The Conversion of St. Paul

Today we celebrate the feast of the Conversion of St. Paul, an event that has such significance in the life of the Church that the book of Acts relates this incident three times: the reader first hears of how the persecutor Saul became the Christian Paul in chapter 9 from the perspective of Luke the narrator. In Acts 22 we hear the story a second time. On this occasion Paul himself is speaking in Hebrew to a Jewish audience after he is arrested in the Temple in Jerusalem. Finally, in chapter 26 of Acts, Paul again gives his testimony – presumably in Greek - before King Agrippa and the Governor Festus. So the story is told three times: once for us, that is, the readers and listeners; once in Hebrew for the Jews; and once in Greek for the Gentiles: the story of Paul’s conversion is universally relevant. 

Now it may be that this repetition of Paul’s encounter with the Risen Christ in fact reflects Paul’s own preaching. The organizing principle that brings coherence to St. Paul’s life and work is his encounter with the Risen Christ, so it is plausible that this would be a theme he returned to time and time again with both Jewish and Christian audiences. The encounter with the Risen Christ was what the English Dominican Cornelius Ernst OP (1924 – 1977) might have called the ‘genetic moment’ of St. Paul’s faith: a personal encounter with Jesus that communicates the heart and life of the Gospel. We read that on the Road to Damascus the then Saul fell to the ground and heard a voice saying: 

“Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?” 

 He said, “Who are you, Lord?” 

 The reply came, “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting, but rise and enter the city, you will be told what you are to do” (Acts 9: 4 – 5). 

It is worth pointing out here that the earliest Christian creed is usually taken to be: ‘Jesus Christ is Lord’, a formula which provides answers to two questions which are especially relevant to establishing identity: ‘Who is Jesus?’ and ‘What is Jesus?’ Now in his encounter with the Risen Christ on the road to Damascus St. Paul almost receives this Creed from the mouth of Jesus himself. In a lifetime of reflection on this encounter he developed two key convictions: first, that in Jesus God had provided for the salvation of all who believe, and that these believers were so united with God through Christ that they had become members of his body. Second, that Paul himself was called to be Christ’s messenger, Christ’s Apostle to the Gentiles. 

This is why Paul’s conversion is relevant to us, why the Church celebrates this event with a feast. The ‘genetic moment’ of Paul’s faith when he accepted Jesus Christ as his Lord matured in time into an extraordinary missionary zeal that led him to spearhead the Church’s mission to the Empire. In the course of this mission he was obliged to reflect even more deeply on the grace he had received and so left us with a body of writings that makes up half of the New Testament. 

Cornelius Ernst argues that it is the testimony of the New Testament that the ‘genetic moment’ in Christian experience is capable of indefinite extension and renewal in the Holy Spirit, and that from this living centre the whole of human experience is reviewed and revivified. Paul’s influence is such that the Church has been stamped, conditioned, by Paul’s peculiarly intense and insightful experience of Jesus. The ‘genetic moment’ of Paul’s faith has shaped the mind of the Church to such an extent that our experience of Christ through His Body the Church is inevitably informed by Paul’s encounter on the Road to Damascus. In Paul, then, we find an inspired guide able to help us unlock the gift that we have received in Jesus, a guide able to help us see both who Jesus is more clearly, as well as ourselves more clearly in his light: In opening up to us his own experience of Jesus, Paul helps us to unlock what it means to be a member of the Body of Christ.

All Saints

Today we celebrate the feast of All Saints, the day we remember our brothers and sisters, known and unknown, who have run the race to the finish and now enjoy the vision of God in Heaven. We do so because we believe that these saints are in solidarity with us. There is a union of Christians, living and deceased which the Creed calls the ‘communion of saints’. In essence, this is just another way of thinking and speaking about the Church. The communion of saints is the Church: it is all those, living and dead, that are united in Christ. When we speak about the communion of saints, then, we are speaking about all those that participate or share in Christ’s holiness. 

This union in the holiness of Christ is of enormous benefit to those of us still making our pilgrimage back to God on earth. I want to focus on two reasons why: First of all the great saints offer us a commentary on the Gospels by the way they live. We see in the lives of the saints a translation of what the Gospel means, an embodiment of what a Gospel centred life looks like. If we are puzzled by today's Gospel, the Beatitudes, for example, a good way of coming to understand what it means to be poor in spirit, meek, pure in heart and so on is to reflect upon the lives of the saints. The lives of the saints offer us an interpretation of the Gospel, and a model to imitate. 

Secondly, the saints assist us through their prayer. As St. Dominic lay dying he assured his brethren: ‘I shall be more useful to you after my death and I shall help you then more effectively than during my life’. St. Therese of Lisieux makes a similar claim: ‘I want to spend my heaven in doing good on earth’. It can be difficult in contemporary culture to retain a sense of the power and importance of prayer as a means of doing good in the world. Yet it remains true that the God who creates and sustains all things and orders them in his Providence has taught us to pray for what we need: our prayer is a way of bringing good about in the world, and the prayer of the saints is particularly potent given their intimacy with God. 

We commemorate the saints, then, both as a model which we might imitate on our journey to God in Christ and also to ask for their prayers to strengthen and support us on that journey. In this way we build up our communion with those that went before us, and in so doing we come closer to the one upon whom the whole communion is founded: Christ our head.

Solemnity of Saints Peter & Paul

The Solemnity of SS Peter and Paul is both unusual, insofar as it celebrates two great saints on a single day, and fitting in that combining these two great pillars of the early Church we see the unity, the catholicity, of the Church. Thus, in celebrating these two extraordinary figures we also celebrate the Church, founded on the Rock of Peter, proclaimed universally by Paul, and watered by the blood of these faithful martyrs.

Though we can see a unity of purpose in the lives of these two Apostles, we can also see that they were two very different characters. Saint Peter, the brother of Andrew, was a poor fisherman from the Sea of Galilee. Originally named Simon, Christ Himself gave him the name Cephas or Peter, meaning ‘rock’ in Hebrew. After his call to leave everything and follow Christ we see him continually at the side of Jesus and, as a leading figure of the Twelve, one who was favoured by Jesus in His earthly ministry. He is particularly well remembered for his declaration at Caesarea Philippi, recounted in today’s Gospel from Matthew. When asked by Jesus; ‘“But who do you say that I am?’ Simon Peter said in reply, ‘You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.’” Peter also had his moments of human weakness and frailty, most notably in his denial of Christ during the Passion. This weakness is reminiscent of our own and shows us, just as it showed Peter, our constant need of the grace of God to remain steadfast in the face of adversity. The Church would not, and could not exist, without this grace which is continually poured out from the Holy Spirit.

St Paul presents us with a very different story. An ardent Pharisee, Paul was a well-educated and committed ‘anti-Christian’ until his conversion on the road to Damascus. This ‘Damascene conversion’ lead him from being persecutor to defender of the faith. He worked tirelessly for nearly thirty years preaching the Gospel and building Christian communities throughout the Mediterranean basin. His fourteen letters which became part of the Canon are a powerful testimony to his apostolic zeal and love of Christ.

Both men were to eventually suffer death in Rome for their faith. St Peter crucified upside down and St Paul beheaded. These two very different men were united in purpose by Christ. By His grace they built the Church and it is upon their courageous endeavours that it took root and spread throughout the world. Theirs was a unity that transcended all material difference and together they teach us about the depth of true Christian commitment. Above all they show us what is meant by our confession of faith in the One, Holy and Apostolic Church.

Feast of the Chair of St Peter: Binding and loosing on earth and in heaven.

1 Peter 5:1-4; Ps 23; Mt 16:13-19. 

Today’s feast is very important despite its name perhaps suggesting it is merely about furniture. The item named refers to the chair upon which bishops sat to exercise their authority. All bishops, as successors of the apostles have chairs or thrones as symbols of their apostolic authority. Peter had a specific authority among the apostles. As such, today’s feast celebrates the specific role and grace which St Peter was called to exercise as the leader of the Church, a role continued in large part by those who lead the same see he had responsibility for at the end of his life, i.e. the popes as bishops of Rome.

Today’s gospel, in a few succinct lines, brings out many key features of that ministry. Let me begin with ‘binding and loosing on earth and in heaven’ (v 19). Although the terms could refer to binding demons and loosing people from their demonic grip, Jewish usage of that era most commonly used the terms of the teaching and also juridical roles of rabbis and teachers as interpreters of the Law. With respect to teaching, the words mean what was ‘forbidden’ or ‘permitted’, this being the more common sense; in the sphere of judging, it meant to ‘put in fetters’ or to ‘acquit’. The latter was seen in terms of dealing with sinners, and the power to forgive and also excommunicate, a power given to all the apostles in Mt 18:18. It was the rabbinic conviction that God and the heavenly court recognised the decisions and judgements of rabbinic courts. Hence what is bound or loosed on earth is bound or loosed in heaven. In the gospel context, it speaks of the graced nature of this apostolic ministry, and of the close links between heavenly and earthly realms, which have been united in Christ.

One thing that is striking about this power is that it is contrasted with the attempts of the scribes and Pharisees to exercise a similar ministry as in Mt 23:13. There Jesus chastises them as hypocrites who shut up the Kingdom of Heaven, not going in themselves and also preventing others going in. What then is the difference here with Peter? Peter has been given supernatural revelation to grasp something of the true identity of Jesus (Mt 16:16-17). This supernatural faith is the reason Jesus picks for giving Peter a pivotal role in the Church, though other graces are linked to it, filling out the Petrine ministry. He is able to interpret the Scriptures and Law based on a clear grasp of who Jesus is, and of what Jesus himself taught and how he interpreted the Scriptures. The truth of Jesus and the grace given to keep people in his truth is the difference between Apostolic and rabbinic ministry. Peter also has to encourage people to live by this truth.

Though the apostles share in such a role (see also Mt 19:28; 28:16-20) Peter has a special role within this ministry of teaching but also governance. Upon him will the Church be built. He is given the keys, which in line with Isaiah 22:22ff means he is the prime, or first, minister under the King.

Let us give thanks for the grace given to Peter, for the role he played in the Church, and for the role played by his successors, the Popes. Let us ask for God to make clear who is he is calling to be the next Pope and let us resolve to live our Christian faith in union of mind and heart with the see, or chair, of St Peter.

January 1st: Solemnity of Mary, Holy Mother of God

Readings: Numbers 6: 22-27, Psalm 67, Galatians 4: 4-7, Luke 2: 16-21

According to the Old Testament, the blessing of God leads to flourishing: it gives life. In Moses' final exhortation to the people of Israel in the book of Deuteronomy we read: 'I am offering you life or death, blessing or a curse. Choose life, then, so that you and your descendants might live in the love of the The Lord your God, obeying his voice, holding fast to him; for in this your life consists' (Deuteronomy 30: 19-20). To choose life, then, is to live in friendship with God. To be fully alive is to live in the presence of God, hence the priestly blessing that Aaron is instructed to use in our first reading includes a prayer that God's face might shine upon his people and bring them peace (Numbers 6: 25-6).

To hide from God's face, to hide from his friendship and presence as Adam and Eve did after the fall (Genesis 3:8), is to flee from our own fulfilment. Yet as we read through the Old Testament we find that the fall of Adam is a recurring pattern. Israel's love for God cools, her fidelity to the law slackens: the consequence is disaster, death, and finally repentance and some form of restoration. In her alienation, Israel rediscovers her longing for God and so in today's psalm we cry: 'May God be gracious and bless us, and may his face shed its light upon us' (Psalm 67: 1). This is echoed by the desperate appeal of psalm 80: 'God of hosts bring us back, let your face shine on us and we shall be saved' (Psalm 80: 7).

This alienation between God and Man (though perhaps not always the sense that God is remote) is overcome at the Incarnation, which we celebrated just a few days ago at Christmas. Where at one time, as Hebrews puts it: 'God spoke to man through prophets and in varied ways, in our time, the final days, He has spoken to us in the person of His Son' (Hebrews 1: 1-2). There is a sense in our second reading from St. Paul that this coming of the Son of God 'at the fullness of time' (Galatians 4:4) is the birth, the new life, that the whole of Israel's history has been preparing for. Indeed, in Romans Paul tells us that 'the whole creation, until this time, has been groaning in labour pains' (Romans 8:22). All of history has been a kind of pregnancy, a time of development and growth until nature, human flesh, is able to receive the Word of God so that he might dwell among us (John 1:14).

This Word made flesh, Jesus, is the new life that brings life to the world. Mary was chosen to keep this Word, to bare this Word in her womb, hence she is called theotokos, God-bearer or more loosely: Mother of God. John the Baptist leapt in his Mother's womb upon hearing Mary's greeting, recognising this presence of God, prompting his mother Elizabeth to declare Mary to be 'blessed among women' (Luke 1: 42). Mary herself exclaims in her famous Magnificat that 'henceforth all ages will call me blessed' (Luke 1: 48). Mary is blessed because the fruit of her womb, Jesus, is the source of all blessing and all life.

We celebrate the feast of the Mother of God at the end of the Octave of Christmas, then, not to distract our attention from Christ and the Incarnation, but to draw out its implications for us. Mary is blessed because she has been honoured with an unprecedented intimacy with God. Yet as Paul emphasises in the second reading, this intimacy is also open to us. Because Christ became one of us, became like us, we can become like him: adopted sons and daughters of God (Galatians 4: 4). We would do well, like Mary in today's Gospel, to ponder this in our hearts (Luke 2:19). The Incarnation that we celebrated this Christmas is an awesome gift, a gift that is more precious than perhaps we realise.

1st December - St Edmund Campion

Readings: Isaiah 26: 1-6; Psalm 117; Matthew 7: 21, 24-27

On the 1st December 1581 Edmund Campion, alongside two of his brother priests, suffered execution at Tyburn. He was forty-one years old. His life, though short, was truly remarkable, and it is not without good reason that his name is still remembered so well and his sacrifice duly honoured. Campion was a gifted scholar, educated at Christ’s Hospital, London and St John’s College, Oxford where he became a junior fellow aged only seventeen. It was whilst at Oxford that he won the attention of Queen Elizabeth and the patronage of the highly influential William Cecil. He consequently became a deacon in the established church, though his discomfort at doing so took him to Ireland where he pursued more study and finally to Douai in the Low Countries where he was ultimately reconciled with the Catholic faith.

On leaving Douai in 1573, he made pilgrimage to Rome where he entered the Society of Jesus. The Jesuits had no English Province at this time, so his novitiate, ongoing studies, and ordination took place at Brunn in Moravia. It was here that he was prepared for his mission to preach in England. He was a man of intense energy, of fervour in faith and given to impetuosity. But it was this zeal and commitment to the faith that would serve him well in his mission to England. Disembarking in London on 24th June 1580 Campion, disguised as a jewel merchant, faced an almighty struggle. The mission had already been compromised and the hunt for him and his companions was on. Undeterred, he pressed on and preached with zeal in the counties of Oxfordshire, Northamptonshire, Berkshire, and Lancashire. He issued his Challenge to the Privy Council to set forth his aims, and then a refutation of Protestantism, the Decem Rationes ("Ten Reasons"), which caused considerable controversy. Not least, a great sensation was caused when four-hundred copies were found on the benches of St Mary’s, the University Church here at Oxford, in 1581.

A vast manhunt ended when he was caught preaching, at Lyford Grange in Berkshire, by the spy George Eliot. His imprisonment nearly ended after a mere four days when he accepted Elizabeth as monarch; however he would not renounce his adherence to the Catholic faith, even though he was offerred the Archbishopric of Canterbury if he would. Four months of torture and interrogation followed and he was finally sentenced to death for treason on 14th November 1581. When sentenced he sang the Te Deum. On December 1st, he was hanged, drawn and quartered at Tyburn. The cruelty of such a death is hard to imagine yet he went to it gladly; such courage, such selflessness and commitment to the faith is rarely seen. It inevitably leads one to question; what would I do in such circumstances; how deep is my commitment to the faith? As we give thanks for his witness, and prepare for Christ’s coming, should we not also ask if we sometimes allow our lives, our problems, to escape a reasoned sense of perspective.

Transfiguration

In chapter 15 of Matthew's Gospel, Jesus withdraws from the crowds into the region of Tyre and Sidon so that he might teach his disciples without distraction. In Chapter 16 the penny drops for Peter: 'You are the Christ' he tells Jesus, 'the Son of the living God'. Yet he immediately demonstrates his lack of understanding when he protests against Jesus' warnings that the Christ must suffer. Now in chapter 17, the Transfiguration, Jesus offers Peter, James, and John a private tutorial. These apostles were shown a glimpse of their final end, the glory that they will share in through Christ if they persevere through the trauma and desolation of the cross. At the same time Jesus showed them the means or way to this final end, that is, the body of Christ.

We can read the entire episode of the Transfiguration, then, as a peculiarly explicit kind of holy teaching. Jesus' choice of a mountain as the scene is meant to remind the apostles of the revelations received on the mountain by Moses and Elijah. Moses and Elijah suffered enormously in their struggles to implement and embody the revelations that they received. Here, then, we have a hint of the struggles that Jesus will face. At the same time, the presence of Moses and Elijah talking with Jesus at the Transfiguration shows the continuity between the law, the prophets, and Christ. Jesus fulfills the law, he does not replace it.

Just as Moses' face shone after his encounter with God on the mountain (Exodus 33-34), so at the Transfiguration Jesus' entire body is radiant with the light of his soul and of his divine nature. Peter grasps that this divine light is not simply a reflection, but that it somehow comes from within Jesus. He proposes to build three tents so as to more appropriately 'tabernacle' this divine presence, just as the Tent of Meeting housed the Ark of the Covenant during Israel's sojourn in the desert. Peter, like Mary Magdalene in the Garden (John 20:11-18), wants to cling to this moment in God's presence. He has not yet understood that Jesus must undergo the cross before his glory can be fully revealed. It is easy to sympathise with Peter in this instance: we too only really grasp the power and meaning of the resurrection when we have fully embraced our cross.

The voice of God coming from the cloud that so terrifies the disciples again emphasises the presence of God in this encounter. The voice repeats what was said at Jesus' baptism: 'This is my beloved Son, listen to Him'. Jesus is reconsecrated and reconfirmed in his redemptive mission. In the context, then, of Jesus' final journey to Jerusalem, the Transfiguration acts as a balance to all the passion predictions and calls to follow Jesus into the suffering of the cross. It represents a preview of the glory of the resurrection, a resurrection that we share with Christ if we die with Christ.

The Most Sacred Heart of Jesus

I have never really supported the 19^th century representation of the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus, standing with a open wound in his chest, where his heart is visible, or even with his heart removed from the body, maybe held in his own hand. It is not that I haven’t got the point – Christ offering his heart by love towards humanity – but I can’t help seeing it as a violation of the body, a disturbing image that removes me from the meditation on love. But popular devotions find their expression according to their own time and place, and one may ask how our time would like to represent this devotion today. Historically, the devotion to the Most Sacred Heart spread rapidly from the 17th century, but can be traced back to Benedictine and Cistercian monasteries in the 11th and 12th century.

Apart from the representation mentioned above, the devotion to the Sacred Heart has an intimate beauty, a deep meditation on the self-giving of Christ, given to humanity so that we may follow in his foot-steps. As Christ empties himself through his all-embracing love, so are we called to give ourselves, both in prayer and in charity towards our neighbour. The devotion is deeply connected to the Eucharist, and as the heart, often connected to love and goodness, the deep centre of our existence, so is the Eucharist the place where grace and love are transmitted to believing humanity. The heart also signifies trust and openness, values that John Henry Newman must have thought of when he was elected Cardinal, citing St Augustine as he chose the motto Cor ad cor loquitur, Heart speaks unto heart. For this is the profound mystery of the Incarnation. God unites with humanity, and comes so close to us that he reaches us from within, from one heart to another.

We may not always be aware of it, but this intimacy is present also in the Old Testament. The relation between Israel and the Lord carries within it a paradox. The people of God address themselves to the Lord whose name they cannot even mention. Still, the Psalms expresses all the dimensions of human life, from celebration, joy, peace, happiness, to frustration, sorrow, anger and despair; all through it is a most intimate language, seen in the word ‘You’. Whether it is in anxiety – My God, my God, why have you forsaken me (Ps 21,1) – or in thanksgiving – You make your saving help my shield,and your right hand sustains me; your help has made me great’(Ps. 18,36) – we always find the deep trustful way of talking with God expressed through an unreserved ’You’.

This intimate dialogue is ultimately revealed in the Incarnation, but we shall not forget that the people of the old covenant are living in God’s immediate presence. As we meditate on the gift of receiving the heart of Christ in our own lives, we may cite an old rabbinic prayer that expresses the infinite communion between God and man, between the Lord and his people:

"Where I wander –You!
Where I ponder –You!
Only You, You again, always You!
You! You! You!
When I am gladdened –You!
When I am saddened –You!
Only You, You again, always You!
You! You! You!
Sky is You! Earth is You!
You above! You below!
In every trend, at every end,
Only You, You again, always You!You! You! You!"