5th November 2017: Authenticity and Hyproocisy
In this morning’s Gospel, Jesus is highlighting the pretence of the Pharisees. They can put on a show. They can dress up the outside, giving the impression that the inside is fine too. They were only pretending to be good. In contrast, Jesus asks us to be authentic people, drawing on the goodness within us.
I have to tell you that almost all the people I have ever met have been amazingly good, both inside and outside. I remember, especially, the first sick calls I ever made as a priest. One was to a mother of eight children. She was dying of cancer at the age of sixty. Like many a person before and since, it was a fate she didn’t deserve. Some of her children, not knowing about her illness, had just come home to take her on a well-earned holiday to London. She would never see London. The second call was to a young girl of fifteen. A specialist had diagnosed a very serious heart condition. She’d be dead in a matter of weeks. That was the diagnosis. When I made my call, although the girl herself was cheerful and optimistic, the house was being quietly readied for her funeral. They both died, the woman whose life was behind her, and the girl whose life had only begun.
I was struck at the time by the absolute, genuine goodness of those people. And I do remember what the Lord meant to those two sick people, and to their heartbroken families. Although they weren’t healed or cured, somehow their inner goodness - which gave the strength and power they needed at that time - was there to support them. But, you know, when we are totally human, when we are genuine in our love, then the human spirit can be indomitable. When we are like that, we imbibe some of that spiritual power that comes from God. We all have great power within us. We are all far stronger than we think!
I think of the true story of Itzhak Perlman, the celebrated Israeli-American violinist and conductor. Itzhak Perlman was struck by polio as a child. He has braces on his legs, and walks with the aid of two crutches. He accesses the stage painfully, puts his crutches on the floor, undoes the clasps on his legs. Then he bends down and picks up the violin, puts it under his chin; nods to the conductor and orchestra, and begins to play the most beautiful music. On November 18, 1995 he came came on stage to give a concert at Avery Fisher Hall at Lincoln Center in New York City. But, just as he was playing the first few bars in that concert in New York, something went wrong. One of the strings on his violin suddenly broke. You could hear it snap. It went off like a gun-shot across the theatre. The orchestra stopped. People thought he would have to get up, put on his leg clasps again, and limp off-stage on his crutches for a new string, or a new violin – or wait until somebody brought him one.
But he didn’t. Instead, Perlman waited a moment, closed his eyes, and then signalled to the conductor to begin again. The orchestra began. And Perlman played with a passion, and a power, and a purity, such as they had never heard before. Of course, everyone knows that it is impossible to play a symphonic work on three strings. That night, Izaak Perlman refused to know it. You could see him modulating, changing, recomposing the piece in his head as it went along. When he finished, there was an awestruck silence in the theatre. Then people rose and cheered. There was an extraordinary outburst of applause. Everyone was on their feet, cheering and clapping – doing everything they could to show how much they appreciated what he had done. Perlman smiled, wiped the sweat from his brow, raised his bow to quiet the people. Then he said, in a quiet, reverent tone: “You know, sometimes it is your task to find out how much music you can make with what you have left!”
What a powerful line that is. It has stayed in my mind ever since I heard it. And who knows? Perhaps, there is our message, when we are talking about authentic people, with the power of God’s spirit within us. Our task, in this shaky, fast-changing, bewildering world in which we live, is to make music - at first with all that we have. And then, when that is no longer possible, to make music with what we have left. We may be sick with cancer; we may be elderly, poor, depressed, betrayed, wronged, abused, impaired, grieving or addicted. In short, in our life, we may be stuck with three strings, or maybe even two! But the challenge is to do good with what we have left. Maybe we have squandered our gifts – maybe we have become closed in on ourselves? But this morning, the call comes to us to be real, authentic, loving people. And we must resolve to be open to God’s power, and the power that we already have within us. It’s as simple as that.
Closer to home, I think of a priest-friend of mine who has just celebrated twenty-four years of sobriety. He had been an alcoholic, and now has helped many other addicts, God bless him! I’m thinking of the blind nun in Derry, who has turned out to be a wonderful spiritual director. I think of the artist Renoir, painting masterpieces with painful, arthritic hands, and saying to his apprentices: “The pain only lasts for now; but the beauty is for ever!” I think of those parents, Liz and Paddy from Naas, who lost a daughter through suicide, and who started a ‘Compassionate Friends Group’ for others who have experienced that keen loss.
The point is, we have the power within us all to be authentic, to be human, and have the power of God’s love within us. We have our weaknesses, sure, but, this morning, we are still being challenged to live, and to demonstrate the power of God’s love within us. Resolve this morning, no matter what your circumstances, to utilise that power, and the authentic music of God’s spirit within you. And when you come to receive the body of Jesus in communion, ask him:
“Lord, help me to use everything within me for good! Help me to get beyond self-pity, or being closed in on
myself. My time is short enough, help me to be authentic, and to love as much as I can, with what is left to me”.
I would like to finish with the blessing of St Brigid:
May the resolve of Brigid be like a strong oak tree of courage within you.
May you carry graciousness in the earthen vessel of yourself,
And may the music of love dance in your veins this day,
That you may be a beacon of light and joy for those around you.
And may God bless you, and keep you.
Amen.
I have to tell you that almost all the people I have ever met have been amazingly good, both inside and outside. I remember, especially, the first sick calls I ever made as a priest. One was to a mother of eight children. She was dying of cancer at the age of sixty. Like many a person before and since, it was a fate she didn’t deserve. Some of her children, not knowing about her illness, had just come home to take her on a well-earned holiday to London. She would never see London. The second call was to a young girl of fifteen. A specialist had diagnosed a very serious heart condition. She’d be dead in a matter of weeks. That was the diagnosis. When I made my call, although the girl herself was cheerful and optimistic, the house was being quietly readied for her funeral. They both died, the woman whose life was behind her, and the girl whose life had only begun.
I was struck at the time by the absolute, genuine goodness of those people. And I do remember what the Lord meant to those two sick people, and to their heartbroken families. Although they weren’t healed or cured, somehow their inner goodness - which gave the strength and power they needed at that time - was there to support them. But, you know, when we are totally human, when we are genuine in our love, then the human spirit can be indomitable. When we are like that, we imbibe some of that spiritual power that comes from God. We all have great power within us. We are all far stronger than we think!
I think of the true story of Itzhak Perlman, the celebrated Israeli-American violinist and conductor. Itzhak Perlman was struck by polio as a child. He has braces on his legs, and walks with the aid of two crutches. He accesses the stage painfully, puts his crutches on the floor, undoes the clasps on his legs. Then he bends down and picks up the violin, puts it under his chin; nods to the conductor and orchestra, and begins to play the most beautiful music. On November 18, 1995 he came came on stage to give a concert at Avery Fisher Hall at Lincoln Center in New York City. But, just as he was playing the first few bars in that concert in New York, something went wrong. One of the strings on his violin suddenly broke. You could hear it snap. It went off like a gun-shot across the theatre. The orchestra stopped. People thought he would have to get up, put on his leg clasps again, and limp off-stage on his crutches for a new string, or a new violin – or wait until somebody brought him one.
But he didn’t. Instead, Perlman waited a moment, closed his eyes, and then signalled to the conductor to begin again. The orchestra began. And Perlman played with a passion, and a power, and a purity, such as they had never heard before. Of course, everyone knows that it is impossible to play a symphonic work on three strings. That night, Izaak Perlman refused to know it. You could see him modulating, changing, recomposing the piece in his head as it went along. When he finished, there was an awestruck silence in the theatre. Then people rose and cheered. There was an extraordinary outburst of applause. Everyone was on their feet, cheering and clapping – doing everything they could to show how much they appreciated what he had done. Perlman smiled, wiped the sweat from his brow, raised his bow to quiet the people. Then he said, in a quiet, reverent tone: “You know, sometimes it is your task to find out how much music you can make with what you have left!”
What a powerful line that is. It has stayed in my mind ever since I heard it. And who knows? Perhaps, there is our message, when we are talking about authentic people, with the power of God’s spirit within us. Our task, in this shaky, fast-changing, bewildering world in which we live, is to make music - at first with all that we have. And then, when that is no longer possible, to make music with what we have left. We may be sick with cancer; we may be elderly, poor, depressed, betrayed, wronged, abused, impaired, grieving or addicted. In short, in our life, we may be stuck with three strings, or maybe even two! But the challenge is to do good with what we have left. Maybe we have squandered our gifts – maybe we have become closed in on ourselves? But this morning, the call comes to us to be real, authentic, loving people. And we must resolve to be open to God’s power, and the power that we already have within us. It’s as simple as that.
Closer to home, I think of a priest-friend of mine who has just celebrated twenty-four years of sobriety. He had been an alcoholic, and now has helped many other addicts, God bless him! I’m thinking of the blind nun in Derry, who has turned out to be a wonderful spiritual director. I think of the artist Renoir, painting masterpieces with painful, arthritic hands, and saying to his apprentices: “The pain only lasts for now; but the beauty is for ever!” I think of those parents, Liz and Paddy from Naas, who lost a daughter through suicide, and who started a ‘Compassionate Friends Group’ for others who have experienced that keen loss.
The point is, we have the power within us all to be authentic, to be human, and have the power of God’s love within us. We have our weaknesses, sure, but, this morning, we are still being challenged to live, and to demonstrate the power of God’s love within us. Resolve this morning, no matter what your circumstances, to utilise that power, and the authentic music of God’s spirit within you. And when you come to receive the body of Jesus in communion, ask him:
“Lord, help me to use everything within me for good! Help me to get beyond self-pity, or being closed in on
myself. My time is short enough, help me to be authentic, and to love as much as I can, with what is left to me”.
I would like to finish with the blessing of St Brigid:
May the resolve of Brigid be like a strong oak tree of courage within you.
May you carry graciousness in the earthen vessel of yourself,
And may the music of love dance in your veins this day,
That you may be a beacon of light and joy for those around you.
And may God bless you, and keep you.
Amen.
22nd October 2017: Mission Sunday
Dear friends, we have to admit that we live in a secular age, where religion is on the decline. In an article in Saturday’s Irish Independent, (13th Oct 2017), Michael Kelly states that, from the census of 2016, there are 3.73 million Catholics in Ireland. “A few decades ago”, he says, “almost nine out of ten Irish people attended Mass every week. Now, about a third of Irish people (33%), say they are weekly Mass-goers.” He comments that this is still a staggering figure, when you consider that in the Pope’s own diocese in Rome, weekly Mass attendance is only about 12%.
Sections of the media would have us believe that religion is soon to die out, and that there is only a hand-full of old, conservative, dyed-in- the-wool Catholics left, who are isolated and easily silenced. This is far from the truth. Many parishes, including our own parish here in Milford, are alive and active and vibrant. Maybe we do need to regain our voice and our confidence in ourselves and, as my mother used to say, “don’t be mealy-mouthed. Stand up for yourself.”
And on this Mission Sunday, we re-state our faith; and our belief in Jesus; and that his message, and his call to evangelisation, remain very strongly alive in the world. So, on this Mission Sunday, let me tell you the vibrant stories of faith of the two Dorothys.
You probably never heard of 74 year-old Dorothy Stang. Dorothy Stang was a little American Catholic nun, who found herself in one of the most remote places in the world. She was working in the jungle in northern Brazil, 30 miles from the nearest village. She spent more than 30 years there with the landless peasants, who eked out a living by subsistence farming in the rain-forest. These landless peasants had never had a voice to speak for them. They are vulnerable to exploitation from industrial barons. And illegal loggers and ranchers, with only greed and profit in their minds, are cutting huge swaths out of the rainforest. This is not only a long-term harm to the ecology of the entire planet, but also a destruction of the way of life for these rain-forest people, the poorest of the poor, who are being driven off their land by threats, intimidation and violence.
Dorothy refused to be silent at such injustice. She continued to teach the local peasants how to farm the land while, at the same time, mounting a campaign against illegal land-grabbing. She lobbied the Brazilian government – and even named those who were exploiting the people and the land. She knew her life was in danger, and so it was. One evening, as she walked to a meeting, along with two peasants from a nearby village, two gun-men emerged from the bushes. They asked if she had any weapons. She said that her only weapon was the Bible, which she opened and began to read: “Blessed are the peacemakers, and the poor in spirit.” A second later, one of the gunmen opened fire, shooting her once in the stomach. As Dorothy fell to the forest floor, the gunman fired four more shots into her head.
We are shocked and grieved by such brutality but, sadly, it has become so commonplace: the hundreds of murdered Mexicans routinely found in shallow graves; the murder of women and children that goes on in Iraq, and Afghanistan, and in Pakistan, and Syria; the drug-related killings that go on in Bolivia; and in Dublin; and in Limerick. Will it ever end? Will the ‘greed’ and ‘profit-only creed’ that has ruined our own country ever cease?
More to the point, will we raise up the ‘Dorothy Stangs’, people committed to the Gospel, bearing witness to the truth, who stand up, though they know the old saying that: “those who speak for God, who shine a light on corruption, must get used to the sight of their own blood”.
My second Dorothy is Dorothy Day. Dorothy Day lived in New York, as a young single woman, who lived a very dissolute bohemian life-style. She was into heavy drinking in the night-clubs, sleeping around, and often stumbling home in the light of dawn. Often, on her way home, she noticed the homeless poor of New York, sleeping on cardboard, and newspapers, in shop doorways. She also used to stop outside the doors of St. Joseph’s church on 6th Avenue; listening to the singing at the early Mass. And, one morning, as she describes in her autobiography The Long Loneliness, she felt a presence near her, the presence of Jesus.
She said it was like a little cat following her all the way back to her front door. You know what cats are like – you let them in once – and they stay for ever. She put her key in the front-door lock, turned around and said: “All right. all right, you can come in.” And this woman changed. She opened a ‘house of hospitality’ in New York, to give shelter, food and clothing to the poor who had seen sleeping out. She opened a series of small farms to give them work, and an experience of community living. Soon there were 30 independent little communities in existence. She became the champion of the poor and the down-and-outs of New York. and she herself found tremendous love and fulfilment there. After her death, John Paul II named her a “Servant of God”, and her cause for canonisation is now going ahead.
Yes, God’s missionary call is powerful and that missionary call goes out today to you and to me – and to the young adults of our land, who have energy, idealism and heroism in their hearts. Can we hear it? It is troubling that, according to the Irish Times, a new study indicates that young adults today are more self-centred, more narcissistic, than the previous generations. Some suggested causes for this are permissive parenting; increased materialism; and fascination with celebrities. Certainly, there’s the almost total immersion in the self-centred world of mobile phones; iPods; Blackberrys; iPads; and X-Boxes, and other solitary electronic games, making our new generation decidedly less interested in giving their time to others, or being part of something bigger than themselves.
I remember a Maynooth university college-student telling me that, unlike her sister Jane, who had gone to India a few years earlier, she herself would definitely not be going to India on the Maynooth mission outreach during the summer. “Why?” I asked. “Because Jane went out to Calcutta, and it totally destroyed her life. When she came back, she wasn’t the same person. She changed, and upset everybody”. Well, maybe that could be the best reason I ever heard for actually going! I mean, when Jane came back, she was horrified by the waste, and the extravagance she saw in Ireland: families with children getting up from the restaurant table, and leaving heaps of food behind, to be thrown out. Why did they order so much? You see, she had seen terrible starvation. She noticed the excesses, the obesity; the indifference; uncaring; holidays, when post-Leaving Cert students go to Spain, and blow €2,000 or more each, on booze and night clubs. For she had seen the most awful, grinding poverty. Yes, when Jane came back from India, she left the “me-alone” generation, and wanted to do something with her life, and become part of something larger. And that’s what today’s Gospel is about.
We can go on mission, not by moving, but by being! We can spread the Gospel by living it here. Could you be passionate again about the common good? About re-cycling? About the time you give to others? The care, the concern, the compassion you show? Of standing up for justice, and what is decent? At least, trying to do more good than harm in your life?
Yes, the Gospel survives and spreads, when it is lived. And all of you present here, this morning, are doing that already and you are doing it well. And let’s be challenged a bit more by goodness, by the theme of today’s Gospel. You see, our witness is important, because we may be the nearest that some people will ever come to the Gospel.
I’ll finish with Edgar Guest's “I’d rather see a sermon”:
“I’d rather see a sermon, than hear one any day,
I’d rather one should walk with me, than merely point the way.
The eye’s a better pupil, more willing than the ear;
Fine counsel is confusing, but example’s always clear;
And the lecture you deliver, may be very wise and true;
But I’d rather get my lessons from observing what you do.
For I might misunderstand you, and the high advice you give;
But there’s no misunderstanding how you act, and how you live.”
Sections of the media would have us believe that religion is soon to die out, and that there is only a hand-full of old, conservative, dyed-in- the-wool Catholics left, who are isolated and easily silenced. This is far from the truth. Many parishes, including our own parish here in Milford, are alive and active and vibrant. Maybe we do need to regain our voice and our confidence in ourselves and, as my mother used to say, “don’t be mealy-mouthed. Stand up for yourself.”
And on this Mission Sunday, we re-state our faith; and our belief in Jesus; and that his message, and his call to evangelisation, remain very strongly alive in the world. So, on this Mission Sunday, let me tell you the vibrant stories of faith of the two Dorothys.
You probably never heard of 74 year-old Dorothy Stang. Dorothy Stang was a little American Catholic nun, who found herself in one of the most remote places in the world. She was working in the jungle in northern Brazil, 30 miles from the nearest village. She spent more than 30 years there with the landless peasants, who eked out a living by subsistence farming in the rain-forest. These landless peasants had never had a voice to speak for them. They are vulnerable to exploitation from industrial barons. And illegal loggers and ranchers, with only greed and profit in their minds, are cutting huge swaths out of the rainforest. This is not only a long-term harm to the ecology of the entire planet, but also a destruction of the way of life for these rain-forest people, the poorest of the poor, who are being driven off their land by threats, intimidation and violence.
Dorothy refused to be silent at such injustice. She continued to teach the local peasants how to farm the land while, at the same time, mounting a campaign against illegal land-grabbing. She lobbied the Brazilian government – and even named those who were exploiting the people and the land. She knew her life was in danger, and so it was. One evening, as she walked to a meeting, along with two peasants from a nearby village, two gun-men emerged from the bushes. They asked if she had any weapons. She said that her only weapon was the Bible, which she opened and began to read: “Blessed are the peacemakers, and the poor in spirit.” A second later, one of the gunmen opened fire, shooting her once in the stomach. As Dorothy fell to the forest floor, the gunman fired four more shots into her head.
We are shocked and grieved by such brutality but, sadly, it has become so commonplace: the hundreds of murdered Mexicans routinely found in shallow graves; the murder of women and children that goes on in Iraq, and Afghanistan, and in Pakistan, and Syria; the drug-related killings that go on in Bolivia; and in Dublin; and in Limerick. Will it ever end? Will the ‘greed’ and ‘profit-only creed’ that has ruined our own country ever cease?
More to the point, will we raise up the ‘Dorothy Stangs’, people committed to the Gospel, bearing witness to the truth, who stand up, though they know the old saying that: “those who speak for God, who shine a light on corruption, must get used to the sight of their own blood”.
My second Dorothy is Dorothy Day. Dorothy Day lived in New York, as a young single woman, who lived a very dissolute bohemian life-style. She was into heavy drinking in the night-clubs, sleeping around, and often stumbling home in the light of dawn. Often, on her way home, she noticed the homeless poor of New York, sleeping on cardboard, and newspapers, in shop doorways. She also used to stop outside the doors of St. Joseph’s church on 6th Avenue; listening to the singing at the early Mass. And, one morning, as she describes in her autobiography The Long Loneliness, she felt a presence near her, the presence of Jesus.
She said it was like a little cat following her all the way back to her front door. You know what cats are like – you let them in once – and they stay for ever. She put her key in the front-door lock, turned around and said: “All right. all right, you can come in.” And this woman changed. She opened a ‘house of hospitality’ in New York, to give shelter, food and clothing to the poor who had seen sleeping out. She opened a series of small farms to give them work, and an experience of community living. Soon there were 30 independent little communities in existence. She became the champion of the poor and the down-and-outs of New York. and she herself found tremendous love and fulfilment there. After her death, John Paul II named her a “Servant of God”, and her cause for canonisation is now going ahead.
Yes, God’s missionary call is powerful and that missionary call goes out today to you and to me – and to the young adults of our land, who have energy, idealism and heroism in their hearts. Can we hear it? It is troubling that, according to the Irish Times, a new study indicates that young adults today are more self-centred, more narcissistic, than the previous generations. Some suggested causes for this are permissive parenting; increased materialism; and fascination with celebrities. Certainly, there’s the almost total immersion in the self-centred world of mobile phones; iPods; Blackberrys; iPads; and X-Boxes, and other solitary electronic games, making our new generation decidedly less interested in giving their time to others, or being part of something bigger than themselves.
I remember a Maynooth university college-student telling me that, unlike her sister Jane, who had gone to India a few years earlier, she herself would definitely not be going to India on the Maynooth mission outreach during the summer. “Why?” I asked. “Because Jane went out to Calcutta, and it totally destroyed her life. When she came back, she wasn’t the same person. She changed, and upset everybody”. Well, maybe that could be the best reason I ever heard for actually going! I mean, when Jane came back, she was horrified by the waste, and the extravagance she saw in Ireland: families with children getting up from the restaurant table, and leaving heaps of food behind, to be thrown out. Why did they order so much? You see, she had seen terrible starvation. She noticed the excesses, the obesity; the indifference; uncaring; holidays, when post-Leaving Cert students go to Spain, and blow €2,000 or more each, on booze and night clubs. For she had seen the most awful, grinding poverty. Yes, when Jane came back from India, she left the “me-alone” generation, and wanted to do something with her life, and become part of something larger. And that’s what today’s Gospel is about.
We can go on mission, not by moving, but by being! We can spread the Gospel by living it here. Could you be passionate again about the common good? About re-cycling? About the time you give to others? The care, the concern, the compassion you show? Of standing up for justice, and what is decent? At least, trying to do more good than harm in your life?
Yes, the Gospel survives and spreads, when it is lived. And all of you present here, this morning, are doing that already and you are doing it well. And let’s be challenged a bit more by goodness, by the theme of today’s Gospel. You see, our witness is important, because we may be the nearest that some people will ever come to the Gospel.
I’ll finish with Edgar Guest's “I’d rather see a sermon”:
“I’d rather see a sermon, than hear one any day,
I’d rather one should walk with me, than merely point the way.
The eye’s a better pupil, more willing than the ear;
Fine counsel is confusing, but example’s always clear;
And the lecture you deliver, may be very wise and true;
But I’d rather get my lessons from observing what you do.
For I might misunderstand you, and the high advice you give;
But there’s no misunderstanding how you act, and how you live.”
15th October 2017: Invitation to the Wedding Feast
“Invite everyone you find to the wedding banquet.” Mt 22:9-10.
I was listening to Joe Duffy’s radio call-in programme during the summer. He was talking about weddings – and the cost of them. One caller said she had been able to plan her wedding for under €8,000. She did this by making her own invitation cards; by getting one of her family to take the photos with a digital camera; by having a family member drive her to the church; by having a buffet meal, instead of a formal sit-down one; and by borrowing a wedding dress! Then another woman came on, and she said that her wedding was going to cost over €35,000 with a wedding organiser and all stops being pulled out; for starters, her wedding dress was costing around €4,000!
Weddings can be a stressful time. Have you ever seen the TV show “Bridezilla”, which pokes fun at the demands certain brides place on their families, and on wedding guests? Often, the bride ends up falling out with family and friends in her quest to organise the “perfect” wedding! And what about “Don’t tell the bride” – where every bride looking for the “perfect” wedding comes to have no “say” in it at all.
I wonder how you feel about weddings? Weddings are becoming very popular again – and most people, I think, like going to a wedding. However, some people dread the long wait before the meal begins; and also the long wait for the speeches to end! There’s also a trend today, where some people don’t go to the wedding proper, or to the meal, but turn up later for what they call the “afters”.
But by and large, people go to weddings, because they are occasions of joy and happiness. The gospel today is
using a lot of wedding and marriage images. Both readings speak of the “banquet”, and the “wedding feast” – with emphasis on celebration, and the presence of great love. Yes, the note that’s present in today’s readings is the note of joy and it mentions “succulent food” and “well-strained wines”.
I was recalling an old parish priest years ago, who presided at wedding dinners. Before he would say the grace before meals, he would first look around at the tables – and if the signs were good - of great food ahead, and excellent wine waiting, he would start his prayer by saying: “O bountiful and gracious Father..” But if he looked around, and the food seemed a bit sparse, with jugs of water, or orange, instead of wine, he would start his grace before meals: “O merciful Jesus…”
But definitely, as regards the images in today’s readings, we must say: “O bountiful and gracious Father” - because the joy is jumping out at you. But there is another reason for joy this morning, for we are reminded that we are a part of Christ’s “gathering” here. He is our bridegroom, and that is a reason for joy. We have the privilege of our close relationship with Jesus. It matters to us that he’s here, that he’s risen, that he makes sense of my life. There is no security like the security of true love – and Christ’s love is always there for us. He never deserts us.
There’s one other thing that Matthew is saying to us. Did you notice it at the end of the Gospel? It had to do with the man who had no wedding garment! Contrary to what we might. think, the wedding garment is not about how we are dressed. Rather, it’s about how we are driven - and I don’t mean in the long white stretch-limousine! No, it’s about our motivation, our set of values; the way we live. The wedding garment is not about externals. It’s the symbol of a good life; a life that’s lived justly, and generously and lovingly, in harmony with the world. And we are all invited to wear that wedding garment, in the banquet of life, no matter what way we are.
You may have heard the story of the old German couple who got an invite to a wedding in Ireland. On the bottom of the invite was “R.S.V.P”, which we all know is French for “Répondez s’il vous plait!” (please reply). Well, the old German couple wondered what it meant. And, in the middle of the night, the old German man sat up suddenly and cried: “Ah ha! I know vhat this R.S.V.P. means! It’s: “Remember ze vedding present!”
Yes. we have all been invited; and the Lord expects a response! And it’s not a question of RSVP before a certain date. It’s a question of RSVP for a life-time!
Being a guest at a wedding today is a costly business. There’s the cost of a gift; plus the cost of a new outfit; and maybe staying over; and the extras we might spend on a few drinks! Being a follower of Christ is a costly business too! It requires the gift of oneself – and the wearing of the wedding garment during all of our lives.
Perhaps the best description of the proper wardrobe for a Christian is given by St. Paul! If we wear the clothes that he describes, we will never be thrown out of a banquet, and not even out of the “afters”! For St Paul says: “God loves you, and you should be clothed in sincere compassion, in kindness and humility, gentleness and patience…. over all these clothes, to keep them together, and complete them, put on love” (Col:3: 12-15).
Dear friends, may we wear our wedding garment with joy and with great love. may it “see us out” into the kingdom of heaven!
I would like to finish with the words of: “love changes everything” by Michael Ball:
“Love, love changes everything,
hands and faces, earth and sky,
love, love changes everything,
how you live and how you die;
love can make the summer fly,
or a night seem like a life-time.
yes, love, love changes everything,
now I tremble at your name.
nothing in the world will ever be the same.”
Amen.
8th October 2017:"Don't Worry"
‘Never worry about anything……’ Phil 4: 6-9.
I was recalling an old song called ‘Three Little Birds’. It was sung by Bob Marley, the Jamaican singer and song-writer. It went:
Singin' don't worry about a thing
'Cause every little thing gonna be alright, I won't worry
Singin', don't worry about a thing
'Cause every little thing gonna be alright.
The two biggest worriers I have ever met were a parish priest in Galway and another man who was obsessed with his new car.
I was talking to that old parish priest, and the topic came around to ‘preaching’. He said: ‘Do you know something, if I hadn’t my Sunday sermon prepared by Thursday, I’d get weak. You see, I get it ready, and then I go walking out the roads and learn it off by heart. Then, as soon as the last Mass is over on the Sunday, I say to myself: ‘If only I had my next Sunday over me now, I’d be alright’. He was a real worrier. His 52 Sundays were a daisy-chain of worry. As soon as one ordeal was overcome, he replaced it with another. His mind was never at peace.
My second worrier is obsessed with his car; he washes and polishes it every day, and then puts it back into the garage. When he goes shopping, he parks it well away from other cars, because he worries in case someone might dent it, or scratch it with a trolley. He prefers not to drive in the rain. No way will he let anyone else sit into his car, let alone drive it.
Now don’t get me wrong – it is lovely having a nice car, and keeping it clean. What I’m talking about is an obsession that causes constant ‘worry’. You know, the word ‘worry’ comes from an old Anglo-Saxon word meaning ‘to choke’. While we all need to be attentive to life’s concerns, obsessive worrying ‘chokes’ the joy out of life.
Are you a worrier? Would you say you’re a worrier? To some extent, we all are. If we mean by ‘worry’ that we concern ourselves about the children, or grand-parents, or illness, or a job, or exams, or having enough money then, of course we can worry – and we’re right to worry. But when I ask: ‘Are you a worrier?’, I really mean: ‘Do you worry unduly? Do you worry too much? Do you worry in a negative, destructive kind of way?’
All sorts of clever things have been written about ‘worry’. They remind us of the futility and the pointlessness of worrying. Things like: ‘Never trouble trouble, till trouble troubles you,’ or ‘Today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday, and all is well’ or ‘The worried cow would live till now, if she had saved her breath; but she feared her hay wouldn’t last all day, so she ‘moo-ed’ herself to death.’
We nod our head in appreciation of these – we think they’re very good, very true and very clever. They may help us to get things in perspective that little bit better, but they don’t stop us worrying, especially those of us who are that way inclined. Most of us worry too much. If some heavenly computer could tell us how many hours, how many days we have lost or spoiled because of worry, we would probably be astounded.
Here are a few worries that you might identify with: worries, which have proven to be quietly destructive:
Psychologists tell us that ninety per cent of our worries, or our fears, never happen. Winston Churchill once said: ‘When I look back on all these worries, I remember the story of the old man who said on his death-bed that he had had a lot of trouble in his life – most of which had never happened.’ I believe that our worst worries often go hand-in-hand with our fears. What we fear most, no matter how irrational it is, can constantly generate great worry, which can leave us mentally paralysed, and incapable of doing anything.
You may remember the cruel story of the poor man in India, who is thrown into a prison-cell late in the evening. And, for a laugh, the jailors tell him to beware of the cobra snake, in there with him all night. He stands in the corner, petrified, and almost afraid to breathe. As the dawn breaks, he begins to make out something coiled up in the far corner. Then he hears the jailors laughing. And as the sun rises, he realises that what is lying there is only an old bit of rope.
Dear friends, in this Mass this morning, we bring all our worries and all our fears to Jesus; we leave them over to him; and we welcome ‘peace of mind’ and ‘tranquillity of heart’ and we can relax, for most of our worries will not happen – and what we may have been afraid of all our lives may turn out to be no more than an old harmless piece of rope.
I want to finish with a little poem by Christine Hamilton. It is called: ‘Don’t worry’
Don’t worry’
Don’t tell me not to worry;
it only causes stress;
don’t tell me not to worry;
it doesn’t make me worry less.
the fear of coming suffering
guides me through the night;
and though you have assured me,
it does not ease my plight.
Come close to me, dear Lord,
tell me not to worry more;
Please come home to me, dear Lord,
because it will only stop
when you come through my door.
Amen
I was recalling an old song called ‘Three Little Birds’. It was sung by Bob Marley, the Jamaican singer and song-writer. It went:
Singin' don't worry about a thing
'Cause every little thing gonna be alright, I won't worry
Singin', don't worry about a thing
'Cause every little thing gonna be alright.
The two biggest worriers I have ever met were a parish priest in Galway and another man who was obsessed with his new car.
I was talking to that old parish priest, and the topic came around to ‘preaching’. He said: ‘Do you know something, if I hadn’t my Sunday sermon prepared by Thursday, I’d get weak. You see, I get it ready, and then I go walking out the roads and learn it off by heart. Then, as soon as the last Mass is over on the Sunday, I say to myself: ‘If only I had my next Sunday over me now, I’d be alright’. He was a real worrier. His 52 Sundays were a daisy-chain of worry. As soon as one ordeal was overcome, he replaced it with another. His mind was never at peace.
My second worrier is obsessed with his car; he washes and polishes it every day, and then puts it back into the garage. When he goes shopping, he parks it well away from other cars, because he worries in case someone might dent it, or scratch it with a trolley. He prefers not to drive in the rain. No way will he let anyone else sit into his car, let alone drive it.
Now don’t get me wrong – it is lovely having a nice car, and keeping it clean. What I’m talking about is an obsession that causes constant ‘worry’. You know, the word ‘worry’ comes from an old Anglo-Saxon word meaning ‘to choke’. While we all need to be attentive to life’s concerns, obsessive worrying ‘chokes’ the joy out of life.
Are you a worrier? Would you say you’re a worrier? To some extent, we all are. If we mean by ‘worry’ that we concern ourselves about the children, or grand-parents, or illness, or a job, or exams, or having enough money then, of course we can worry – and we’re right to worry. But when I ask: ‘Are you a worrier?’, I really mean: ‘Do you worry unduly? Do you worry too much? Do you worry in a negative, destructive kind of way?’
All sorts of clever things have been written about ‘worry’. They remind us of the futility and the pointlessness of worrying. Things like: ‘Never trouble trouble, till trouble troubles you,’ or ‘Today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday, and all is well’ or ‘The worried cow would live till now, if she had saved her breath; but she feared her hay wouldn’t last all day, so she ‘moo-ed’ herself to death.’
We nod our head in appreciation of these – we think they’re very good, very true and very clever. They may help us to get things in perspective that little bit better, but they don’t stop us worrying, especially those of us who are that way inclined. Most of us worry too much. If some heavenly computer could tell us how many hours, how many days we have lost or spoiled because of worry, we would probably be astounded.
Here are a few worries that you might identify with: worries, which have proven to be quietly destructive:
- Did you hear about the mother who refuses to attend any of her son’s football games in case she might see him being injured? Her absence doesn’t protect him, and her worries could be stealing valuable closeness and memories from her.
- Did you hear about the man who worries constantly about his wife’s faithfulness. She has never given him any reason to doubt her; she is an attractive woman who comes in contact with many men through her work. But his constant worries, fuelled by his own insecurities, destroys trust between them and the marriage eventually breaks down – a victim of worry.
- And what about the young woman who has been tremendously healthy over 24 years, but hasn’t enjoyed a day of it for she reads medical journals constantly, and imagines herself having every possible symptom. She constantly buys medication. Finally, her many years of imagined illnesses lead to a real one.
- And what about the Meath farmer, who has done really well on his land? But to hear him tell it, he is constantly living on the edge of disaster. If the crops and harvest are good, he would fear low prices at the market. If the weather is bad, he would fear crop failure. This poor man endured misery in farming, over 40 years.
Psychologists tell us that ninety per cent of our worries, or our fears, never happen. Winston Churchill once said: ‘When I look back on all these worries, I remember the story of the old man who said on his death-bed that he had had a lot of trouble in his life – most of which had never happened.’ I believe that our worst worries often go hand-in-hand with our fears. What we fear most, no matter how irrational it is, can constantly generate great worry, which can leave us mentally paralysed, and incapable of doing anything.
You may remember the cruel story of the poor man in India, who is thrown into a prison-cell late in the evening. And, for a laugh, the jailors tell him to beware of the cobra snake, in there with him all night. He stands in the corner, petrified, and almost afraid to breathe. As the dawn breaks, he begins to make out something coiled up in the far corner. Then he hears the jailors laughing. And as the sun rises, he realises that what is lying there is only an old bit of rope.
Dear friends, in this Mass this morning, we bring all our worries and all our fears to Jesus; we leave them over to him; and we welcome ‘peace of mind’ and ‘tranquillity of heart’ and we can relax, for most of our worries will not happen – and what we may have been afraid of all our lives may turn out to be no more than an old harmless piece of rope.
I want to finish with a little poem by Christine Hamilton. It is called: ‘Don’t worry’
Don’t worry’
Don’t tell me not to worry;
it only causes stress;
don’t tell me not to worry;
it doesn’t make me worry less.
the fear of coming suffering
guides me through the night;
and though you have assured me,
it does not ease my plight.
Come close to me, dear Lord,
tell me not to worry more;
Please come home to me, dear Lord,
because it will only stop
when you come through my door.
Amen
1st October 2017:"He thought better of it"
There’s a character in today’s Gospel story who could easily escape our notice and, if that were to happen, it would suit him down to the ground! He’s your “cross me’ heart”, “as sure as God”, “you can count on me” kind of character. He’s all promise, and no delivery. His word is anything but his bond. He’ll collect you on the dot, he tells you, and the dot will disappear into the day. He’ll start that work on your roof, first thing on Monday, and you wonder - which month? He’ll have that money back to you “in no time” – but “no time” never comes. He’s the type of unreliable and inauthentic type of person that you often meet. He’ll tell you, and promise you, anything - because he doesn’t mean a word of it.
But did you notice the other character in the Gospel story - the one who, at first, decided not to help, but then “thought better of it”, and did? He’s our authentic man, and it’s that message of “thinking better of it” that comes through to us this morning.
When you realise that you have refused to love; and have opted out of helping; and somehow realise that you need to “change your mind” in order to live more truly, then, you are getting close to this second man in the Gospel story.
What we may have done in the past, or what has happened to us in the past, are things we may need to “think better of” now. When we open the door to the past, we have to face the reality that “what is done, is done.” That’s it. What we did, you and I, the hurtful things, the heart-breaking things, the arrogant things, the unjust things – they’re done, and more often than not, they can’t be undone. The regret is there, and it can hang around us like a fog in the valley of the present.
The only way to think "better of it", is to try to forgive yourself; to ask the Lord for forgiveness and then try to let it go. And if something has happened to you in the past that you keep holding on to, so that it’s destroying your present life, maybe it is time, this morning, to think "better of it", stop living in the past,ask for healing, and try to move on.
There’s a young couple in one of Thomas Hardy’s novels, who had a little daughter called Elizabeth, and little Elizabeth died. They missed Elizabeth so much that they agreed, this couple, that if they ever had another child, and if the child turned out to be a little girl, they would name her Elizabeth. They did have another child and, yes, it turned out to be a little girl, and they named her Elizabeth. It didn’t help! They realised that they could have ten daughters, and name every one of them Elizabeth, and they would still miss little Elizabeth.
Some things in life cannot be fixed. Some things have to be taken and accepted, and we have to go on. Well-known author and pastor, Frederick Buechner, writes sadly of his mother, who died a very lonely death as an old woman. Let me read his words about his mother: “Being beautiful was her business, her art, her delight – but when she lost her beauty, she was like a millionaire who runs out of money. She took her name out of the phone book. With her looks gone, she felt she had nothing else to offer the world. So, what she did was to simply check out of the world, the way Greta Garbo and Marlene Dietrich checked out of it – never venturing out except in disguise. My mother holed herself up in her apartment, then in just one room of her apartment… then, in just one chair in that room, and, finally, in the bed, where one morning, a few summers ago, perhaps in her sleep, she died at last.”
How sad! After she lost her beauty and her youth, Buechner’s mother saw no other possibilities. She retired back, into the past, retreated from the present, and missed out on the future.
Don’t let this happen to you! We are, first and foremost, children of God, and temples of God’s spirit – and nothing less. We are called to an authentic life of love - for ourselves - and for other people. We value our family more than things. For if you identify yourself with success, or with your body, or your good looks – if you identify yourself with riches, and with money, what will happen to you when you lose those things?
The Gospel this morning would counsel us to get our priorities right. We are to love people and use things. If you value things more than people, then this morning’s Gospel is telling you to “think better of it”.
I want to finish with a story from years ago, about a lay-missionary in China who was under house-arrest – and had been under house-arrest for years – he, and his wife and two children. One day, a soldier came in and said: “You can all return to Ireland. But you may take only 100 kilos weight with you.” They had been there for years.100 kilos! What to take? So they got out the weighing scales - and then the arguments started: “Must have this vase, and this rug, and this type-writer - it’s almost brand new. Must have these books – must have this! Must have that! And so, they weighed everything and took it off the scales, weighed it again, and took it off, until finally, right on the dot, they got 100 kilos.
The soldier came the next day and asked: “Ready to go?” They said: “Yes”. He said: “Did you weigh everything?” They said: “Yes”! “Did you weigh the children?” “No, we didn’t!” “Weigh the children”, he said, “they are part of the 100 kilos too!” And in a moment, off went the type-writer, off went the books, off went the vase and the rug - into the rubbish bin! Yes, into the rubbish bin! Those things that clutter our lives, and often divide us – put into the rubbish bin! The most valuable of all are our children and family.
This morning, the time has come to put things into perspective. It’s our “Yes” that Jesus is seeking in today’s Gospel. When you need to leave the past behind, when you need to live now, when you have to choose in favour of your wife or your husband or your partner or your family or others you love, or the environment, the Lord is asking us to say “Yes”! “Yes” to decisions where we need to think ‘better’ of our previous ways of going! And, unlike the first fellow in the Gospel story, we do intend to carry it out!
I’ll finish with this short poem called: “Just say yes” by Zoella.
“Just say “Yes” to life;
fear can hold you no longer;
let go of worry;
and let go of anger;
live with your heart;
and side-step the danger;
just say “yes” to love;
it will grow sweeter and stronger.”
Amen.
But did you notice the other character in the Gospel story - the one who, at first, decided not to help, but then “thought better of it”, and did? He’s our authentic man, and it’s that message of “thinking better of it” that comes through to us this morning.
When you realise that you have refused to love; and have opted out of helping; and somehow realise that you need to “change your mind” in order to live more truly, then, you are getting close to this second man in the Gospel story.
What we may have done in the past, or what has happened to us in the past, are things we may need to “think better of” now. When we open the door to the past, we have to face the reality that “what is done, is done.” That’s it. What we did, you and I, the hurtful things, the heart-breaking things, the arrogant things, the unjust things – they’re done, and more often than not, they can’t be undone. The regret is there, and it can hang around us like a fog in the valley of the present.
The only way to think "better of it", is to try to forgive yourself; to ask the Lord for forgiveness and then try to let it go. And if something has happened to you in the past that you keep holding on to, so that it’s destroying your present life, maybe it is time, this morning, to think "better of it", stop living in the past,ask for healing, and try to move on.
There’s a young couple in one of Thomas Hardy’s novels, who had a little daughter called Elizabeth, and little Elizabeth died. They missed Elizabeth so much that they agreed, this couple, that if they ever had another child, and if the child turned out to be a little girl, they would name her Elizabeth. They did have another child and, yes, it turned out to be a little girl, and they named her Elizabeth. It didn’t help! They realised that they could have ten daughters, and name every one of them Elizabeth, and they would still miss little Elizabeth.
Some things in life cannot be fixed. Some things have to be taken and accepted, and we have to go on. Well-known author and pastor, Frederick Buechner, writes sadly of his mother, who died a very lonely death as an old woman. Let me read his words about his mother: “Being beautiful was her business, her art, her delight – but when she lost her beauty, she was like a millionaire who runs out of money. She took her name out of the phone book. With her looks gone, she felt she had nothing else to offer the world. So, what she did was to simply check out of the world, the way Greta Garbo and Marlene Dietrich checked out of it – never venturing out except in disguise. My mother holed herself up in her apartment, then in just one room of her apartment… then, in just one chair in that room, and, finally, in the bed, where one morning, a few summers ago, perhaps in her sleep, she died at last.”
How sad! After she lost her beauty and her youth, Buechner’s mother saw no other possibilities. She retired back, into the past, retreated from the present, and missed out on the future.
Don’t let this happen to you! We are, first and foremost, children of God, and temples of God’s spirit – and nothing less. We are called to an authentic life of love - for ourselves - and for other people. We value our family more than things. For if you identify yourself with success, or with your body, or your good looks – if you identify yourself with riches, and with money, what will happen to you when you lose those things?
The Gospel this morning would counsel us to get our priorities right. We are to love people and use things. If you value things more than people, then this morning’s Gospel is telling you to “think better of it”.
I want to finish with a story from years ago, about a lay-missionary in China who was under house-arrest – and had been under house-arrest for years – he, and his wife and two children. One day, a soldier came in and said: “You can all return to Ireland. But you may take only 100 kilos weight with you.” They had been there for years.100 kilos! What to take? So they got out the weighing scales - and then the arguments started: “Must have this vase, and this rug, and this type-writer - it’s almost brand new. Must have these books – must have this! Must have that! And so, they weighed everything and took it off the scales, weighed it again, and took it off, until finally, right on the dot, they got 100 kilos.
The soldier came the next day and asked: “Ready to go?” They said: “Yes”. He said: “Did you weigh everything?” They said: “Yes”! “Did you weigh the children?” “No, we didn’t!” “Weigh the children”, he said, “they are part of the 100 kilos too!” And in a moment, off went the type-writer, off went the books, off went the vase and the rug - into the rubbish bin! Yes, into the rubbish bin! Those things that clutter our lives, and often divide us – put into the rubbish bin! The most valuable of all are our children and family.
This morning, the time has come to put things into perspective. It’s our “Yes” that Jesus is seeking in today’s Gospel. When you need to leave the past behind, when you need to live now, when you have to choose in favour of your wife or your husband or your partner or your family or others you love, or the environment, the Lord is asking us to say “Yes”! “Yes” to decisions where we need to think ‘better’ of our previous ways of going! And, unlike the first fellow in the Gospel story, we do intend to carry it out!
I’ll finish with this short poem called: “Just say yes” by Zoella.
“Just say “Yes” to life;
fear can hold you no longer;
let go of worry;
and let go of anger;
live with your heart;
and side-step the danger;
just say “yes” to love;
it will grow sweeter and stronger.”
Amen.
24th September 2017: Latecomers - the Fondness of God
There is a story told about Paddy, who is always late. He makes a date with Mary to pick her up at her house. “I will pick you up at eight, Mary, and be ready!” Mary is ready at 7.30pm, and waits for Paddy. When the time reaches 9.30pm, Mary decides to change out of her dress and shoes, and get into her pyjamas, reconciling herself to a night in front of the telly. The door-bell rings at 10, and Mary goes out to the door. There stands Paddy, who says: “I am two hours late, and Mary, you are still not ready!”
The surprising message of the gospel this morning is that the Lord doesn’t seem to be interested in whether we are late coming to him, or not, That he loves us all of the time, before and after.
Many years ago, David Frost was interviewing the late Cardinal Heenan of Westminster on TV, and he asked the Cardinal, what part of the gospel he found most difficult to accept. The Cardinal thought for a moment, and then said that the part of the gospel he found it most difficult to accept, was that God loved him all the time, just as he is – and the sheer goodness of God in constantly loving sinners, before, and during, and after.
We can see what the Cardinal was getting at. Most of us have no problem in believing that God loves us all the time when we’re good. We find it difficult to believe that God loves us when we are lost in sin. For so much of our experience in life has been that love is conditional: “I’ll love you if... I’ll love you if you’ll do this, or say that, or give me gifts; or if you’ll b faithful; “I’ll love you when you give up the drink, when you are in time for your dinner, or whatever.”
We find it difficult to imagine that anyone could love us just as we are. And some of us, because of the way we were reared, or the sermons we had to listen to, or the attitudes we picked up from those around us - some of us would find it particularly difficult to imagine that God loves us just as we are – and that nothing we could ever do would lessen the love God has for us.
So, we saw God as a judge, waiting to hand down sentence on us. Or we saw him as a teacher, always checking us, and marking our lives, as if they were an examination paper! Or as a God, as Nancy Griffith says in her famous song, God always “watching us from a distance”. But when we read about the God in the gospels; when we look at what Jesus did and said, we find a completely different God. Not a God who says: “I’ll love you if… or when…” but a kind and caring and compassionate God, who says to us: “I’ll love you regardless….”
An American priest, some years ago, was on a walking tour of Ireland. One day he took shelter from the rain, and struck up a conversation with an old man. And for some reason the conversation turned to prayer. The old man told the priest that he often had conversations with God; he found it easy to talk to God, because, he said: “You know, God is very fond of me.”
If I had a magic wand this morning – if I had one wish that I would want to come true -my wish would be that every single one of us here this morning, would experience what that old man had obviously experienced: the fondness of God – the belief,the knowledge that God is very fond of us.
You see, when it comes to love, God doesn’t look at us like an accountant does. He doesn’t look at the obligations we have kept or broken; he doesn’t look at the amount of graces we may have built up, like some form of pension scheme; and he doesn’t seem to care whether we come early, or whether we come late, as in today’s Gospel. He loves us like he loves the others. He just loves us regardless!
I remember some years ago, we had a student who died of an epileptic seizure, in the university apartments in Maynooth. Her name was Aoife Begley. It is shattering to see a young girl like that, lying dead on the bed, and the foam still coming out of her mouth and her nose. Her mother, Mary, was a lovely woman, and a woman close to God. I remember visiting Mary, some months after the funeral. And she was telling me that she didn’t so much say her prayers, as much as she had her chats with God. The death of her daughter, Aoife, was a terrible cross for her, and I remember her saying to me: “I’ve been scolding God for what happened to Aoife.”
The word “scolding”, like “fondness”, are very Irish words that have to do with a great closeness, and that experience of closeness is what the God of today’s gospel calls us into. God is fond of us; God is close to us; God loves us, regardless of who we are, or what we’ve done.
Even if we are late-comers, he still gives us the same as those who have carried the heat and burdens of the day, or of the law. For the gospel is peopled with life’s late-comers, and with all those who find themselves slowed down with some form of disability. There are those who are physically disabled; or spiritually crippled; or emotionally stunted; or economically tethered. They are the prodigal sons and daughters; the black sheep of the family; the outcasts; the overlooked; the ones people feel they can safely ignore or shun; those who have been hurt or undone by life.
When we are like this, Jesus has a clear prejudice in our favour – because he doesn’t work from the arithmetic of the calculator, but from the fulness of his own heart. And that fulness of God’s heart is here for you this morning. Can you take it in to yourself? Can you open yourself up to this “being loved regardless”?? For the message is: that God is very fond of you, and his love is always available to you. It was available to the prodigal son; it was available to the lepers; and the paralytic; and to the sinful woman, and to the late-comers in today’s Gospel!
And it’s available, all the time, and everywhere, for me and for you. Please, please, take it into your heart!
I want to finish with the prayer of the Royalist commander, General Sir Jacob Astley on the eve of the Battle of Edgehill in 1642:
“O Lord, you know how busy I must be this day;
you know the many things I will encounter.
If I forget you, Lord,
I know that you will not forget me.
For you love me, regardless.”
Amen.
The surprising message of the gospel this morning is that the Lord doesn’t seem to be interested in whether we are late coming to him, or not, That he loves us all of the time, before and after.
Many years ago, David Frost was interviewing the late Cardinal Heenan of Westminster on TV, and he asked the Cardinal, what part of the gospel he found most difficult to accept. The Cardinal thought for a moment, and then said that the part of the gospel he found it most difficult to accept, was that God loved him all the time, just as he is – and the sheer goodness of God in constantly loving sinners, before, and during, and after.
We can see what the Cardinal was getting at. Most of us have no problem in believing that God loves us all the time when we’re good. We find it difficult to believe that God loves us when we are lost in sin. For so much of our experience in life has been that love is conditional: “I’ll love you if... I’ll love you if you’ll do this, or say that, or give me gifts; or if you’ll b faithful; “I’ll love you when you give up the drink, when you are in time for your dinner, or whatever.”
We find it difficult to imagine that anyone could love us just as we are. And some of us, because of the way we were reared, or the sermons we had to listen to, or the attitudes we picked up from those around us - some of us would find it particularly difficult to imagine that God loves us just as we are – and that nothing we could ever do would lessen the love God has for us.
So, we saw God as a judge, waiting to hand down sentence on us. Or we saw him as a teacher, always checking us, and marking our lives, as if they were an examination paper! Or as a God, as Nancy Griffith says in her famous song, God always “watching us from a distance”. But when we read about the God in the gospels; when we look at what Jesus did and said, we find a completely different God. Not a God who says: “I’ll love you if… or when…” but a kind and caring and compassionate God, who says to us: “I’ll love you regardless….”
An American priest, some years ago, was on a walking tour of Ireland. One day he took shelter from the rain, and struck up a conversation with an old man. And for some reason the conversation turned to prayer. The old man told the priest that he often had conversations with God; he found it easy to talk to God, because, he said: “You know, God is very fond of me.”
If I had a magic wand this morning – if I had one wish that I would want to come true -my wish would be that every single one of us here this morning, would experience what that old man had obviously experienced: the fondness of God – the belief,the knowledge that God is very fond of us.
You see, when it comes to love, God doesn’t look at us like an accountant does. He doesn’t look at the obligations we have kept or broken; he doesn’t look at the amount of graces we may have built up, like some form of pension scheme; and he doesn’t seem to care whether we come early, or whether we come late, as in today’s Gospel. He loves us like he loves the others. He just loves us regardless!
I remember some years ago, we had a student who died of an epileptic seizure, in the university apartments in Maynooth. Her name was Aoife Begley. It is shattering to see a young girl like that, lying dead on the bed, and the foam still coming out of her mouth and her nose. Her mother, Mary, was a lovely woman, and a woman close to God. I remember visiting Mary, some months after the funeral. And she was telling me that she didn’t so much say her prayers, as much as she had her chats with God. The death of her daughter, Aoife, was a terrible cross for her, and I remember her saying to me: “I’ve been scolding God for what happened to Aoife.”
The word “scolding”, like “fondness”, are very Irish words that have to do with a great closeness, and that experience of closeness is what the God of today’s gospel calls us into. God is fond of us; God is close to us; God loves us, regardless of who we are, or what we’ve done.
Even if we are late-comers, he still gives us the same as those who have carried the heat and burdens of the day, or of the law. For the gospel is peopled with life’s late-comers, and with all those who find themselves slowed down with some form of disability. There are those who are physically disabled; or spiritually crippled; or emotionally stunted; or economically tethered. They are the prodigal sons and daughters; the black sheep of the family; the outcasts; the overlooked; the ones people feel they can safely ignore or shun; those who have been hurt or undone by life.
When we are like this, Jesus has a clear prejudice in our favour – because he doesn’t work from the arithmetic of the calculator, but from the fulness of his own heart. And that fulness of God’s heart is here for you this morning. Can you take it in to yourself? Can you open yourself up to this “being loved regardless”?? For the message is: that God is very fond of you, and his love is always available to you. It was available to the prodigal son; it was available to the lepers; and the paralytic; and to the sinful woman, and to the late-comers in today’s Gospel!
And it’s available, all the time, and everywhere, for me and for you. Please, please, take it into your heart!
I want to finish with the prayer of the Royalist commander, General Sir Jacob Astley on the eve of the Battle of Edgehill in 1642:
“O Lord, you know how busy I must be this day;
you know the many things I will encounter.
If I forget you, Lord,
I know that you will not forget me.
For you love me, regardless.”
Amen.
17th September 2017: Forgiveness
“How often should I forgive my brother? Seven times?” Mt: 18: 21-22.
Dear friends, psychologists and sociologists tell us that there is far more love in people’s hearts than hate and division! And that there is far more goodness than selfishness in people’s minds and actions.
Yet, when we listen to the media these days, we would think that trouble, strife, hatred are everywhere. We hear of the cruelties of present ethnic cleansing of the Rohingya people; of the drug-gang-warfare killings in Dublin; of the on-going civil-war in Syria; of the shootings and bombings in France, Spain, England by Isis; the mowing-down of innocent people with heavy lorries; and using a 9-year- old girl as a suicide-bomber.
I have to say that, as a boy, growing up in my own area in Northern Ireland, horrible things were also done in the name of nationalism. In our area in Portadown, I remember that some people actually cheered on hearing of the death of a soldier, or of a Loyalist. I also recall those people who just disappeared, quietly murdered, and buried in bogs and on beaches – and we are still only finding some of their poor bodies today. In the light of this morning’s gospel, I sometimes wonder: “What happened to our common humanity at that time?”
What happened to our Christianity? and to the message of this morning’s reading about love and forgiveness?? And here in limerick, there have been horrible inhumanities perpetrated. Im sure many people here were sickened by the deaths of two people, cruelly killed some years ago, in Southill. Their names were Breda waters and Des Kelly. They were both shot with a shotgun at close range. Can you imagine that scene? - of a young woman shot in the head and face, at close range? You know, the parish priest at that time, who was called to that house, was shocked beyond belief! Afterwards, he said: “Whoever did this, doesn’t deserve redemption!” And even though I know that this was said in a moment of horror and revulsion, still, the gospel this morning calls on us; urges us to forgive; – to love – to try to love our enemies to forgive them, and pray for those who do us wrong!
You see, once you seriously take on the teaching of Jesus, you are asked for nothing less than total commitment! We cant tell Jesus: “Ill follow you here, but I won’t follow your there”! “Ill forgive this person, but not that one!” No!! the bottom line is this: “Once I’m tagged a Christian; – once I have been given the baptismal uniform, so to speak, then I am called to try to love completely! I am called to offer forgiveness! for Jesus knows that hatred and division act like a poison! and that poison spreads, and, in the end, it creates division and hatred, and spreads death around us. I recall reading William Blake’s poem: “The Poison Tree:”
I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunnèd it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
But Jesus keeps on saying: “Love your enemies. Forgive. Forgive many times! – even when you have been badly stung. Forgive even what seem unforgiveable!
Our first reading today from Ecclesiasticus states: “You must forgive your neighbour the hurt he does you” But, let me tell you a true story. There is a married man, who was very heavy on the drink, in the early years of his marriage. He became cruel, and violent, and abusive to his wife and his two daughters, and he held that home in a grip of fear. Eventually, he was forced to leave the home. Well, years later, this man is now reformed. He has faced his alcoholism, and overcome it. Now he would love to come back to his wife and daughters and say he is sorry, and make it up to them, and show them care and love. But they are too hurt! They don’t want to know him! They don’t want him near them! What is he to do? What would you do? Are there some things in life that are unforgiveable?
This morning, Jesus says: “Forgive, even your enemies,” “and pray for those who do you wrong.” And what about brothers and sisters who have fallen out with one another - over a hurt – or a misunderstanding – and haven’t talked to each other for years? I know this happens in many families, including my own. They don’t seem to notice that time is passing, and they seem intent on bringing this with them to the grave.
Maria Walsh, the Rose of Tralee from three years ago, has tattooed on her arm: “The trouble is, we think we have time!”
Dear friends, please, please resolve with me this day – no, resolve with me now! - that you will try to forgive, and be reconciled, before it’s too late! And if you feel you cannot forgive, or that in trying to do so, you would make things even worse, then pray for those who have done you wrong. If you do this, you are coming close to the heart of Jesus, and to the centre of the Gospel, and you will be building up the kingdom of Jesus’ Father here and now.
You see, Jesus tried his best to do the will of the Father, by loving and forgiving. He knows that love doesn’t transform enemies into instant friends. You must remember, that love didn’t solve all of Jesus’ problems with his enemies. In the end, he was the one who reached out in love; to heal and free others, and yet he suffered. and he got badly stung in the process. He was stung to death. but he stayed with it, trying to love and forgive to the bitter end. that’s his way!
I want to finish with this little poem called: “I’m for loving:”
Human beings, full of love, can be beautiful as doves;
But their hearts can turn to treacherous ways,
And deadly poison bring into play.
Oh, full of beauty is my bower,
Tho’ hailstones come, and break my flowers;
But I’ll keep loving, while I live,
Forgive and love; love and forgive.
What Jesus asks us, must be done,
So, keep on loving, everyone!
Amen.
Dear friends, psychologists and sociologists tell us that there is far more love in people’s hearts than hate and division! And that there is far more goodness than selfishness in people’s minds and actions.
Yet, when we listen to the media these days, we would think that trouble, strife, hatred are everywhere. We hear of the cruelties of present ethnic cleansing of the Rohingya people; of the drug-gang-warfare killings in Dublin; of the on-going civil-war in Syria; of the shootings and bombings in France, Spain, England by Isis; the mowing-down of innocent people with heavy lorries; and using a 9-year- old girl as a suicide-bomber.
I have to say that, as a boy, growing up in my own area in Northern Ireland, horrible things were also done in the name of nationalism. In our area in Portadown, I remember that some people actually cheered on hearing of the death of a soldier, or of a Loyalist. I also recall those people who just disappeared, quietly murdered, and buried in bogs and on beaches – and we are still only finding some of their poor bodies today. In the light of this morning’s gospel, I sometimes wonder: “What happened to our common humanity at that time?”
What happened to our Christianity? and to the message of this morning’s reading about love and forgiveness?? And here in limerick, there have been horrible inhumanities perpetrated. Im sure many people here were sickened by the deaths of two people, cruelly killed some years ago, in Southill. Their names were Breda waters and Des Kelly. They were both shot with a shotgun at close range. Can you imagine that scene? - of a young woman shot in the head and face, at close range? You know, the parish priest at that time, who was called to that house, was shocked beyond belief! Afterwards, he said: “Whoever did this, doesn’t deserve redemption!” And even though I know that this was said in a moment of horror and revulsion, still, the gospel this morning calls on us; urges us to forgive; – to love – to try to love our enemies to forgive them, and pray for those who do us wrong!
You see, once you seriously take on the teaching of Jesus, you are asked for nothing less than total commitment! We cant tell Jesus: “Ill follow you here, but I won’t follow your there”! “Ill forgive this person, but not that one!” No!! the bottom line is this: “Once I’m tagged a Christian; – once I have been given the baptismal uniform, so to speak, then I am called to try to love completely! I am called to offer forgiveness! for Jesus knows that hatred and division act like a poison! and that poison spreads, and, in the end, it creates division and hatred, and spreads death around us. I recall reading William Blake’s poem: “The Poison Tree:”
I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunnèd it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
But Jesus keeps on saying: “Love your enemies. Forgive. Forgive many times! – even when you have been badly stung. Forgive even what seem unforgiveable!
Our first reading today from Ecclesiasticus states: “You must forgive your neighbour the hurt he does you” But, let me tell you a true story. There is a married man, who was very heavy on the drink, in the early years of his marriage. He became cruel, and violent, and abusive to his wife and his two daughters, and he held that home in a grip of fear. Eventually, he was forced to leave the home. Well, years later, this man is now reformed. He has faced his alcoholism, and overcome it. Now he would love to come back to his wife and daughters and say he is sorry, and make it up to them, and show them care and love. But they are too hurt! They don’t want to know him! They don’t want him near them! What is he to do? What would you do? Are there some things in life that are unforgiveable?
This morning, Jesus says: “Forgive, even your enemies,” “and pray for those who do you wrong.” And what about brothers and sisters who have fallen out with one another - over a hurt – or a misunderstanding – and haven’t talked to each other for years? I know this happens in many families, including my own. They don’t seem to notice that time is passing, and they seem intent on bringing this with them to the grave.
Maria Walsh, the Rose of Tralee from three years ago, has tattooed on her arm: “The trouble is, we think we have time!”
Dear friends, please, please resolve with me this day – no, resolve with me now! - that you will try to forgive, and be reconciled, before it’s too late! And if you feel you cannot forgive, or that in trying to do so, you would make things even worse, then pray for those who have done you wrong. If you do this, you are coming close to the heart of Jesus, and to the centre of the Gospel, and you will be building up the kingdom of Jesus’ Father here and now.
You see, Jesus tried his best to do the will of the Father, by loving and forgiving. He knows that love doesn’t transform enemies into instant friends. You must remember, that love didn’t solve all of Jesus’ problems with his enemies. In the end, he was the one who reached out in love; to heal and free others, and yet he suffered. and he got badly stung in the process. He was stung to death. but he stayed with it, trying to love and forgive to the bitter end. that’s his way!
I want to finish with this little poem called: “I’m for loving:”
Human beings, full of love, can be beautiful as doves;
But their hearts can turn to treacherous ways,
And deadly poison bring into play.
Oh, full of beauty is my bower,
Tho’ hailstones come, and break my flowers;
But I’ll keep loving, while I live,
Forgive and love; love and forgive.
What Jesus asks us, must be done,
So, keep on loving, everyone!
Amen.
10th September 2017: Tough Love
Love cannot hurt your neighbour… Romans:13: 8 – 10.
St. Paul talks this morning about mutual love. He says that “love is the one thing that cannot hurt your neighbour!” Of course, the word “love”, as you know, has had its meaning hijacked in modern times. The advertising companies use it to sell us products that, they promise, will deliver love! Love, according to them, is to be found in a perfume, or cologne, or an after-shave; or with chocolates and roses. In media land, love is often equated with sex, as pictured in the series, and in the film, “Sex and the City”. In the magazines, it is the one with the most cosmetic surgeries, make-overs, implants, clothes, and cars who wins!
And so, it is no surprise that you get young people on TV, meeting the approved criteria of being lots of fun and laughs; being into recreational drugs; judging one another on their looks and sex-appeal; and declaring to the world that they’re “in love”. Maybe I’m getting old, or maybe I’m a confirmed, old, celibate bachelor(!), but it seems to me that a lot of love today, is on the surface, isn’t it? It’s like surface glitz, and “personality contests”! And, at times, it does seem so shallow.
On the other hand, thank God things have changed from my young days, when ‘sex’ was a forbidden word. There is much more openness today about sexuality, and it can now be seen as the beautiful thing it is. And yet, we know very well, that sex and love, are not the same thing.
This morning, St. Paul talks about a love that is not totally based on feelings. Yes - feelings are so important, and a marriage without them would be a poorer and an emptier one. As Paul sees it, love is more about the commitment of the self, like a decision of the will. He says: “the harder the decision, in spite of the feelings, the greater the love.”
That’s why the Russian writer, Dostoevsky, probably still has the best line on love. He says: “love, in action, can be a tough and dreadful thing…”. What could he mean? You remember Maximillian Kolbe, in a Nazi concentration camp, trembling in his shoes, stepping forward to die in the place of another prisoner who had a wife and family at home. That’s tough and supreme love. and this tough love can often be seen in the lives of people living around us.
I think of the young wife, who is married to a man who drinks too much.He’s a gentle sort of man, and he promises he’s going to give up the drink, but he can’t seem to do it and he drinks most of the little money they have. She loves him, and she keeps on challenging his life-style. She sticks with him, trying to get him to go for help. At last, he begins to change. He joins the AA, and struggles, until he stops drinking. She stuck with him through the hard times. That is tough love.
You may remember the case, as told by Fr Bausch, of the widower who has Alzheimer’s disease? He is being taken care of by his married daughter. It’s not easy, as many of you know. Even though she struggles a great deal, she doesn’t want to put dad into a home. She tells the priest: “I don’t know how long more I can do this. It’s awfully hard going after him. He wanders out, at all hours of the night, thinking he’s back in the city, looking for a bus. I don’t know how long more I can lift him, or take him to the bathroom. I’m getting tired. It’s very hard.” It is very hard. She is left with her father who is completely unaware of her devotion. She stays there, with tough love.
I remember reading about William Stafford, the American poet and pacifist. He was recalling, as a boy, coming home from school - how he was telling his mother that two new students had been surrounded in the playground, and taunted by the others, because they were black. “And what did you do, Billy”, asked his mother. “I went into the circle beside them, and stood up for them,” Billy said. Sick in the stomach at the thought that he too would be bullied and beaten up, Billy decided to stand up for them. That was brave! That was tough love too.
I was recalling, too, how I was officiating at the funeral of a Maynooth university student, who had died of a drugs overdose. Her best friend turns and says to me: “I loved her, Father. She was my closest friend.” Well, it was not the time nor the place for me to say that that kind of love had not helped his dead friend. He knew that she was into heavy drugs. Why didn’t he tell somebody? Get her help? I’m sure he didn’t want to squeal, or blow the whistle on his friend, but that kind of weak love was of no help to her in her situation. If he really loved her, he could have ignored his own feelings, and made the decision to get her help.
What did Dostoevsky say? “Love, in action, can be a tough and dreadful thing.” For tough love, as Thomas Aquinas reminds us, is in the mind; it’s in the will; it’s in the decisions we make. Feelings are wonderful, and necessary, and they embellish and heighten love, and life would be enormously empty without them. But they should not be fully identified with love. They should not be identified with the decision to do what is best for the beloved! Which is why parents drag their children to the dentist! And why they try to instil a bit of respect and discipline in them! Which is why the mother and father keeping on loving the awkward child at home, the one who is verbally abusive to them, and back-answering, and totally unappreciative of everything they do, or of the care and love they try to give. Or the teacher who keeps her patience with the disruptive child, that child who keeps on disturbing her class – but she sticks with it, and the child begins to respond.
I’m aware that many of you, sitting here, are people filled with love, trying to love your best every day, and willing to stick with it. We pray in this Mass, that the Lord will keep on blessing you with strength, and patience, and perseverance in your love. For he is the great lover, the great healer, who keeps on prompting us to love, and to love more deeply. For he is the one who changed the water into wine, at the wedding feast of love in Cana. Maybe the love you have has gone tired and weak; maybe it has gone watery, or turned into vinegar, and gone sour. May the Lord bless your love this morning, and change it back into the strong wine of love again.
Tina Turner sings: “What’s love got to do with it?” Well; love, tough love, has everything to do with it! For whatever way you may look at yourself, I can tell you this morning that you are loved beyond your wildest dreams. And those who have judged you, because of your looks, or your clothes, or your background, or the amount of money you have, or your sex-appeal, have all told you lies. Forget what they have said. Because the truth is: You are a child of God, and totally loved, just as you are.
I want to finish with the ‘prayer for tough love’:
When the gentleness between you hardens,
and you fall out of your belonging with each other;
when the weave of love starts to unravel,
and anger begins to sear the ground between you;
may your souls come to kiss once more!
Now is the time for one of you to be gracious;
to allow a kindness, beyond thought or hurt,
to carry you through this winter pilgrimage,
towards the gateway of a new spring of love.
Amen.
27th August 2017: Tu es Petrus
When I was growing up, nick-names were very common. Some of these nick-names were often used to describe a person’s role. For example; the local grower of potatoes was known as “Spud Murphy”. Then the farmer, a big red-faced man who delivered the vegetables, was known as “Beetroot”. And the man who worked in the butcher’s shop, was known locally, and inelegantly, as “Kidney Judge.” That says it all.
The name that Jesus gave Simon in today’s Gospel was of the “Spud Murphy” variety. It referred to his future role. The name itself was “Cephas” or “Rock”. Imagine if our first Pope, ‘Peter’, became known as “Rocky”! And his surname was “Bar Jonah” - in our language, “John’s-son”. “Rocky Johnson”. And Jesus said: “You are Peter, and on this rock, I will build my Church.”
Do you remember that text from childhood? I do. My father, who was a big Catholic man, never tired of quoting it. The words reverberated like a church-bell – or an old auntie’s promise. They rang in the mind. The words are so positive, so reassuring. Rocks are forever. They never let you down. Old castles might collapse; but the Church would never shift, or subside. It would always be there – like a lighthouse in a moving sea. And Peter, the Pope, with his feet on solid ground, his church was “steady”, and not going to be “rocky”. Who would have thought, that this so, so solid Church of my boyhood could be brought down so quickly?
It reminds me of the earthquake in Assisi in September 1997, when the beautiful frescos by Giotto – which had lasted 700 years, came crashing down from the vaulted ceiling – and lay in bits on the basilica floor. It is such a strong image of our own broken humanity, our broken economy, and our broken Church. Just think of all the headlines that have been in the newspapers over the last few years about our Church. and of what we have heard, on radio, and television.
And there has also been controversy within our official church: When we look back at Bishop Eamonn Casey; yes, who gave in to human weakness. It was a human sin, in comparison to the other horrible crimes perpetrated against children. Eamonn Casey resigned, and was sent into exile to Ecuador, and later to Sussex. When he finally came home in 2006, he wasn’t allowed to celebrate the Eucharist in public again. Was that right? Was it wrong?
Or you have the Monsignor in St. Patrick’s Cathedral in New York, who has denied a wedding to a young groom, who has AIDS? Or the priest in Donegal, who refused a little girl her First Communion, because her parents weren’t coming to Mass? Then you have the quandary of those who are living in second relationships, who cannot approach the sacraments.
And we remember that this is the Church that gave rise to Andrew Greeley, and Fr Sean Fortune, and Mother Teresa, and Matt Talbot; and, believe it or not, Madonna and Sinead O’Connor. There is no denying that we certainly have had bad priests, like Fr Brendan Smith and Fr Eugene Greene of Raphoe. When there is bad news about a priest, there is a tendency to apply it to every priest, and to the entire Catholic Church. No wonder there has been a great slide away from religion, as seen in falling attendances at Mass, and far fewer vocations.
However, I do remember a story of Dorothy Day, who had just attended Mass with a friend in New York. The priest who had said the Mass was extremely poor; he had no reverence; he was bad-mannered and abrupt; and his sermon was extraordinarily boring. It was just a terrible experience. On the way home, the friend was wondering how Dorothy would react. After walking a bit in silence, Dorothy Day simply said: “If the Church can survive priests like that, it just goes to prove that God must be with it.”
When we talk about the Church, we tend to think of the hierarchy – the Pope, and the Bishops, and the priests. But the fact is that they are only a numerically small part of the Church. Because, after all, we are the church, all of us here who compose it. And we are not perfect.
A professor of philosophy called William Shea wrote an article in “Commonweal”, in which he explains how he feels about the Catholic Church. He says: “I am sad at her sins, as I am at my own sins. I am wary of her leaning towards intellectual and spiritual repression, as I am of my own fear of power, and my resentment of criticism. I find written large in the Church’s life, my own struggle, my own good and evil; my own truth, and my own lies.” For what we have to remember is this: with all our too human faults, which Popes, and priests, and every other member of God’s church have, there is always something more than meets the eye. Despite our faults, and our family divisions, there is a presence, and there is a reality; and there is a bonding; and there is goodness and love. We know that there is a huge number of great priests and bishops and brothers and nuns on our island.
What I’m saying, is, that for all the humanness, and mistakes, and even sinfulness of those of us who are church, we always have to have confidence, that the bottom-line reality is Jesus. Jesus is the rock, the bed-rock on which we can build and stand firm. It is he who works his grace through us – individually and collectively – imperfect and fractured as we are.
To conclude, I must tell you the end of the story about the frescos of Giotto, which had fallen down after the earthquake in Assisi in 1997. Would you believe it? They gathered up every single fragment, every smithereen of the broken frescoes from the basilica floor and, after five years of painstaking work, the restored ceiling was unveiled in 2002. Five years of patient endurance, had restored those broken fragments to their former glory.
May it be our hope this morning, and our belief, that Jesus, who loves us in our brokenness, and who built the church on the rock of Peter, may restore it into a humbler, holier, and more serving church, than it ever was before.
Let me finish with a little bit of Latin:
“Tu es Petrus, (you are Peter)
et super hanc petram, (and on this rock)
aedificabo ecclesiam meam.” (I will build my church)
Amen.
20th August 2017: Scraps from the Master's Table: Inclusion and Endurance
Liam Swords tells the story of the enthusiastic young man – who comes, young and bubbly, to a new job! He has energy! Others are infected by his enthusiasm. Problems seem to disappear at his touch. But, of course, what he doesn’t realise is that this is the ‘honeymoon’ period. There is such a time in everybody’s life. Most of his older colleagues smile indulgently and think: “He’ll learn! One of these fine days, he’ll cop on.” Which means that, one day, he will wake up to the inevitable futility of it all.
Sure enough, that is what happened. As the obstacles grew larger, he didn’t have the enthusiasm or energy any more. His many commitments, and over-crowded schedule, began to take their toll. Of course, time itself was against him. He was no longer the ‘new man’. So, Dermot began to cut back; he began to shed his ambitions.The great withdrawal began! Now, he finds himself on the verge of middle-age, turned in on himself. His main preoccupation now is with his comfort. His work is where he earns his salary, and he begrudges every minute he has to give to it. He has become very sour and bitter.
But of course, that is not how he sees himself. He has rationalised the whole thing. Don’t we all? As he sees it, he has been victimised by the ‘system’. It’s his favourite grudge, the ‘system’.
What does Dermot work at? You might be interested to know! In the class-room, they call him ‘teacher’; in the surgery, they call him ‘doctor’; at home, they call him “dDaddy”; put a collar round his neck, and he is your priest. In fact, you will find him in any job that lends itself to futility!
But, where did Dermot go wrong? He thought that energy and enthusiasm were enough to change the world – enough to secure love, and bring success. But they are not. The only lasting love and success goes to those men and women who are gifted with endurance. Endurance in the long term.We need that ‘staying’ power: athletes call it “stamina”, psychologists call it “resilience” or “bounce-back ability”. There was an interesting article by Sinead Moriarty in the Irish Independent on August 16th, 2017. In it, she wrote:
I recently met an old friend who is now headmaster at a large secondary school. I asked him what was the biggest change he’d seen in children in the last 20 years. Without hesitating, he said, “lack of resilience”. He went on to say that many kids nowadays have no ability to deal with difficult situations, because their parents are constantly clearing the path in front of them. “They can’t cope with any kind of failure, even the smallest thing,” he said. “Helicopter-parenting’ is not doing your child any favours”, he added.
We do need to develop resilience for the long haul. It is essential for ongoing commitment. For many things that start full of promise can end in utter disappointment. So many relationships, so many young marriages seem to end so soon. The enchantment, the infatuation can be great at the beginning, but there is no guarantee that it will last. Without strength & stamina, we cannot continue in our commitments. We do get tired and weary. As rag & bone-man sings: “I’m only human after all!”
And that’s why we come here this morning to this Eucharist; that every one of us can meet Jesus and be strengthened. Jesus excludes nobody – he brings us all in! We come here to get some of his strength, his healing, and some of his endurance. He knows our failings and our weaknesses. He includes us, and gives us his whole body, so that we might borrow his whole strength and endurance in carrying our worries and burdens. And he gives it to all of us!
I remember a man at home, who went to Holy Communion every morning. The surprising thing about this man was that, during the day, he was nearly always drunk! I was a young priest then – and I didn’t really understand or realise that he was an alcoholic. He wasn’t the type that most of us would expect to find coming to the altar to receive communion every morning. But he is the type that Jesus expects to find there and that man knew it! He pestered heaven with his pleas for help – to get the strength to stop drinking. He put me in mind of this morning’s gospel, and the way that this Canaanite woman kept nagging at Jesus to help her little girl. Her insistence was matched only by Christ’s indifference. “He did not answer her a word.” When he did speak, it was so unlike him: “it is not fair to take the children’s bread, and throw it to the dogs”, is what he said. But the woman is not diverted by this offensive rebuff. She hangs on to the reason why she is there. A child’s pain can make a mother eloquent! And the woman answered him: “even the dogs eat the crumbs, which fall from the master’s table.” It was enough: her prayer was answered. Her endurance had won the day. She stuck at it until her daughter is healed.
Like that woman, and like that alcoholic, we too need to stick at it! We too come this morning for the crumbs that fall from the masters table. And the greater our needs, the more we need to come. You remember that Jesus said: “if I send them away hungry to their homes, they will faint on the way; and some of them have come a long way.” The way for all of us has been hard in these tough and challenging times. For some, the endurance has been impossibly long. In case we fall, or faint on the way, we need to take the food, the strength, the endurance in this Eucharist.
Maybe things are coming apart a bit for you; if you feel betrayed, or excluded; or degraded; if life has lost its meaning; if the future looks dark, or impossible, then, you need to come forward and eat at the table of the Eucharist. Even a few crumbs will do us. And, maybe, when you come forward to receive his body in communion, ask: “Lord, bless me and feed me with the strength and endurance that the Eucharist gives, and give me the resilience to face what needs to be faced; to keep doing what I have promised; to love what needs to be loved; and to trust in your promise, Lord, that I can have a new life, in you.”
I’ll finish with John O’ Donoghue’s “prayer for courage”:
When the light around you lessens,
And your thoughts darken;
When fear is inside you, cold as a stone;
When what you leaned on before has fallen,
And you heart is raven black;
Steady yourself, and see
That it is your own thinking,
That darkens your world.
Search, and you will find him.
Close your eyes!
Gather all the kindling, about your heart, to create one spark –
Just one enduring spark!
That’s all you need to nourish the flame.
A new resilience will come alive in you,
And will lead you to higher ground.
Amen.
6th August 2017: The Transfiguration of Our Lord
From the cloud there came a voice which said: “This is my beloved Son; he enjoys my favour. Listen to him.”…Jesus gave them this order: “Tell no one about this vision until the Son of Man has risen from the dead.” Matthew 17, 1-9.
There must be something quite important about this story of the transfiguration of Jesus for no other reason than that it is put before us twice each year - during Lent and on the annual celebration of the Transfiguration. What message is so important that there is a need to have us deliberately reflect on it twice a year?
Occasionally, most of us have moments when we feel close to God, experiences that remain etched indelibly in our memories. They are few and far between, but they help us to deal with disappointing and hurtful experiences when they come our way, remembering that God is always with us, even when life looks bleak. Psychologists refer to our uplifting “God moments” as peak experiences.
Today’s gospel story of the mountaintop experience we now call the Transfiguration is Matthew’s rewrite of a story that was passed on to him. It’s also his way of trying to make sense of that story. What Matthew has put together operates as a parable, even though he does not call it a that. This story is loaded with symbols. There’s a mountaintop, because it was on mountaintops that prophets and other holy people encountered God. There’s a face, shining brightly, calling to mind Moses’ meeting with God on Mt Sinai. There’s a voice from heaven. Included are the great champions of the Jewish Law, Elijah and Moses. Where there are symbols, there’s an invitation to explore them for their meaning. The characters of parables like the Prodigal Son and the Good Samaritan represent much more than the individuals involved in the story. They stand for actions that we are all capable of doing, and they act as mirrors into which we are invited to look. For example, in the characters who ignore the man who was beaten and robbed in the parable of the Good Samaritan, we can see something of ourselves. In the same way, the story of the transfiguration carries a message for us to reflect on. Just in case we missed that message on the second Sunday of Lent this year, we are invited to ponder it again this week.
We have to remember that Matthew was writing for a community that was experiencing rejection and persecution because of its adherence to Jesus and all he had taught. Peter, James and John were names well-known to Matthew’s community, and the story of their intense religious experience on the mountaintop when they were given an assurance that God was really with them was meant to remind Matthew’s community that God was with them as truly as he was with Peter James and John. The inclusion of Moses and Elijah, giants of faith in the history of God’s love for their people, is a double reassurance that God was with them and would continue to be with them. The voice from heaven urging the apostles to hold tight to what Jesus taught them, followed immediately by an unexpected reference to the death and resurrection that awaited him, was intended to be a call not to lose hope, even when things looked bleak and hopeless. That was the message of this parable for Matthew’s community, and that’s the message for us, too, as we struggle to stay faithful to Jesus and his Gospel in a world that is gripped by fear and confusion, in a Church that looks to be faltering and whose morale has been seriously dented.
There is a message for us, too, in the stunned response by Peter, James and John to what they had experienced. They could hardly be blamed for wanting to linger on the mountaintop after such a revelation? There were plenty of examples in their tradition of others building monuments and altars at places of divine encounter. But perhaps there was more than that to their wanting to linger. As they had accompanied Jesus in his ministry, they had seen an endless trail of human brokenness and need, and could anticipate that there would be more to come. Staying where they were would give them some respite from the heartbreaking human longing that awaited them back down the mountain.
Aren’t there times when we find ourselves wanting to distance ourselves from a world whose needs are unable to be addressed, a world gripped by fear, battered by frequent acts of terrorism, and overwhelmed by wars, racial conflict, starvation and disease? While our urge may well be to retreat from strife like this, we also know that it is often only the privileged who have the means to do that. Right now, we know that there are millions of refugees fleeing the civil strife that has descended upon countries like Syria and South Sudan. We know, too, that many of them are being turned away by nations and governments unwilling to respond to their plight.
However, it seems to me that the disciples’ desire to stay on the mountain came from their thinking that what they had experienced was the pinnacle of God’s revelation in the person of Jesus. But Jesus was quick to make it clear to them that God’s ultimate revelation was still to come - in Jesus’ suffering and death on the cross. That is how God’s love and power would be put on full display - not in self-importance, not in glory or dazzling whiteness, but in self-emptying, in standing in solidary with the forgotten, the down-trodden, the poor and the suffering. Maybe, that is why the only thing Jesus said in this whole story was an instruction to the disciples not to tell anyone about their mountaintop experience until after his resurrection - so that others wouldn’t make the same mistake. And that’s precisely why Matthew sandwiches this transfiguration story between two predictions of Jesus’ passion and death, along with a reminder that the cross will be a part of the life of everyone who wants to follow in Jesus’ footsteps.
Jesus put to one side the brilliance and exhilaration of the transfiguration, and headed down the mountain to listen to the pleas of a man whose son, gripped by mental illness, was repeatedly endangering his life by throwing himself into the fire or into the water. He rejected personal privilege, nailing it to the cross for the sake of the needy, the forgotten and the dispossessed, indeed, for every one of us as well. While his transfiguration on the mountaintop was intended for his disciples and for us to be a reminder not to lose hope, no matter how bleak life may become, Jesus made it clear that lasting transfiguration would come for us and our world through his cross and ultimate resurrection. In laying aside privilege and special treatment, he reminds us to do the same for the sake of others and the good of our world. In today’s gospel story, that message is reinforced by the voice of God: “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!”
And let’s not forget that there are many other transfiguration moments in our lives as we respond to Jesus’ invitation to reach out to others in love: “To love another person is to see the face of God.” (Victor Hugo, Les Miserables)
