2 Sunday Advent, 8 December 2013, Matthew 3:1-12

Nelson Mandela, 1918 - 2013

Four years ago, in 2009, a film was released starring Morgan Freeman in the part of Nelson Mandela, and Matt Damon acting the part of Francois Pienaar, Captain of the Springboks, South Africa’s Rugby team. The film was entitled ‘Invictus’, a latin word meaning ‘unconquered’.

The film tells the story of Mandela’s 1990 release from prison, and his 1994 election as President. Specifically, the film focuses on the real tensions that remained between whites and blacks in a post-Apartheid South Africa. In the midst of this difficult situation, South Africa was about to host the 1995 Rugby World Cup.

Mandela was very aware that sport, and especially Rugby, could either unite South Africa as one nation, or divide it up along colour lines. So, he invites the Captain of the Springboks, played by Matt Damon, to come and visit with him at the President’s offices in Johannesburg. And so, the story goes on – Mandela convinced Captain Francois Pienaar to engage in a nationwide tour of solidarity in the run up to the World Cup. Mandela honoured the white history of the Springboks, which symbolised white supremacy in South Africa, but he called on the newly established, almost entirely black, national sports council to row in and support the Springboks as the national team. Mandela knows that the team have the capacity to unite white and black South Africa.

Obviously the story that I have just shared with you is inspired by the death of Nelson Mandela a few days ago. Remembering him inspires us to never give up hope. His address to the Houses of the Oireachtas (Irish Parliament) in 1990 drew on our Irish heritage of having overcome colonial oppression. He implied there that the Irish nation were an inspiration to him in his campaign for a more just and equal South Africa.

As we stumble into the Second Sunday of Advent, the death of such an inspirational person gives us pause to remember. To remember his 27 years in prison, unjustly placed there on trumped up charges. Gospel values, which were an important cornerstone of Mandela’s life, also give us pause to remember that we too must work hard to bring about the values of God’s Kingdom. Values like justice and equality for every person, values like the dignity of every human being, values like the dignity of human work, besides much more.

As we prepare for the great festival of Christmas, for the moment of God become one of us, for the feast of the incarnation, the enfleshing of God, we need the story of the gospel to give flesh to the values we have been speaking about. The stories we tell define who we are. And the gospel, for us Christians, is the most definitive story of all. Listening to the story of the gospel forms us into the full human beings that Jesus wants us to be.

‘Repent’ is the key verb in the gospel for this Sunday: “Repent,” John the Baptizer says, “for the kingdom of heaven is close at hand.” As the Lord approaches, so also does his kingdom, i.e. God’s way of living – this is God’s ‘House’, or family, in the world; [the oikonomia (economy, literally house-rules)] the Church of Jesus Christ that every human being is invited to be a part of.

Repentance is never a looking backwards to some previous ‘perfect’ time. Repentance is about being forward-looking, it is about shaping our heart to God’s heart more and more. It sometimes entails a frank acknowledgement, confession and contrition for wrong-doing on our part. We may also need to make satisfaction for what we have done wrong by doing some penitential act, and of course receiving the Sacrament of Confession. But that negative aspect of repentance is only one side of the coin. We may turn away from our sinful preoccupations, but if we do, we are also turning in hope to the God who compassionately loves each and every one of us.

This turning again to God we can do in many ways: by praying and meditating on Scripture, which we can easily do by use of the Rosary in our daily prayer. We can begin to allow the gospel values of preparation, of hope and of joy to shape our family life, and also our workplace activities. We can choose to be upbeat about the future, all the while remaining grounded in our own history and our own story. We can choose hopefulness, much like Nelson Mandela chose to be hopeful, every day of those 27 years behind bars.

Invictus

by William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

1st Sunday Advent, 30 November 2013, Matthew 24:37-44

In the summer of 2007 I had just been ordained as a deacon. It was the summer before my ordination as a priest. During that summer I spent a month in a parish of the Archdiocese of Los Angeles in California. Spending a month in America was about killing two birds with one stone; I wanted to get a holiday and I also wanted to get some parish experience.

One night, about two weeks into my stay, I was brushing my teeth before going to bed. Suddenly the bathroom window began to shake and rattle. I didn't know what was going on, and at first I thought that someone was trying to break into the house.

Then, I saw the mirror over the sink. It was swaying in and out from the wall. It was then that I realised that I was experiencing my first earthquake! It measure 4.1 on the richter scale and it woke up many people in the neighbourhood.

In California earthquakes are commonplace. But, even though I knew that, I just presumed it would never happen while I was there. I presumed wrong. If it had been a more serious quake I wouldn't have been at all prepared, and God only knows what might have happened.

The Gospel call on this first Sunday of Advent, is to become prepared, to stay awake because we do not know when the time will come. The day and the hour of the gospel, this is God's time. It is a time that we are not ready for, a time that we need to become ready for. And for us believing Christians, we are reminded today that this really should not be a surprise for us. God’s time and God’s actions may not be predictable; but that God is with us, communicating himself to us is surely no surprise to us. We have been learning about this since our earliest days.

Advent is not about staying awake to wonder when the end of time will be. Advent is about recovering that which has become hidden in us over time. It is about waking up from our spiritual darkness and assuming a position of waiting, of waiting, fully prepared for the coming of the Lord. It is like ‘reheating’ our spiritual selves. We are to come awake again out of the slumber of our everyday existence. What we know in our minds, we must allow to come alive again in our hearts. God is with us. God chose to send his Son among us, as one of us. It is in and through our encounter with God in the readings, in Eucharist celebrated and Communion shared; in prayer, and in the Sacraments, that we are prepared for our ultimate encounter with the Lord, face to face.

So, our readings today are all about time, and about coming awake again in time. Maybe today is a good time to remember all that has happened over this past year, to remember the tragedies and failures, the successes and joys. As we light each candle on our Advent wreath, we mark both the year that has been and the time that is to come. Lighting the candle is lighting up our hope again.
To pray, remember and give thanks to God for all that has been, and to look forward with hope to the coming Kingdom of our Saviour, Christ Jesus the Lord.

Solemnity of Christ the King, 24 November 2013, Luke 21:5-19

Christ the King - A Modern American Tapestry

Friday the 22nd of November 2013 was quite a day for memories.

It marked fifty years since the assasination of President John F Kennedy in Dallas. On the same day, 22 November, 1963, CS Lewis died in Oxford, aged 64. Also, on that day in Rome, the bishops of the world voted on the first document of the Second Vatican Council, the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy. It would be promulgated a few weeks later, on 4 December, 1963.

And on the 22nd November 2013, Fr Alec Reid died in hospital here in Dublin. He is rightly known primarily for his role in building a lasting peace in Northern Ireland. As someone said somewhere on Friday, the 22nd of November must be a day when all the greats die.

In the Church’s liturgical calendar, the 22nd November is the memorial of St Cecelia, virgin and martyr, and the patron of musicians, especially musicians involved in the service of the Church.

Why am I mentioning all of these things as we gather to celebrate the Solemnity of Christ the King? I mention them because all of them are inspirational characters that encourage us to sing a new song.

Fr Alec Reid sang the song of peace, and more than once paid the price of being a peacemaker. We remember him as one who persevered, seemingly against all odds, in shaping a community of love, of peace, and of mutual respect.

President John F Kennedy adorned the walls of many homes here in Ireland – he, along with Pope John XXIII and the Sacred Heart made up a kind of Catholic, small ‘t’, trinity, of the 1960s. His horrific death was a strike against one who also stood for peace and for the rights of marginalised groups in society.

CS Lewis is remembered for his books, especially his children’s books, the Chronicles of Narnia. They confirmed that we are all called to greatness, that every child is called to occupy the seat of a prince or a princess in the Kingdom of God. His writings told a story of our real place in God’s family – as sons and daughters of God, we must gather our courage, accept Christ’s grace, and strive to be nothing less than the best that we can possibly can be.

So, as we celebrate this solemnity of Christ the King, may we be reminded of our real situation in the Kingdom of God, both here and now, and beyond this life. We are to live according to that dignity which was bestowed on us at baptism; as nothing less than the sons and daughters of God.

Perhaps, with the good thief, we too can say: ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’

33 Sunday Ordinary Time, C, 17 November 2013, Luke 21:5-19

Philippines - Trocaire.org

As we approach the end of the Church’s year – next Sunday is Christ the King, the last Sunday of the year, before the following Sunday which is the first Sunday of Advent – as we approach the end of the Church’s year, the readings are all about the end times. The gospel that we have just heard is about the end of time.

For many people in the Philippines last week, it must have seemed like the end times had come. Or indeed, in Syria, where the ongoing war has left whole populations as refugees, relying on their neighbours, relying on the world, to reach out and help them in their strife.

Thankfully, for most of us, such events are a very rare occurrence. We live in a privileged part of the world because of the peace, stability and prosperity that we enjoy. We may have hit hard economic times over this past few years; we may blame many different groups in society for getting us into our economic mess – but as some people say: that’s a first-world problem. We still live in a part of the world that is blessed with a high standard of living, low disease and mortality rates, freedom to practise our religion, democracy that may not be perfect, but is certainly good.

This Sunday, we are asked to remember people in two parts of the world that need our prayers, and need our financial help. Why should we be generous to them? Because, they are our brothers and sisters. Even if they are not Catholic, or not Christian – they are still our brothers and sisters by our common humanity. And they need us. Our faith teaches us that buildings; Churches & temples, will come and go. But the bonds of care, the bonds of love, reach way beyond buildings.

The bonds of care call us to act justly, to love tenderly, and to walk humbly with our God.

32 Sunday Ordinary Time, C, 10 November 2013, Luke 20:27-38

Model of the Second Temple in Jerusalem

You know, they say that, when we’re in the pub, we shouldn’t speak about religion or politics. The folk wisdom of our time suggests that these aspects of life are what divide us, and that the time we have a few drinks on us is not the time to sort these divisive issues out! No, the place to sort these things out is in their respective places – religion belongs in the Church and politics belong in the party offices (so, the wisdom goes).

Of course, that really isn’t true because both religion and politics are fundamentally about people. So, perhaps the proper place for any discussion of religion or politics is wherever people are. That leaves us back in the pub then… Maybe it is one of the places where we should discuss religion! I don't know.

Either way, today’s gospel story takes place in the temple, a very important religious centre for Judaism at the time of Christ. Jesus was teaching the people in the temple, probably in the courtyard around it. Various groups attempted to challenge his teaching, mainly because the people were amazed by him and wondered at him.

The chief priests and the scribes and the elders have arrived to listen to him, and they have sent in a few ‘questioners’ in an attempt to trap Jesus. The question about whether the people should pay taxes to the emperor had just come up. Jesus gave a fantastic answer: "whose face is on the coin? On the denarius? The emperor’s? Well, then, give to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God, what is God’s!"

Orthodox icon of the Resurrection

Then we get to the gospel story for this morning. In the temple, teaching the people. Causing both a religious and a political disturbance. People are talking, not just in the temple, but down the road in the inns and in the boarding-houses of Jerusalem. Who is this man? What does it mean?

One of the titles that we have for Jesus is ‘Teacher’. This part of the gospel is not the only part where Jesus occupies the place of teacher. There is the sermon on the mount in Matthew’s gospel, from which we have the beatitudes. And many other places besides.

This morning, Jesus is challenged about ‘resurrection’. It comes in the guise of a question about marriage, but the real issue is the resurrection. Do you believe in the resurrection? From the gospel, we know that the Saduccees don’t believe in the resurrection. But, they are very religious. They take religion very seriously. And, either they want Jesus on their side, or they want to scapegoat him and show him up as a false teacher. But that doesn’t happen. Instead, Jesus takes them very seriously, and proposes a ‘right-teaching’ for them on the doctrine of the resurrection.

And so, right teaching comes into the arena. It is brought out by the Lord who calls all people to himself. If we have right-belief, and if we live from it, then hope is ours. No matter what happens, the future, especially the future that lies beyond this world, cannot be taken from us.

The resurrection is central to our faith. Can we prove that there is a resurrection? No. Our faith is not built on proofs. Our faith is built on hope. Our faith is built on life. Our faith is built on the rock that is Christ. And, if we believe in the resurrection, then we believe that there is a future for us. There is a future for all people. If we believe this, our lives will never be the same again.

This is about death and life. Do we deal in death or celebrate life? Are we hopeful for the future, conscious that the future is in God? Are we at rest in our souls about what the future holds? Or, do we listen to the script about the horrors of the present time, and the horror of the time to come? Are we people of hope? Or people of despair? Are we people of life? Or are we people of death? Do we believe in the resurrection promised us in Christ? Or do we stubbornly hold onto our belief that there is nothing after this life? 

31 Sunday Ordinary Time, C, 3 November 2013, Luke 19:1-10

Defining his work, Alfred Hitchcock once said that “some films are slices of life. Mine are slices of cake.” He went on: “what is drama, after all, but life with the dull bits cut out.” (http://www.ajkeen.com/2006/01/27/life_with_the_d/)

The TV series ‘Love/Hate’ is achieving incredible viewing figures at the moment. Almost a million viewers tuned in to the first episode of the latest series. The fifth episode of the series will be on tonight.

Good story-telling that people can relate to, makes ‘Love/Hate’ a very successful production. Whatever we may think of the violence, the series appears to be real to life. We hear every day on the news about gang violence on the streets of our cities. ‘Love/Hate’ gives us the safe, dramatized, insider view of the violence on the streets of Dublin. We see people getting killed or attacked, and become immersed in the story of why that happens. The drama of the story is the drama of real-life.

The gospel this morning is something like that. We can connect with Zacchaeus because he is this flawed, human character. If the gospel is a drama, a representation of real-life, then today we are introduced to Zacchaeus. Key pieces of information are offered: name, profession, and wealth. He is short and can run. He can climb trees. Already he is a complex character. He is keen to impress. He is impulsive.

He seems to be a career-driven, wealthy, young man, who imagined himself going places. Maybe tax collecting hasn’t turned out the way he imagined that it would.

Zacchaeus is a wonderful character in the story of the gospel. We are all characters in the story of the Christian journey. Our lives are complex, comfortable, sinful, rich. But, perhaps, like Zacchaeus we are not really alive. Not really whole. Maybe the perfect life that we dreamed up for ourselves hasn’t quite worked out. Like Zacchaeus, we ache for the fullness and freedom of life that is salvation in Christ Jesus. Our hearts ache for the fulsome salvation that is offered by the Lord.

Zacchaeus is ‘anxious’ to meet Jesus. He has heard of this man. And, in his anxiety, his heart overtakes him. He finds himself running ahead, climbing up the nearest sycamore. If Jesus was coming here today, wouldn’t you climb a tree to see him? When will Jesus arrive?

Real encounter with Jesus is a life-changing moment. Someone once described prayer as subversive. If we really pray, then we will encounter the Lord Jesus. And if we really encounter the Lord Jesus, then we will be changed by that. And if we are changed by that, our lives will speak loudly to the world. Evangelisation is nothing less than sharing with everyone the joy of having encountered the Lord.

So, you may ask, how are we to encounter the Lord Jesus? If we were Christians of another denomination, we might say that the real encounter with the Lord is to be found by reading the Word of God. We would carry our tattered, worn out Bible with us everywhere. We would seek to immerse ourselves in the Word of God, and offer the Word to other people, so that they too might encounter the Lord.

As a Catholic, we may feel that the answer to encountering Jesus is to be found in Eucharistic adoration. If we have made a pilgrimage to Fatima or Medjugorje, perhaps we will feel that we need to listen to the messages of Our Lady, in order to encounter the Lord. Or, maybe we are devoted to the prayer of the Rosary; or perhaps a devotion to St Anthony or St Jude. Maybe St Pio (Padre Pio). Or maybe we take time to pray through meditation.

For us in the Catholic tradition, we believe that it is in the Church that we encounter the resurrected Lord. “For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them.” (Matthew 18:20) We are baptized into the Church. We hear God’s Word in the Church. We celebrate Eucharist together as Church. Bishops and priests shepherd the Church. The Lord walked among us to gather us as one, in the Church. The word ‘Church’ means ‘gathering unto the Lord’ (ekklesia tou theou in the greek).

When we gather together, and encounter the Lord, we are moved to do what Zacchaeus promises to do in the gospel. We give away our material wealth to those who need it, because we realize that money in the bank is nothing compared to our wealth in Christ Jesus. It is no use being rich, if I cannot share my riches with others.

We are also moved confess and to make recompense for our wrongs. For Zacchaeus, his sins of cheating others came, perhaps, from a sense that he had to put himself first. Before his encounter with the Lord, perhaps he felt that he deserved the good life, and anyhow, who cares if that meant cheating a few people along the way. We know this element of the human story well. The encounter with the Lord not only changes Zacchaeus’ heart, he resolves to make recompense four times over! Zacchaeus is a character who discovers real freedom, real wealth, in the encounter with Jesus. He can afford to give up everything in the face of this moment. Like many of us, Zacchaeus impulsively and excitedly makes rash promises to Jesus. Does he keep them? Who knows.

“what is drama, after all, but life with the dull bits cut out.” Maybe we need to be a bit silly, a bit impulsive. Move beyond the comfort zone. Fail. Succeed. Fail. Try again.

“And Jesus said to him, ‘Today salvation has come to this house, because this man too is a son of Abraham; for the Son of Man has come to seek out and save what was lost.’”

30 Sunday Ordinary Time, C, 27 October 2013, Luke 18:9-14

When we approach God, we must do so as the poor man with a begging bowl.

God does not measure out his love based on our goodness, or on our capacity to live by the rules. However we might find ourselves saying with the Pharisee: ‘Look what I have done for you, look at the sacrifices I made, or the money that I gave away, or the rules that I have kept.’ We’re looking for brownie points.

But I am never in a position of strength when I come face to face with God. I am always in a dependent position, in a poor position, in a vulnerable position.

How can I convince you of this? Of the reality of our poverty before God? Perhaps life itself is a good place to start.

We cannot grant ourselves the gift of life. We were reliant on our own parents for life. Without them we would not be here; but they are only parties to a mystery. Even with all of our biological knowledge, we cannot understand fully the transmission of human life. It remains a mystery.

If life itself is a mystery, and we are alive – then each of us, and all of us, are a mystery. We stand as living statements of the mystery of human life.

And if we think like this, then a chink opens up in our armour. What is the ground of my being? Who am I really? Where did I come from? What is this that I share in as a human being? The fact of my own life points to something greater than me, greater than us.

And that is a hugely important spiritual fact. There is something greater than me, than you, than us. And maybe that’s where we stop: do you believe in something greater than yourself? A higher power?
Our faith is not a way to try to understand the mystery of life. Rather, the mystery of life opens us up to the possibility of God. But, it was God who chose to reveal himself to people. God revealed himself as the mysterious relationship of Father, Son and Spirit. And more, God became one of us. He crossed the divine-human divide; God let go of his greatness, in order to reveal himself to us.

God’s act, God’s revelation of himself is always in the first place. Our faith is always in the second place, always a response to God who has chosen to share his own life with us. So, our faith is not man-made; and nor is it individual, private belief.

Listen to that first line from the gospel today: “Jesus spoke the following parable to some people who prided themselves on being virtuous and despised everyone else”.

A fundamental of our faith is that we must love one another. I cannot be religious on my own. I may be able to keep some rules, to say some prayers, even come to Sunday Mass. But, if my faith is a participation in the true faith of Jesus Christ, then I never stand over others, I never despise others. Rather, I seek to serve others. The true faith of Jesus Christ calls us beyond attempts at perfecting our own individual virtue. Instead, we come more and more to recognize that it is with and through other people that we come to that deeper encounter with the Lord.

Why does the humble sinner, the tax collector in the gospel, go away at rights with God? I think he goes away at rights because he knows that he does not live the perfect relationship of peace, of service and of love towards his neighbour. And so, he approaches God seeking God’s mercy for that – and God, by whose grace it is possible for us to live in peace; God grants the humble sinner righteousness. It is God who brings him into right relationship with himself and with others.

The Pharisee, on the other hand, displaying his supposed virtue by compare and contrast to other people, is not open to that grace of God that would put him at rights. Instead his heart is full of his virtue, his generosity, his moral uprightness.

We can learn from both of them. Our starting point earlier was about the mystery of where we came from. We realised that God is greater than us. But also, we realised that God wishes to be in relationship with us. Now, however, we realise that it is only by the action of God, by God’s grace, that we can possibly fulfil that relationship of faith with himself and with other people that he calls us into.

We need God’s grace to be at rights. We must acknowledge our brokenness before the Lord: “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” And through our brokenness, through our sinfulness, God’s grace enters erupts in our hearts. And once that happens, once we are aware of what God has actually done for us in Christ Jesus, then we cannot but respond.

Indeed our heart, bursting with faith, hope and love, has already bounded ahead of us with joy in the Lord. We become ready to give generously, even foolishly, to charity, to the Church, to society, to other people – we begin to desire to give generously of our time, our talent and our treasure. Not so that we can show off our good deeds to God or people. No. But to really give thanks to God for all. For life and creation; for faith and the Church; for redemption and salvation in Christ Jesus; for family and love in our lives. From this perspective we can learn from the Pharisee. The good life is important. We must live virtuously, but only as a sacrifice of thanksgiving to the Lord for all that he has done, in the hope of the salvation, mercy and forgiveness that he wishes to give us.

When we approach God, we must do so as the poor man with a begging bowl.

29 Sunday Ordinary Time, C, 20 October 2013, Luke 18:1-8

A good friend of mine told me this story about his grandmother. Her husband died when she was in her early seventies. The week before he died, he said to his son, as he watched his wife walking up the street with the groceries, that she wouldn’t last much longer. She would outlast him by some thirty years.

One evening, my friend was visiting his granny, and he noticed that she was sitting down in silence. He offered to turn on the telly: ‘if you want to son, you go ahead, but not for me.’ So he didn’t turn it on. He sat and read some of his books for college. She sat, sometimes twirling her thumbs, one about the other, sometimes thumbing through her prayer book, sometimes fingering through her rosary beads.

Annie, my friend’s granny, died at age 104. She had outlived many of her children, her husband, and many friends, acquaintances and neighbours. Annie wasn’t too interested in telly; she probably wouldn’t be too concerned about the internet or facebook or any of that.

Annie liked to sit in silence. Sometimes praying, sometimes not. Who knows what went through her mind, and through her heart, sitting in that chair.

A great story is told of how, when the barricades were on the streets of Belfast in the 1960s and 70s; Annie and the old Canon climbed up onto them and dismantled them in the face of very tough opposition.

Or another time, when she was collecting her pension, and armed robbers arrived to hold up the post-office. Annie chased them out with her umbrella and her handbag. ‘How dare you take my pension; out! Out!’

Annie was a lady with great hope. Great resilience. Amazing determination. Incredible fortitude.

Where did Annie get her courage? Her hope? Her strength? Perhaps those moments, quietly sitting, thumbing her rosary, twirling her thumbs. Moments of profound daily connection with her God. Grace-filled moments. Pain sharing moments. Endurance creating moments.

The parable that Jesus tells today of the unjust judge and the persistent widow exhorts us of “the need to pray continually and never lose heart.” It is not God who needs to relate with us. It is we who need God! It is we who benefit from the daily exercise of prayer; the daily exercise of showing our heart to the Lord, appealing to him for his concern, his mercy and his help. We can share our burdens, our daily, weekly, yearly or even our lifelong burdens; we can share them all with the Lord. And ask him, for the courage, to never lose heart.

28 Sunday Ordinary Time, C, 13 October 2013, Luke 17:11-19

http://www.stgeorges.nhs.uk/

Some years ago, from April to July of 2006, I spent a few months at a hospital in London undergoing training for chaplaincy. The course was quite unusual in that, from the very first day, we had to go into the wards and visit with the patients. We were appointed as student chaplains, and assigned particular wards to look after. I was appointed to the Cardiac and Neurology wards. Many of the people that I met were very ill, and very shocked to find themselves in hospital. Stroke victims, people who had suffered heart attacks, and many other minor and major ailments were among the people that I encountered.

Of course, it being London, about 1 or 2 out of every 10 people that I met were Catholic. So, for the vast majority of my time there, my ministry was to non-Catholics. Many of them were Christians of one denomination or another. Some attempted to ‘convert’ me. Others would not speak to me. But many were glad to meet with me and share a part of their journey.

A key question that developed for me, and perhaps it is developing for you now as I speak: How can a Catholic offer ministry, offer pastoral care, to a person who is not a Catholic?

In our gospel this Sunday, Jesus walks along the border between Galilee and Samaria. I guess the equivalent today might be walking the so-called ‘Peace Wall’ in Belfast, or the wall that divides modern-day Palestine into Jewish and Arab areas. The border is not an easy place to be. It is out on the periphery; the place that Pope Francis has proposed as a key site of our ministry.

These periphery areas, these border areas, can also be rich places, rich in culture, rich in different traditions, rich in different foods and language, and theatre, and so on. They are places where people take refuge if their own community has disowned them. And so, they can also be places of darkness, of sickness, and places of ill-repute. This is the place where Jesus goes.

And there, he encounters an isolated group. Bound together by their common illness, these ten lepers are of differing nationalities. Somehow, they know who Jesus is. They call him by name: “Jesus! Master!” So they also accord him his status “Master!” Master of our lives, Master of the Universe, Master of everything that is. . . “Take pity on us.” Pity, feel our pain, know what it is like to experience what we experience, lift some of this burden from us, because only you can.”

How can God heal a foreigner? A non-Jew? How can a Catholic minister to a non-Catholic?

Ephesians 4:4-6
"There is one body and one Spirit—just as you were called to the one hope that belongs to your call—one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all."

Our being Catholic challenges us to reach out to every human being, no matter their faith, their gender, their ethnic group, their sexual orientation, their riches, or their poverty. No matter what divides us, we reach out to the other, because that is what the Lord himself has done.

Maybe they, maybe us, maybe we, will be surprised by joy, and turn, and run to the feet of Jesus, and praise and thank God.

27 Sunday Ordinary Time, C, 6 October 2013, Luke 17:5-10

Perspective

Perspective is Everything

I had the wonderful privilege of spending a part of the summer in Florida. I have been to the same place on a number of occasions. It is the parish of St Christopher in Hobe Sound.

One morning after Mass, I was waiting behind in the sacristy for some reason or other. I was talking to a few of the ‘seasoned’ gentlemen of the parish, who decided to share some of their collective wisdom with me about taxes, and other weighty public matters. They explained to me that ‘gas’ (petrol as we call it) had become way too expensive.

From their perspective, the price of petrol had gotten way too high, and the main culprit was taxes. They explained that Florida was supposed to be a low-tax state. They explained that many people move to Florida because there are no city or state taxes. The only tax is a tax on sales, or as they call it, ‘sales tax’. This is added onto the price of everything when you bring it to the till.

For Floridians, any other form of tax is unacceptable. After all, they moved to Florida in order to avail of low taxes!

I explained to them about how petrol and diesel in Ireland is approximately double the price that it is in Florida. I also explained that we have high income tax, as well as many other hidden taxes. We take this for granted. You cannot have all of our public services without taxes. For them it is also a no-brainer, the sales-tax is all that public services can call on to fund themselves.

Perspective is Everything

For the disciples in our gospel today, their perspective is quite religious. What one of us, also disciples, would not ask the Lord to increase our faith? But which of us would expect the Lord to give the snappy, almost cheeky, answer that he gives!

"Were your faith the size of a mustard seed you could say to this mulberry tree, “Be uprooted and planted in the sea,” and it would obey you."

Perspective is Everything

The disciples want ‘magic’ Jesus, and we are not that different. They want Jesus to wave a magic wand over them to increase their faith. Very often, so do we. They want Jesus to do the Lion’s share, while they sit back and lap it up. Its a little bit like our European sense of government. We don’t live in the do-it-yourself culture of the United States. Perspective is everything. Jesus knows that we human beings have to work at it in order that we might ‘own’ it. And so, he effectively rebukes his disciples. He then tells them the parable of the Master and the Servant finishing with that wonderful sentence:

"So with you: when you have done all you have been told to do, say, 'We are merely servants: we have done no more than our duty.'"

So, my friends, a tough question bears down upon us this Sunday: Whose perspective am I seeking to adopt: my own, or the Lord’s? The gospel today poses not just the question of faith for us, but also the question of the source of our faith, which is both the Lord himself, and our duty as servants of that same Lord.

Around about six years ago, I was preparing for ordination as a priest. At the beginning of the final year in seminary, I was asked to type up my goals for the year. These goals had to be related to my life-history, and they had to include a plan for my final year in formation, taking account of all of the areas of formation. Finally, this plan had to finish with a theological reflection based on a passage of Scripture of my own choosing.

I chose the passage that forms the first line of our second reading today:

"I am reminding you to fan into a flame the gift that God gave you when I laid my hands on you." 

It is from 2 Timothy 1:6.

I chose that passage, because it reminded me of my ordination as a deacon a few months prior. Also, I was conscious that I was in preparation for the final step of my time in formation, which was to be ordained priest. That line spoke greatly to me of the position that I found myself in, between the two ordinations, as it were. It is rooted in remembering, but directed towards the future, as I was. Paul exhorts Timothy to remember the gift that God has given him, not at any old time, but at the time when Paul laid his hands on him.

I first came across this passage in the writings of the German Jesuit, Alfred Delp. In his book Advent of the Heart, Delp ponders on his own ordination with the assistance of this text from 2 Timothy.

Some months later, best plans made, some resolutions kept, others not, I was in final preparations for my own ordination. I made my retreat with the Benedictines at Rostrevor in Co. Down. There, on the first night, at the Office of Vigils, on the evening of the 3rd June 2008, in the middle of a rather long reading from Scripture, I heard that sentence being read out by the reader:

"I am reminding you to fan into a flame the gift that God gave you when I laid my hands on you."

I was stuck to the seat. The line echoed deeply in me, bookending my year’s preparation, and confirming the Lord’s call in my heart. I was stuck to the seat, as if I had been struck by lightning. Any doubts that I had about the Lord’s call were suddenly, unequivocally, and finally, dispersed. I knew that I was in the right place at the right time.

Perspective is Everything

"I am reminding you to fan into a flame the gift that God gave you when I laid my hands on you." 

That day I was ready to say:

"I am merely a servant: I have done no more than my duty."

The gift of faith is a gift. It is given to us, much like a packet of seeds. It needs planting, watering, nurturing, care and attention. It needs an investment of time, money, talent, energy. Finally, for it to really develop into a prize-winning shrub, we have to go the whole way, and invest our complete person. We have, finally, to give ourselves to the Lord who has created us, redeemed us, and offered us salvation, not with magic tricks but in and through our own humanity.

26 Sunday Ordinary Time, C, 29 September 2013, Luke 16:19-31

I was in Croke Park yesterday for the replay of the All-Ireland hurling final. Shouting for Cork, I was disappointed that they did not win. I was delighted for Clare though. They were definitely the better team on the day, indeed on both days!

Thinking of the hurling final and this Sunday’s gospel, I remember the story of Ambrose Gordon. Ambrose is a Galway man, a bit of a ladies’ man by his own claim, and also something of an entrepreneur and a rogue.

From 1982 to 1989 Ambrose ran a very profitable business. He tells the story in interview with RTÉ radio. You can listen to it yourself. The documentary is called ‘Sex, Flights and Videotapes’. Narrated by Mícheál Ó’Muircheartaigh, the story is told of how Ambrose developed a lucrative business, delivering pirate copies of RTÉ's The Sunday Game to pubs in London, from 1982 to 1989. Before then, on All-Ireland Sunday and many other Sundays throughout the year, Irish people would gather on one of the the highest points in London, Hampstead Heath, to tune in their pocket radios to Radio Éireann.

Ireland and Britain

At a time when Irish television was not available in the UK, Ambrose would find a way to bring televised football and hurling to London. He would fly to Dublin on a Monday morning. There, he would visit a lady whose house had been turned into a recording point for his business. There a bank of video recorders would have recorded copies of The Sunday Game. Picking up the fresh copies, Ambrose would turn on his heel, and fly back to London. The first showings would be at lunchtime on Monday. Pubs and Clubs paid him £20, £30, £50 to rent a copy. Punters would queue up to watch the precious shows over a pint and a sandwich.

At a time when the boundary between Ireland and England was much greater than it is now, Ambrose Gordon found a way.

We live at a time when there are few geographical boundaries. For a relatively small amount of money, compared to a few decades ago, world travel is within reach of many people here in Ireland. Even when loved ones are far away, on the other side of the world, the boundary between us is blurred by the use of technology. Mobile phones and Skype mean that we are in contact regularly, and cheaply.

Collapse of the Berlin Wall - 1989

Other boundaries in our world seemed to be insurmountable a few decades ago have come crashing down. The collapse of the Berlin wall in 1989, and with it the collapse of Communism in the USSR, signalled a new beginning for the relationship between East & West. It would gradually mean that the threat of nuclear war diminished as well.

Landing on the Moon - 1969

A couple of decades before then, the moon landings signalled that a boundary between our world and space had been crossed in almost miraculous fashion.

There are many boundaries that our world has crossed, and remembering those crossings is a kind of food for our journey. Remembering those crossings gives us hope that we can continue to push beyond the boundaries that still exist.

Pope Francis - 2013

It seems to me that Pope Francis has crossed many boundaries since his election as Pope. He is teaching us a new way. He is reminding us what is of primary importance, love of God and of our neighbour.

His actions speak louder than words. I think of the car that he uses, a Ford Focus; I think of him paying the bill for his hotel room after his election as Pope; I think of him phoning the lady whose child was born from a relationship that she had with a married man. The Holy Father promised her that if she could not get a priest to baptize her newborn, that he himself would baptize the infant.

The key thing about many of the boundaries that Pope Francis has crossed is that they are human creations. There may be good reasons for this, and yet, the Pope is showing us that these human boundaries, and the reasons for them, are secondary to the people whom they actually effect.

It is humanity that creates the boundary that our gospel is focused on today – that between the poor and the rich. Lazarus tried to help himself by coming right up to that boundary in the gospel. That boundary is a closed gate, erected precisely to keep away Lazarus and his ilk. Yet even the dogs take pity on him as they licked his sores. The dogs in the story symbolize the animal kingdom, and all of creation, being on the side of the poor man. And remember, as the verse from second Corinthians goes: “Jesus Christ was rich, but he became poor for your sake, to make you rich out of his poverty.” We might ask the question: why would Jesus become one of us? As the Sheryl Crow song went a few years ago: “What if God was one of us, just a stranger on the bus, trying to make his way home?”

The richest man, Jesus Christ, gave up his position, gave up his inheritance, so that we might all be rich. Rich in recognizing that no matter how much money we have, or how much stuff we have, or how much food we have; rich in realizing that our real wealth is life, health, love, family, community, the Lord himself, and the poor. Sharing our knowledge, our wealth, and our lives, with the poor, actually enriches both them and us. The gift that the poor offer is is the gift of being more completely human, more divinely human.

Maybe, as it is in the gospel, maybe the really wealthy person turns out to be Lazarus, the poor man who lay at the rich man’s gate.

24 Sunday Ordinary Time, C, 15 September 2013, Luke 15:1-10

summerhillcollege.ie

(This homily was delivered at Sunday Eucharist in the College of the Immaculate Conception, Sligo, my alma mater. The occasion was part of a series of celebrations to mark the opening of Summerhill's new school building.)

I am really delighted to be here with you today. My name is John Coughlan. I am a priest of the diocese for five years now, I am glad to say! I completed my leaving certificate here in Summerhill in 1998, having begun as a student here in 1993. I want to say a word of thanks to the College Chaplain, Mr Keogh, for inviting me to give the homily for today’s Mass. Paul and I were classmates here in Summerhill, and we have been very good friends since our time here.

I have a very good friend who comes from Belfast. His name is Joe McDonald, and he was a Christian Brother for twenty-something years. During that time he was a teacher in a number of large grammar schools in Northern Ireland, both in Belfast and in Newry. Somewhere along the way, Joe realised that the Lord was calling him to become a priest. He applied to the archdiocese of Dublin and was accepted to study for the priesthood. He arrived in St Patrick’s College, Maynooth on the same day as me, August 26, 2001.

The reason that I am telling you about my friend, now Fr Joe McDonald, is that when he was just 29 years of age he was appointed as the headmaster of a large grammar school in Newry – the Abbey Christian Brothers Grammar School. When he was appointed, the school had just come through a few crises. Morale was low and there was a feeling that the school might close. Unlike Sligo, Newry had two boys grammar schools. There was the Abbey and also St Colman’s College, the diocesan college for the diocese of Dromore. Needless to say, there was a lot of competition between the two schools, for student numbers, on the football field, in the academic league tables, and so on.

When the then Brother Joe was appointed as headmaster in 1989, the Abbey faced an uphill struggle to success, or a downhill slide into failure. The second option seemed more likely. However, once he was appointed, Brother Joe set out to turn the big ship around. He faced severe problems. Students weren’t wearing uniform. Graffiti marked the walls and corridors. Staff were resigning to take up jobs in better schools. The name of the Abbey was dirt in the town.

One of the first things that Joe did as headmaster was to insist that every pupil would wear the complete, full school uniform to school every day, and that they would wear it throughout the day to each class, with no exceptions. He was met with fierce resistance. Parents were up in arms about the cost. Students didn’t want to abide by the rules. Teachers said it would be impossible to enforce. But, come hell or high water, Brother Joe would not be turned. The new rules were enforced one piece at a time. Brother Joe had a stock of old uniforms and shoes that he used when students arrived without their uniform. As more and more of the uniform became enforced in the school, eventually the tide began to turn. Gradually, through a process of encouragement, enforcement and downright doggedness, the Abbey got a new set of clothes. It would be the first step in a new era for the Abbey.

Today, the Abbey sits on a brand new school site, with a brand new building and other state of the art facilities. Students are keen to enroll in the school because of the high grades. Teachers want to be part of the Abbey, not just because it looks good on their CV, but also because the Abbey is a place where you want to remain the vocation of teaching.

Many years after finishing in his role as headmaster, the now Fr Joe ran into a former student of his in Dublin Airport. The student, now an accomplished businessman, recalled the heady days of the turnaround at the Abbey when Joe was headmaster. One story that he told about that time was that before Joe was headmaster, the Abbey students would be slagged off at the bus station by the other students in the town. Their unkempt uniform brought the mocking ire of students from the other Colleges. The Abbey boys could only return petty rebuttals to the hurtful snubs. However, that all changed when the Abbey boys arrived in their pristine, new school uniforms. An air of pride and accomplishment arrived with them at the bus-stop. They were no longer the butt of snide comments and petty jokes. The now successful businessman thanked Fr Joe for his hard work and doggedness in restoring pride and hope to the Abbey grammar.

This weekend the community of Summerhill College has something to celebrate and be proud of. An incredible new school building has been opened and blessed by Bishop Jones. Students and staff now enjoy facilities that generations before, including myself, might only have dreamed about.

A new building is great. It symbolises for us what our Church, what our State, and what our Society think of education. It is a significant investment in the present and future education of young Catholic men in Sligo and its surrounds in the 21st Century, and of course, those of other faiths and no faith. As a Catholic school, Summerhill is of course committed to the education of young Catholic men, but drawing on what it really means to be a Catholic, drawing on our Catholic ethos, we welcome all those who come here seeking an excellent education.

Which brings me to the core point of my homily today. What is it that makes this school a community of faith? Does coming here to Sunday Mass on the school campus make this community a community of faith? I don’t think that it does. Celebrating Mass here may well symbolize our desire that Summerhill would be a community of faith, but it may not mean that Summerhill is a community of faith.

For that reason, does Summerhill have to be a community of faith? I would argue that it does. We are human beings. As human beings we have some clear needs. We need love, we need security, we need shelter, we need oxygen and water. We need heat when it is cold.

And we ourselves need to be believed in. We need other people to believe in us. We need our parents to believe in us. We need our teachers to believe in us. And ultimately we need God to believe in us. And that, my friends, is what God did when, as St Paul told us in the second reading: “Here is a saying that you can rely on and nobody should doubt: that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.” That Jesus was sent by God among us was and is a profound statement of God’s belief in us! God believed that if he sent his Son among us that we would be saved. And to be saved, salvation means to become the best that we can be. To be the holiest, the most integrated and wholesome that we possibly can be. To achieve the fullness of our potential as human beings. And it doesn’t take a brainwave to work out that that is a core reason why the Church is fundamentally committed to the education of our young men and young women.

The Church believes in your sons, the Church believes in you because Christ Jesus believes in you. And if we accept that, then we should be a community of faith. We are not simply here to churn out new plumbers, priests, lawyers, bricklayers, mechanics, teachers, did I say priests? We are here and we are involved in calling to greatness the young men of this generation. And, we believe in you. That is why there is a brand new building here. That is why there are teachers here. That is why there is a school chaplain here. A community of faith is a community that cares for the treasure at its heart – the young men who are being formed for a lifetime of following their hearts desires, of listening deeply to the plan the Lord has for their lives – lives that are full of promise and greatness and achievement, and perhaps some failure, but not letting that defeat us.

As the Lord Jesus sat down and ate with sinners, so also he comes to you and I today to share a sacred meal with us. In this moment, he calls us to remember and give thanks for the gift of life, for the gift of parents, family and friends. For the gift of the opportunity of an excellent education, to be the best that we can be. He calls us to eat his body and drink his blood, that by his grace, with his help, we may become a community of faith, faith in each other, and faith in the Lord Jesus who saves us.

3 Sunday Lent, C, 3 March 2013, Luke 13:1-9

Archbishop Oscar Romero

A few years ago, I was travelling by plane to the United States. When we were about 10 or 15 minutes out from Orlando, the Captain came on the speaker and told all of us that we were in for a bit of a bumpy landing. There was a huge storm cell hovering around the airport and we were going to be the last plane to be given permission to land. Just as he went off the speaker, the plane lurched. Suddenly one of the stewardesses, who was in the aisle in the middle near my seat, was up in the air! And just as quickly she was back on the floor. Everyone giggled and laughed, nervously. We had been warned by the captain, and the warning instantly came true!

This is the kind of thing that is happening in the gospel story this morning. Jesus gives an example of the sudden death of Galileans while they were making sacrifice. For us, we might think of the El Salvadorean Archbishop, Oscar Romero, shot dead in 1980 while he celebrated Mass. And again, Jesus gives the example of a group of 18 people, killed when a tower collapsed on them near Jerusalem. We might think of all the people that we know who die suddenly because of some tragedy. It could be a car-crash, or the Tsunami victims on St Stephen's Day 2004.

Jesus asks the question twice: Do you think that they were worse sinners than anyone else? Is that why you think they died. Of course, when we imagine Archbishop Romero, who cared very much for the poor and oppressed, those who were unjustly treated in El Salvador under the regime of the time. He is called 'San Romero' in the Americas – 'Saint Romero'. I'm not saying that he committed no sin, but he died because of his Christianity, not because he was a sinner.

And, don't forget, as we journey through Lent what our destination is: It is the cross. Jesus died on the cross on Good Friday. This is the death of a sinner, and yet we carefully proclaim that this person was the one without sin.

"Do you suppose these Galileans who suffered like that were greater sinners than any other Galileans? They were not, I tell you. No; but unless you repent you will all perish as they did."

Unless you repent. What does Jesus mean here? What does it mean: 'to repent'? Does it mean that we repent of the sins that we know we have committed? Yes! Of course!

And for us – as Catholic Christians, we not only repent at our baptism, but we recognise that we need to repent over and over again. That is why we have Confession – the Rite of Penance, sometimes known as the Sacrament of Reconciliation.

But, here, this morning – with the parable of the fig tree – Jesus is calling for more than simply an apology for the sins that we have committed. He is looking for the fruit of our repentance – "Look here, for three years now I have been coming to look for fruit on this fig tree and finding none."

The parable of the fig tree is a parable of the Kingdom of God. As followers of Jesus Christ, we have already encountered the Kingdom of God in a kind of 'already, but not yet' kind of way. "A lot done, a lot more to do" as a political slogan had it from a few years ago.

Repentance is a two-sided coin – repentance for our sins is one side – being fruitful bearers of the Kingdom of God is the flip-side. This is the bit that we are really slow about today in Ireland. It is the bit where we are ashamed of our faith – ashamed of our Church – ashamed of our God. And maybe we have good reason.

Today is a new day, however: A Second chance. A new start. A new beginning. 'unless you repent ...' the gospel says. This is an encouragement to us to embrace our Christian calling – to be heralds of the Kingdom of God: Jesus Christ, Today, Yesterday, Forever.

5 Sunday Ordinary Time, C, 10 February 2013, Luke 5:1-11

The Calling of the Disciples
Mosaics from San Marco, Santa Maria Assunta in Torcello, and Murano

Can we trust anyone or anything today? The horsemeat scandal – it might be harmless to us, thankfully, but it  undermines our sense of trust. Needless to say, can we trust anyone? Bankers, politicians, bishops or priests? Trust is something that is ever shrinking in our world. Stocks in cynicism are rising – shares in deception appear to be on the increase.

Our faith is built on trust. A few years ago an 11 year old girl in a school near Castlerea in Roscommon asked me how I know that God exists. She wanted me to prove to her that God exists. So, I said to her that I cannot prove that God exists. I said to her that our faith, our Church, does not offer us any easy explanations for the existence of God.

No, instead, I asked her what her parish was called. She said it was called Castlerea. I said, yes, it is called Castlerea, but there is another name for it. She said she didn't know. So, I told her – the name of their parish was Kilkeevan – which literally means the Church of Kevin, or maybe we might say the Church of St Kevin. So, I said, for the most part we know that God exists because somebody called Kevin had experienced God so much in his own life that he felt called to follow God – and to tell other people about God. We remember him so well that we called the parish after him.

The same as here in Calry (St Patrick's Church) – we remember the Saints because of their role in telling us about the faith we share. For us then, the Saints can seem like really holy people – and yet everyday we are sharing our faith with other people, and other people are sharing their faith with us. So, we are Saints for each other.

Our readings this morning are all about encountering God and sharing that with other people. What is it like to encounter God? Well these biblical stories are a good starting point. In the first reading from the prophet Isaiah, we hear of Isaiah's call from God, and having met the Lord of hosts, Isaiah wonders how he will live. He is struck by his own lack of preparation, his lack of cleanliness to be present to God in such a way. This is an apocalyptic story of God's desire to have a relationship with us, even though we as human beings may feel incapable of such a relationship, unprepared for such a relationship, unworthy of such a relationship. It is the Lord's work to prepare the one who is called: by means of the seraph who cleanses Isaiah's lips – it is by the grace of God, Paul tells us that he is called an Apostle, and it is by the grace of encounter with Jesus that Peter, the self-confessed sinner in today's gospel, it is by the grace of encounter with Jesus that Peter can possibly follow Jesus. To follow Jesus means to be his disciple – that is, to leave everything, all material possessions to follow the Lord. What does this mean for us?

For me, this is the single most important thing in life – the encounter with Jesus. By means of this encounter, personally in my own life, I am able to stand here before you today as a priest of the diocese of Elphin. What was that encounter like? For me it was an experience of deep peace, an experience of deep love, an encounter with the holy. I remember sitting in the back of the Cathedral in Sligo after school sometimes. That peace that I encountered there was unlike any other kind of peace that I have ever experienced.

So, am I horsemeat or real beef? Can you buy this product and trust it? Am I the real deal? I believe that I am the real deal – I believe that you can trust me. I stand before you as a sinner, as a human being and as a man – but also as someone called and anointed, ordained to share the Good News, to preach the Good News of Jesus who is our peace. It is by God's grace, in keeping with God's own plans, not by my own doing, that I stand before you as a priest of Jesus Christ. And that, I think, is the only really true reason to become a priest today.

4 Sunday Ordinary Time, C, 3 February 2013, Luke 4:21-30

When I turned 17 my parents gave me a birthday present: insurance on my Mother's car. I still remember that car, it was a 1994 Ford Fiesta.When I was 18, I bought my first car. It was a 1992 Toyota Corolla. It wasn't much bigger or faster than the Fiesta, but I thought it was fantastic! I fitted an aftermarket exhaust that made a rumbly noise, alloy wheels and a new CD player. It had power-steering and central locking. It never broke down and I was very pleased with myself. It got more polish on it than most cars see in a lifetime, and I took pride in being able to change the oil and spark plugs. I even changed the radiator, which was a relatively big job! The Corolla carried me to Maynooth in August 2001, and it ferried many's the seminarian to the cinema and back... I loved that little car, and I suppose I still do love my cars, as I have shared with you before.

During the week in Maynooth I had reason to read the following story from St Augustine:

Suppose we were wanderers who could not live in blessedness except at home, miserable in our wandering and desiring to end it and return to our native country. We would need vehicles for land and sea which could be used to help us to reach our homeland, which is to be enjoyed. But if the amenities of the journey and the motion of the vehicles itself delighted us, and we were led to enjoy those things which we should use, we should not wish to end our journey quickly, and, entangled in a perverse sweetness, we should be alienated from our country, whose sweetness would make us blessed. Thus is this mortal life, wandering far from God, if we wish to return to our native country where we can be blessed we should use this world and not enjoy it, so that the invisible things of God being understood by the things that are made may be seen, that is, so that by means of corporal and temporal things we may comprehend the eternal and spiritual. 

On Christian Doctrine (I, iv)

I was immediately struck by Augustine's reference to 'vehicles for land and sea'! Little did he know what developments there would be in the world some 15-1600 years later! I think that there is something amazing about that vehicle reference in Augustine. Just listen to what he says about it again:  "But if the amenities of the journey and the motion of the vehicles itself delighted us"... Those things in life that tantalize us, the things that tickle our fancy – Augustine tells us that these things distract us from our one true love; these lower loves call us away from the highest love: God. For Augustine, the good things of this world are to be used but not enjoyed, because in some sense our joy is only to be found in God. They are a means to an end.

So, what tickles your fancy? Is it clothes? Or cars like me perhaps? Or is it Sky TV, or hours spent on the internet? For Augustine, this is not about the bad things that we might do, its not about those things that might be clearly sinful – it is about the good things that are given to us to use in this world. And for Augustine these good things are meant to lead us to even better things – to God; Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

The passage of Luke's gospel that we have just heard follows immediately on from the passage we heard last Sunday. Just to jog your memory: Jesus arrives home to Nazara – to Nazerath – and he enters the synagogue. He stands up to read and they hand him the scroll of the prophet Isaiah – and he reads from the prophet Isaiah: "The Spirit of the Lord has been given to me... " And then he says: "This text is being fulfilled today even as you listen." That sentence must be very important, because it is repeated in the liturgy this Sunday – it is the beginning of this Sunday's passage, and the ending of last Sunday's: "This text is being fulfilled today even as you listen."

Very often we might wonder what Jesus would be like if we were to meet him face to face. Would he be a political leader? A social revolutionary? Would Jesus be a financial whizz-kid, able to predict the markets with certainty and save us from economic woes? Would Jesus be a great General in a Salvation Army, fighting for justice in the world? What would Jesus be like if we were to meet him?

For Luke, Jesus is a prophetic Messiah. That is not to say that Jesus is merely a prophet, not at all. No, it is to say that if we are looking for the characteristic that would best describe our Messiah, our Christ, our anointed one, it would not be that Jesus was a social revolutionary; rather it would be that Jesus was prophetic.

In our gospel last Sunday Jesus quoted from the prophet Isaiah. This Sunday, continuing on from that Jesus makes a profound statement: "I tell you solemnly, no prophet is ever accepted in his own country." He then illustrates that by telling his listeners  about the prophets Elijah and Elisha. This story that Jesus tells is a prophetic story. And what follows is a standard response to prophecy by the people: they move not only to hustle him out of town, but to throw him over a cliff! No mistaking the taste then: this prophetic man was not accepted by his own people.

For us followers of Jesus, he is the culmination of all prophecy. And so, if we are to be prophetic – and we are all called to be prophetic by our baptism as priest, prophet and king – if we are to be prophetic, then that means that we are to imitate the prophetic character that Jesus shows us. If we are really prophetic then we may well be shunned as Jesus was shunned by his own people. A prophetic message is not a popular message – it doesn't serve to gain the prophet brownie points with his or her listeners.

The preacher's task then is not to entertain the people – it is not even to relish in his own eloquence or ability to draw people in. No, the preacher's task is to transmit in a faithful way as possible, for no personal gain, the message of Christ in all its fullness. The preacher's task is to proclaim the love of God, and to remind people of their true homeland – their heavenly homeland. The preacher's task is not to be popular, but rather to remind people of God – to point towards God because God calls him to do just that.

For St Augustine, battling with these questions many centuries ago, there are clearly higher and lower loves. Loving God is the highest love for him, and it is the love that will bring the greatest blessings into our lives. But, on our journey to loving God we must make use of material goods to get there. These goods can entrap us – tantalize and fascinate us – and so we forget the greatest love of our hearts and settle for a lesser love. For Augustine, we might say, this is what sin really amounts to in our lives – it is settling for some-thing less than God.

We might say that there is something prophetic in Augustine here. In other places he says that he does not seek the money, the power or the authority that great knowledge would grant him. Rather, he seeks to be a servant of truth, for truth's sake – not to be greater than others, but to serve them.

For us today, as preachers and witnesses to Christ, we must not go after the lesser love of popularity, the lesser love of people's approval. Our task is to remain true to Christ, true to our calling, true to our homeland in heaven.

So, here we are – this first Sunday of February 2013. We have reflected extensively on the gospel for this Sunday. We also remember our first reading from the prophet Jeremiah – the call of Jeremiah by God to prophesy in his name. And then listen to St Paul in the second reading: "If I have the gift of prophecy, understanding all the mysteries there are, and knowing everything, and if I have faith in all its fullness, to move mountains, but without love, then I am nothing at all."

Love is the highest gift. And that was the aim of all of St Augustine's work – to love. To explain true Christian love and to share it with others. To love God, to love neighbour and to love self. These three together. And, if we love our neighbour then we want the best for them. If we love our own self, we want the best for our self. And if we truly love God then we have some awareness, some sense of how much God has loved us first by sending us his Son to die that we might live.

So, don't let some lesser love get in the way of the higher loves. Make use of the good things of this world to gain access to the higher things – and don't be afraid to share that with others, because this really is a message of liberation – it is a liberation from the distractions and half-joys of this world in anticipation of the great joy that is to come; it is to believe in the task of making the kingdom come alive in the here and now by committing ourselves truly and completely to Christ, now and forever. Amen.

2 Sunday Ordinary Time, C, 20 January 2013, John 2:1-11

Joy
Oil for gladness, Bread for our strength, wine for our joy. The gospel story of the Wedding Feast at Cana is a parable of joy. What would a wedding be like without wine? Can you imagine an Irish wedding where the bar ran out of Guinness early in the evening? The joy of celebrating a wedding is a moment to be inebriated, to be filled with joy, it is a moment to drink to the joy of life.

So much of religion appears joyless – even though it may well be necessary to stand up for the rights of the vulnerable – to stand beside those in our society who are ill-treated and downtrodden – all of these aspects of faith are difficult to live out. And more, we can feel that that is all religion is about today – rules, regulations, oppression, authority.

And yet, in this parable Jesus reforms both the religion of his own day, and the religion of our day. This story tells us, early in the year, in the cold of January and near the beginning of the gospel, that one of the key aspects of being followers of Jesus Christ is that we are a people filled with joy!

What is the reason for our joy? In the story of the Wedding at Cana we don't get to know who the bride and groom were. Their names are not given to us. Why is this? Surely, it is kind of strange that the gospel talks about where the wedding took place rather than who the couple were. The key people in this story are Jesus, his disciples, and Mary the mother of Jesus. In a way the wedding is symbolic of the husband and wife relationship that comes about because of Jesus. That is, the husband and wife kind of relationship between God and humanity, between heaven and earth, between Jesus and the Church. It is not just that Jesus is the reason for our joy, but moreso that God became one of us – and in so doing tied together God and humanity forever. Never again can the two be separated. Always and forever.

And this is a blood relationship. It is a kinship, a family bond, a bond that is strong enough to defeat whatever may try to separate it.

But, we have to opt in. While Christ is always faithful to his side of the bargain, we fail time and again. No matter what, we know that Christ is there for us, ever faithful. But he does not force us to co-operate with him. We are free to choose. Free to choose him and all that that means, even being part of his Church and all that that means, maybe even against our better judgment. The Church is our means to real relationship with Christ Jesus.

The water of Baptism miraculously becomes the Wine offered in the Eucharist. And the Eucharist is the Wedding Feast that we gather to share with Christ, our spouse. Real joy is not a fleeting pleasure but a lasting salvation, a lasting hope, a fundamental reconciliation.

The Baptism of the Lord, 13 January 2013, Luke 3:15-16. 21-22

Today’s celebration presents Jesus being baptized by John in the Jordan River.  The celebration marks the end of the Christmas Season and the beginning of Ordinary Time.  It is the only Sunday of the year that belongs to two seasons.

Why?

This feast belongs to two seasons because it is the beginning.  Jesus accepts His ministry, His reason for being.  This is the beginning of the teaching, preaching and healing that make up the public ministry of the Lord.

The ancient Christian witnesses see a great significance in this particular Epiphany or showing of the Lord.  The words of the Father, the presence of the Holy Spirit, demonstrate God’s action among His people.  Jesus in His human nature has accepted the plan devised by the Father to care for his people.

How does this apply to us?  Simply this: This Sunday leads us to consider God’s plan for our lives and how well we allow this to coalesce with our own plan for our lives.

Most of us grew us with goals and ideal we wanted in life.  Maybe we wanted to go to college and get a great job and then get married and raise a beautiful family.  Maybe college wasn’t part of it, but the rest may have been (at least for you, not me.)  Maybe some of us wanted to enter into a life of service to the Lord and to his people.  But even within this, there were certain goals we may have had–achievements as a priest, advancement until were named Pope, etc. 

As time goes on, we all refine our goals.  Maybe a person doesn’t just want to become a doctor, but wants to become a cardiologist.  If you were blessed with marriage and then doubly blessed with children, you quickly wanted more in life than just to have a husband, a wife, or a family.  For example, when your love became infinitely more than infatuation, you were determined to do anything, make any sacrifice for your spouse.  When you brought your children home from the hospital, you quickly moved from wanting to have them to wanting to have the very best for them.  Perhaps you hear about those who travel around the world routinely, and wish that you could do that, but in truth, you would rather provide the best for those who continually steal your heart and complete your life.

This is good, all good.  This is sacrificial love.  Your love of sacrifice for others, your spouse or your children, is itself the very existence of God’s love in your home, your little church.

Sometimes we ask ourselves a questions whose answers are  beautifully obvious:  Why was I created?  Or What is God’s plan for me? 

His plan is that you and I make a difference in the world by gifting the world with a unique reflection of His Love that only each of us could provide.

You and I are not mere numbers in a vast planet of people, perhaps even in a vast universe of rational creatures.  You and I are much more than this, infinitely more than this.  You and I are Christians.  We are lovers, Divine Lovers.  We love the Divine and the Divine loves through us.  We exist to love, to love God with our whole mind, heart and soul and to love others as God loves them.

There are people in the world who will meet God by meeting you.  There are people in the world who will meet God by meeting me.  They are people who are searching.  They are searching for meaning in life.  They are searching for reasons behind their joy and pain, their sadness and hurts.  They seek lasting happiness.  They search for answers and they rely on us, you and I, to help them find these answers.

We Christians believe that life is not just a matter of biology.  Life is not just a matter of survival.  Life is not just a matter of chance.  We Christians believe that life, authentic life, consists in serving God by making the Presence of Jesus Christ a reality in the lives of others.

That is why we embrace the work of the Lord until the last day we live.  That is why each stage of our lives presents us with a challenge, a new way to serve the Lord.

We live for the Lord. We die for the Lord.  We embrace the mission of the Father.

Today we join Jesus at the Jordan River.  With Him we also accept the mission the Father has set aside for each one of us.  And we thank God for making us part of His plan for His people.

Epiphany, 6 January 2013, Matthew 2:1-12

A few years ago, shortly after my ordination as a priest, I was serving as a curate there in the Parish of Ss Peter and Paul in Athlone. I lived for two years in the presbytery there and while I was there I had to re-learn how to light a fire. I hadn't lit a fire in perhaps ten years but the house I lived in needed a fire for a bit of heat in the evenings.

I learned how to light a coal fire, a turf fire, and a fire made mostly from wood. There are a few basic things that I learned about making a fire: It's easier to light small, dry pieces of fuel; a fire made from a mix of fuels will light quicker and be easier to keep going; there has to be plenty of air in the fire to get it going; and obviously wet fuel is useless!

Things that give life to us
Even while our lives may seem to us to be shrouded in darkness; in the midst of that darkness, already the light – a small, dim, flickering light is shining in the darkness, inviting us to follow the way of light and life and peace.

The gospel this morning is more than simply the story of the three wise men. It isn't simply a nice follow-on from the nativity story. No, it is a key part of the gospel and it tells us two really important things – who Jesus really is, and who we really can be. We struggle with both of these, not just one of them. We don't just struggle with believing in God, we struggle with believing in ourselves!

The first thing the gospel tells us is who Jesus really is. The three gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh are three ways of telling us about Jesus. Gold tells us that Jesus is a King. Frankincense tells us that Jesus is divine and worthy of worship. And Myrrh tells us that Jesus is really human, that he really suffered and died. The bringing together of these three aspects of Jesus tell us that he is a culmination of all three of these parts of life.
So, in imitating Jesus we have to get to grips with our own power, our divine calling, and the reality of our human existence. Ignoring any of these aspects of our own life means that we are somehow diminished. Likewise, if we over-emphasise any one of these three we are also not complete. Finally, we know that it is not in possessing the gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh that Jesus is Kingly, divine and human, but rather that the three gifts symbolise and recognise these qualities of the Christ-child.

If we are to light up our lives today with the light of faith, then we must be willing to discover anew what our real power is as persons, what the divine is actually calling us to do, and what human life is really all about.