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.