. When Aquinas treats of this latter fear he describes it as a “contraction” of the soul akin to the physiological withdrawal and ‘going inwards’ of a dying person. This corrosive fear is inherently patterned by a tragic irony, since in its desire for the preservation of life it cuts us off from God, the source from whom all life flows.

Courtesy of CBCEW

In the weeks since Pope Benedict XVI announced his intention to renounce the Petrine ministry, it has been notable that many responses have - quite naturally - been marked by fear. The claims that the Papacy faced its greatest ever crisis always seemed implausible in the face of a study of Church history, but they were understandable: Benedict’s departure, and the change of style that Pope Francis has brought with him, touch upon many of the things that we hold dear as part of our Catholic identities. The challenge for us, as we unite around the Vicar of Christ in the task of the New Evangelisation, is that we do not so cling to the human things that are dear to us as to exclude the purification and revitalisation of our God-given identity, being worked by the Holy Spirit through the ministry of Pope Francis. If we do so cling, we may find ourselves committing the sin of Caiaphas, and - as Gamaliel cautions in the Acts of the Apostles - “we may even find ourselves fighting against God!” (Acts 5:39).

Stations of the Cross: The body of Jesus is taken down from the Cross

Br. Andrew Brookes offers a reflection on the Thirteenth Station of the Cross, 

specially recorded for Godzdogz this Lent 2013:

Lent week 5, Thursday. Mad, Bad or God?

Gen 17:3-9; Ps 105:4-9; Jn 8:51-59.

Consider this problem. If someone were presented to you as claiming to be divine, or at any rate to fulfil the role of God for people owing to his own special relationship and intimacy with God, how would you assess the claim?

One possible strategy is firstly to see if they are demonstrably mad or bad. If that seems unlikely, then, or even alongside that initial discernment process, see if their talk of the divine has plausibility and if so, what does it tell us about God. On this last point one has to refer to how one already understands ‘god’ but one also has to be willing to deepen, or change, one’s ideas in the light of what the claimant says and does, especially if he (or she) appears to be plausible.

These options seem fair enough to me. I think that we do use versions nowadays – since people do make such claims. Typically we conclude quickly that people are mad, or bad. (In some cultures a diagnosis of demonic possession would also be allowed, one which western culture could include under either ‘mad’ or ‘bad’.) We may decide they are merely confused but we reckon we can tell that their claims are not coherent and nor are they supported by evidence.

But these options and approaches are not new: they are probably nearly as old as such claims. Consider another related problem. An intelligent person who feels he (or she) has a special link with the divine, and a calling to be a uniquely empowered divine instrument knows he has to deal with these suspicions and address these issues. At the same time, he has to be truthful, humble and work for the glory of God, while pointing to himself in a non-egotistical way as having a crucial role. He actually has to make a difference to people’s lives too; and in some way his claims have to be verified, preferably by successful appeal to an outsider. This is a very tall order.

Many people have made divine or messianic claims but the only divine claimant I know of who has been taken seriously by a lot of people over a long time is Jesus of Nazareth. We see these two problems outlined above played out in the pages of all the Gospels and not least in chapters 7 and 8 of John’s Gospel, read over the last week or so at Mass and reaching its climax today. Madness, demonic possession, lying, moral corruption and seeking one’s own glory have all been discussed by Jesus and his Jewish audience. 

By this point in chapter 8, Jesus has provided answers to all their objections. But he cannot stop there! He is not making a bid to be allowed to quietly exist, politely ignored by others who think he is mad or bad but are tolerant enough to let him carry on with his delusion. He continues to press his point. If he believes he is God he has to make the claim clear, and clear in terms of their religious culture. To do this, he interprets it in an original way, such as to reshape it radically, while, of course, claiming that this reshaping of it around himself is a fulfilment of it and so its true meaning and destiny, not a distortion and not a blasphemy.

In this context the final stage of the debate plays out as follows. God is the source of life, and thus has power over death, a power expressed in his powerfully creative word. Jesus claims this divine power for his own words (v 51, 52b.). The audience suspects he is making a divine claim (v 53). Jesus confirms it by his innovative talk of God being his Father in a unique way, making himself a uniquely divine Son (v 54). As such he reveals divine truth, since this is exactly what he is in person. Divine truth cannot deny itself and be divine. Jesus trusts the Father who is the source even of his truth and life (v 55). But Jesus is a human being as well, one who fulfils the promises made by God to the Jewish people in the person of Abraham (v 56). The Jews wonder how this can be (v 57) – not without reason. Jesus simply, truly, and powerfully affirms his divine reality, a claim spoken by a human being. He takes up the divine name (ego eimi), and expresses his absolute superiority and precedence to Abraham: ‘before Abraham was, I am’ (v 58). They know he is making a divine claim - but reject it. They know people who misuse (ie blaspheme) the divine name deserve to die by stoning (see Lev 24:16) and they threaten him with this (v 59).

In lots of places Jesus makes clear that his death and resurrection will be the final and biggest declaration of his revelation of God and why he should be accepted as God, and not as mad or bad. Holy Week gives us the chance to enter into these events and to deepen our faith in the God revealed in and by Jesus, if we wish.

Do we, will we, accept that Jesus is mad, bad, or God? If we do accept he is God, are we willing to accept being taken as mad or bad by many around us in order to witness to him, to proclaim his truth, to preach his divinity, such is our commitment to it and to him?

Wednesday of the fifth week of Lent

Readings: Daniel 3: 14-20.24-5.28; Daniel 3: 52-6; John 8:31-42

You will know the truth and the truth will set you free (John 8:32).

‘Truth’ is an ominous word for many people today: like a dangerous animal, truth has to be caged. Its range of activity is strictly demarcated and policed. For example, our culture tends to be happy to talk or think about scientific or empirical truths, yet what counts as ‘truth’ in these circumstances is strictly controlled by the conventions of the scientific method. These conventions carefully define what counts as a truth claim and when such a claim can be made: scientific truth is safely under lock and key. 

Similarly, society at large seems to be more or less happy for an individual or a community to have a local ‘truth’, beliefs about the world and how people should live in it that are true for them, as long as this local truth does not break out of its appropriate context and impose itself on others. This time the boundary is more porous. It is acceptable in some circumstances to try to persuade others that you are right, that you know the truth, as long as no one is coerced or put under any sense of obligation. ‘Truth’ here is confined to the insides of people’s heads, their particular point of view, or the point of view of their particular community: this local truth can only go beyond these boundaries if we permit it, if we give it our consent. We are the arbiters and the judges of truth, we choose when it can leave its cage. 

Now, the attempt to imprison or restrict or relativize ‘truth’ is very understandable. Both the world around us today and the pages of history books witness to occasions when individuals, organizations and institutions have acted in profoundly oppressive ways, sometimes profoundly evil ways, on the basis of a totalizing ideology, a claim to know the ‘truth’. Against this backdrop, resistance of those who might try to impose a particular world view, a particular vision of ‘truth’ might seem a sensible way of protecting liberty and promoting justice. Yet at this point we run into a problem: isn’t the claim that there is no truth itself a totalizing truth claim that has been imposed on society and which therefore has the potential to be oppressive? And surely we would not want to sanction every opinion or perspective with the stamp of a local or cultural ‘truth’? Surely there are some ideas or actions, for example genocide, that are just wrong? From what foundation, then, and against what criteria, can we distinguish ‘valid’ local ‘truths’, valid visions of the world, from ‘invalid’ or immoral or evil perspectives? To put this another way, if truth is caged, then what else can we use to distinguish right from wrong? 

Of course, the above is a caricature, but I think it is fair to say that the integrity of a moral system and indeed of a society more generally is dependent on its grasp of the truth: how things really are. We cannot imprison truth: on the contrary, a lack of truth imprisons us. In other words, a society must have at least a basically correct grasp of what traditionally has been called human nature if it is to be healthy and its members are to flourish. To know how to live with each other, we must first have an at least vaguely accurate picture of who we are; if we are to have a grasp of what it means for a human being to flourish, then we must have a grasp of what a human being is. 

This is why ideas matter: if we have a false or incomplete understanding of what it means to be human, a false or incomplete understanding of what is good for a human being, then this error can become a barrier between us and fulfillment, a barrier between us and happiness. Human beings cannot cage the truth; on the contrary, we are imprisoned by our misunderstanding: it is the truth that sets us free. In Christ we see this liberating Truth embodied in a way of life: Jesus shows us that human fulfillment consists in loving God and loving neighbour. In his life he shows us what such a fully human life looks like. He shows us that the goal or end of human life is to enjoy eternal life with God in heaven, and friendship with God and through him each other in this life. At the same time he makes this life of love and friendship possible for us by grafting us to himself, making us members of his body, drawing us into the eternal exchange of love that is the Holy Trinity and enabling us to become channels of that love here on earth. Christ, then, both shows us what it means to be truly human, and gives us the means to be fully human: this is the true sense of freedom.

St Joseph - Well done, good and faithful servant

St Joseph is not a prominent figure in the Gospels – no words of his are recorded in them, and, apart from the narratives surrounding Jesus’ birth in Matthew and Luke (going up to the finding in the temple), there is no mention of him apart from a few references to Jesus as ‘son of Joseph’. And yet, from those few glimpses we get of him – his concern for the well-being of his fiancée when he hears she’s pregnant, his taking Mary and her baby Jesus to Egypt to escape the wrath of Herod, his sharing of Mary’s concern as they hunted for Jesus in Jerusalem – we see a man who quietly but persistently does his duty. For St Joseph, of course, that duty was the extraordinary one of caring for the Incarnate Son of God and his blessed Mother as Jesus grew up, but in it, the Church has recognised the significance Our Lord’s having a human family has given to our ordinary human family life, the life of work and everyday concerns which was St Joseph’s, and in which we are called to live out our Christian faith.

Today, of course, we think also of our new Pope Francis, whose ministry as the Bishop of Rome is officially inaugurated today; and indeed, the humble, ever faithful example of St Joseph, caring for the boy Jesus, is a very fitting one with which to assume the role of servus servorum Dei, of service to the universal Church which is the Body of Christ. By the intercession of St Joseph, may the Lord bless Pope Francis for the great responsibilities of his office, and preserve in him the faithful humility which he granted to the man who was assumed to be the father of Jesus.

Fifth Sunday of Lent

Gospel reading: John 8:1-11

On the Easter Candle we write the Greek letters ‘Alpha’ and ‘Omega’ - the first and the last letters of the Greek alphabet - recalling that Christ is the beginning and the end, the eternal Son of the Father, who stoops down to humanity that we might be raised to enjoy eternal life with Him. From the silence of eternity, God stoops down and creates an orderly, meaningful, world - separating the light from the dark, the land from the water, man from beast - and filling this new cosmos with his own splendour. In the highest moment of creation, God crowns his work, by once again stooping down to the dust of the earth, to fashion from that inert clay the living Adam and Eve, who share in the very image and likeness of God. Finally, God ‘rests’ with his creation on the seventh day, a rest that has a saving significance, showing God as the God who is with us and for us.

The essence of sin is that it is opposed to creation: it is an un-creation. Into the orderly and beautiful world that God creates we insert our own chaos. We transgress the boundaries that God establishes for his glory and our own well-being, by building our own Towers of Babel to breach the divide between heaven and earth, or breaching the separation of humanity from the earth by treating our fellow citizens as if they were dirt. In the Book of Genesis, it is notable that as sin spreads, so does death: whilst Seth lives to be 912 (5:8), after the flood Peleg lives just 209 years (11:19). As an un-creation, sin is opposed to the purposes of creation, a choice for death rather than life to the full.

The woman in today’s gospel has been caught in a paradigm case of un-creation: her adultery is contrary to God’s law, fundamentally corroding the social structure of her community, running roughshod over the dignity of the participants as Children of God. Under the law, she is condemned to die. Her undoubted shame is compounded by the fact she has been caught in the very act, and - since her guilt is not in doubt under Jewish law - she has been witnessed by at least two unrelated adult men. Thrust before Christ, whom her accusers address as a Jewish leader, she will be expecting the worst, for she knows that her actions are contrary to the Jewish law. Yet, Christ sees not simply with the eyes of time but with those of eternity, and, remarkably, her guilt and shame is not met by words of condemnation, but the silence of God in Christ who, echoing the moment of creation, stoops down to touch the dust, and writes in the sand.

What is it that Christ writes, which causes the woman’s accusers to abandon the certain prosecution for the death penalty? Tradition suggests it is the sins of the accusers, revealed and laid bare so that they realise that they too have opted for death over the life that God offers. In the Book of Daniel, the hand of God appears and writes “MENE, MENE, TEKEL, PARSIN” on the wall during Belshazzar’s feast, signifying that “God has numbered the days of your kingdom […] you have been weighed and found wanting […] your Kingdom is divided” (Daniel 5:25-28). In the Prophecies of Jeremiah, we hear of those who have turned away from the Lord being “written in the earth” (17:13). Whatever it is that he writes, Christ’s action reminds us that it is God, and not man, who is the ultimate judge.

Jesus speaks only once the accusers have scattered. In remitting the woman’s death penalty, he establishes once again the priority of life over death. These words, however, are not simply the pronouncements of a merciful judge who opts in his infinite discretion not to punish. Like the words of God recorded in Genesis 1, Christ’s words are not simple descriptions, but are re-creative, fashioning and calling into existence a new reality. It is these all powerful words of re-creation that meet our acts of un-creation, healing and restoring us, elevating us to the end for which God created in the first place, to eternally enjoy communion with him, that he might delight in us, and we delight in him.